Taverna del Duca, Locorotondo, Puglia

The town of Locorotondo pretty much does what it says on the tin. As you might expect of a town with five o's in its name, it's a round place that sits, like other towns in this region, atop a small hill that rises like a bump from the plain below. A neat and tidy town of bleached stone and whitewash.

Tucked away in the old part of the town, not that there really is a new part, La Taverna del Duca keeps itself to itself. From the outside it's just a door and a sign - no windows, no menu. Inside, the dining room of just half a dozen check-clothed tables is open to the tiny kitchen in the corner, dominated by a large wood-burning oven.

The no menu theme continues inside too. When we arrived, the owner, chef and waitress – yes, that's all one person – beamed us a welcome, directed us to a table and asked us in Italian what we would like to eat. We asked if she had a menu. Patiently our hostess, a woman in her early forties perhaps, with large and intense dark eyes, explained in single words, each one emphasised by pressing one forefinger against the other, that there was antipasti... pasta... carne... We agreed to the antipasti, so we were off the mark. And pasta, yes please. And the carne, why not? We really had no idea what we were about to receive.

The woman smiled and retired to her kitchen, quickly returning with a basket of roughly-hewn bread and a chipped ceramic jug of white primitivo wine. Then a plate of olives. Then a couple of plates of antipasti. Then a couple more. And more. There were smokily grilled peppers, small balls of burrata which burst into cold creaminess, sweet buttery ham, a purée of beans and a dish of humble cauliflower that was revelatory. While we ate our hostess busied herself in the kitchen, at intervals poking her head inside the wood-fired oven to check the progress of whatever was inside. Next, the pasta. Huge bowls of orechiette in a simple but delicious fresh tomato sauce.

Then an earthenware dish was brought to the table bearing a bubbling piece of braised meat: "stinco!" she proclaimed proudly. Stinco, we discovered, is shin of pork. At the lightest touch it collapsed off the bone into the wine and vegetable sauce that bathed it. Nothing accompanied it, and nothing was needed. When the shin had been picked to the bone and the wine jug was empty, Antonella (for by now this is how we knew her) insisted that we try her cake. When I declined she patted my stomach, as one might pat a drum to check its taughtness, then smiled and insisted I had a grappa instead. 'Piccolo, piccolo' I protested, weakly. A huge glass of grappa arrived. She laughed and patted my stomach again. Finally, coffee. Full, glowing, and very, very happy, we said our thank yous and farewells.

And were back next evening.

Taverna del Duca, Via Papadotera, 3, 70010 Locorotondo (BA)

Tel 0804 313007

This is one of the best places I have eaten in my life. Really. If you're within a hundred miles, make the detour.

Ristorante U'curdunn, Locorotondo, Puglia

I've always thought that gracious hospitality comes naturally, perhaps innately, to Italians. So it's probably not surprising that even the youngest citizens seem to be proficient at it.

Like the young chap at this restaurant in Locorotondo, who was sweeping the pavement terrace outside when we arrived one evening fifteen minutes before eight o'clock. He would have been maybe nine, ten at the most. When we asked him if the restaurant was open, he first replied that it wasn't, yet. Then, as it dawned on him that if we went away to wait somewhere we might not come back, he put down his broom and, with a deferential bow and wave of his hand, showed us into the empty restaurant and to a table for two by the window. He brought us menus which he opened with a flourish and got as far as pouring us water before a fully grown colleague took over, and sent him back to finish his sweeping. I think he would comfortably have looked after us all evening.

In the more experienced hands of one of the restaurant's elders we enjoyed a selection of antipasti that included a cold salad of the tenderest octopus, delicious grilled vegetables and creamy, creamy burrata. There was also tripe, popular in these parts, in a fat, cigar-shaped roll, which had the texture of a belly button and the taste of a burp.

The place had a homely feel about it, and the service was friendly too. It felt like we'd come to share their food in their dining room rather than eat in their restaurant. As we left, the young lad was standing at the front door. He nodded and bade us arrivederci. He was learning fast.

Maybe one day he'll be running the restaurant.

Ristorante U'curdunn, Via Dura, 17, 70010 Locorotondo (Ba)

Tel 080 431 72 81

Ristorante U'curdunn, Locorotondo

Hotel Levante, Torre Canne, Puglia

This leg of our southward journey from Ancona was, as we'd suspected, long. We left the mountains behind as we departed Marche and passed through the hilly green terrain of Abruzzo. The landscape deflated and flattened as we reached the northern tip of Puglia. Buildings changed from warm stone and terracotta brick to white render. Oak trees gave way to palms.

Just at the edge of the Gargano peninsular we detoured off the A14 to pause, stretch our legs and eat, and found ourselves in the slightly worn little lakeside town of Lesina. We might just as well have driven a stagecoach into Dodge City. The streets were deserted, save for a couple of dusty, curly-tailed dogs basking in the sun. When we did see people, they were weathered and dark, black-haired and nut-skinned. It felt noticeably hotter here. The place looked like it saw few tourists, and felt like the sort of town in which you could disappear, if need be, for a few weeks, maybe more. Maybe forever.

We bought bread and cheese for lunch, then wandered down to the waterside of Lago di Lesina, a long but narrow stretch of water that separates the town from the Adriatic. A grey concrete promenade ran along the lake edge to the north, with grafitti-covered benches at intervals. Scraps of litter blew around the promenade wall as we ate, looking out across the choppy grey expanse of the lake.

As we pushed even further south, the coastline was intermittently scruffy, then smart. And then in Torre Canne we found the Hotel Levante and stayed for three nights. It wasn't quite what we'd expected, after the rural neatness of Marche and Umbria. The town was a bit ragged in parts, pleasant in others. The hotel was pretty smart on the whole, but any character or charm it may once have possessed had been knocked out of it by the pounding of package holidays. The restaurant was pleasant enough, but the menu promised the kind of ubiquitous food that's the stuff of tour groups. This may be extremely unfair, because we never ate here, to both the hotel and the tour groups.

As we settled in, we realised that the hotel had its good points too. The pool and grounds were good, there was direct access to a private beach, along which you could walk to the town and back, and our room was big and comfortable, with a large sun terrace, perfect for enjoying the makeshift lunches of produce we'd bought from the market. And it was a great location for exploring the region, and especially nearby restaurants.

Smart Hotel Levante we quite liked in the end. Scruffy Lesina we liked from the start.

Hotel Levante, Via Appia 20, Torre Canne (72010), Puglia

The hotel doesn't appear to have its own website, but this link gives most information:

Hotel Levante, Torre Canne, Puglia