Restaurant review: Ristorante Ferrari, Edinburgh

Still, Old Reliant and I needn’t have worried, as this new place, in the former premises of Bruntsfield’s Post Office, isn’t named after the swanky motor.

The eponymous Ferraris are, in fact, a father and daughter team - chef Roberto and front-of-house chief Annalisa.

Their eatery serves regional Italian cooking, with each dish listed alongside its area of origin, in a newly refurbished space where jiffy bags and dole queues have been usurped by Perspex chairs, speckled canvases, aubergine walls, an aperitif trolley and linen tablecloths.

It has a kind of retro glamour – in the style of Edinburgh foodie ghosts such as Cosmo or Bellini.

However, when we visited, on a Wednesday night, there were only two other covers, and they’ve stopped serving lunches, so the Ferraris are not exactly drawing the crowds.

Which may be why we were observed throughout our meal, from the vantage point of the bar, by two expectant pairs of eyes. These would flick to a spot on the horizon whenever my gaze met theirs – usually while I was regurgitating an olive stone.

Thus, I was self-conscious when tackling one of their huge tarte salate savoury cakes, which you can choose as a starter or main. The torta di cicoria version (£5.95) consisted of a bready pastry, with a thick layer of moss-green boiled spinach, red onion and chicory. However, this wet filling was rather underseasoned, making for a simple dish that would have worked better at lunchtime. Still, the earthiness was lifted by a blob of sour cream, scattered with dried oregano, on the side.

My dining partner, Rolf, had gone for the calamari all’ischitana (£6.50). It consisted of five thick hoops of a nicely-cooked pale squid, which were packed with a creamy mashed tuna and caper mixture. The latter was dotted with a chopped herb – parsley, we thought, but the combo was so salty that it was quite difficult to identify. Not bad though.

For mains, I had been intrigued by the romantically-titled osel scapa, or escaped bird (£15.50), from the daily specials menu. It was so-called as it consisted of a stuffing (as cheesy as Wotsits, and consisting of doughy breadcrumbs mixed with nutty fontina) that was squeezed into a tube of thinly-sliced sirloin steak, rather than a chicken breast. This option boasted the umami-est flavours that I’ve experienced in a while – sage, irony red meat, salty pancetta. It was one of those dishes that fills you up, but keeps you coming back for more – like a budgie in the thrall of a cuttlefish.

Across the table, Rolf was tucking into the fish of the day (£18.95) which, in this case, was halibut.

It had been cooked in “Mad Water”, or acqua pazza, which, according to the waiter, is not Buckfast, but a boiling mixture of oil and water. This made for a fillet that was almost poached, but still firm. It came with oodles of garlic, in a yellow olive oily broth that was studded with cherry tomatoes. Simple, but decent.

On the side, we’d ordered some of the verdure ripiene (£3.95), or stuffed vegetable, which turned out to be three halves of courgette, which contained chopped funghi and breadcrumbs. I wasn’t that keen, but my dining partner found these fleshy kayaks rather distracting.

Italian puds often contain plenty of cream, coffee and a bit more cream, so the crema di caffe (£4.95) seemed representative. It featured a cappuccino-spiked gel, which was stirred with a mixture of crushed meringue and topped with a drift of cocoa powder. It didn’t taste mind-blowing, but it entered my bloodstream very quickly. I was flying.

Rolf’s torta della nonna (£7.95) was pleasant enough, with soft pastry that was layered with cool and custardy crema pasticcera and topped with plenty of toasted pine nuts and almond shards.

It was slightly overpriced though – as are many of the dishes in this place. Which is incongruous, as the food isn’t of the fine dining variety; it’s hearty, fresh and decent home-cooking. If it were a motor, it would be a dependable family hatchback – a Fiat, not a Ferrari.