So what does Havana in Cuba and the Osteleria Travi in Bari in Ital have in common? Well, at some stage or other, both Dyana and I have been in and had an extraordinary experience.

I'll start with the restaurant in Italy.

Bari is near the heel of the boot of Italy on the Adriatic coast, and we have been recommended to try a restaurant there called the Osteleria Travi. And what’s more, It’s actually in the Michelin Guide for this year as well! Wow. Just think of that.

So Dyana In her wonderful inimitable way decides to get all dressed up. After all, it is a Michelin restaurant. And I don’t blame her. Now to find the place. So we go downstairs to the Concierge who looks at the way she’s dresses and it’s really difficult for him to hide his big smile, or is it his amused feelings, but we thought nothing of it.

"Anda to find it… really easy," (according to the hotel concierge). “It’s in de olda citi,” he says in his wonderful Italian broken English accent. “anda here ees a mapa.” I still don’t know why they seem to put an 'a’ on the end of lots of words! He continues, “Looka, I’ll ringa where it ees,” scrawling a small circle round an area with about two thousand minute looking lines each representing a street. “Anda heere’s de address,” writing it on the map as well. Now I know we’ve all been told exactly how to get to places, but the old city has all these tiny little alleyways going all sorts of ways so it’s very easy to get lost. And guess what! Yes, you’ve guessed right. This Oh so easy place to get to…. Well….. was not exactly the, “oh so easy place to find. But, we persevered going down little alleys, turning this way and that, round in a complete circles passing some of the same places a few times, until…. Yes… after an exasperating half hour found it. A doorway in a wall? What? A Michelin restaurant which is just a doorway in a wall? Checking the address… yes, it’s here… and it’s the right name over the doorway as well. So as we say in England, in for a penny, in for a pound, and in we went.

It was…. Somehow wonderful; a true locally owned and run place. And looking round saw no frills at all. (Like Ryanair or Easyjet). Let me try and set the scene for you. Long thick wooden refectory tables; wooden stools at either end; long benches along the sides to sit at. No seat cushions; no table cloths; old marble tiles on the floor; the walls painted a sort of orangy sienna yellow; the high Byzantine arched ceilings also in the same colour, and lots of locals chattering away. All speaking Italian. YES… We’d arrived.

To sit back and watch how the locals do things in this particular restaurant is really wonderful. The first thing they do is get a large piece of white paper that nearly covers the tabletop where they’re going to sit. I watched a woman trying to make this piece of paper cover as much as she could, finally deciding, that is was not quite going to work, so settled for the best she could get. I’d like to say Voila…, but we’re in Italy so I’m going to say nothing! The paper table cloth is now set, and then she went to get the families cutlery; she’s obviously been here before. And knows the ropes as well!

So, this restaurant is owned by two brothers who took it over about twelve years ago and are making a really good go of running it. The one brother is what could loosely be called the Maître D. Well sort of…  He’s dressed in tight white leggings with a blue stripe running down each side. Like what we used to call a track suit, Oh so many years ago. A blue Italian football top crowns off the outfit. A big bald head and features that have a distinct and remarkable striking resemblance of one of the war time fascist dictators, Benito Mussolini. And, he speaks NO English at all. All good stuff! I’m NOT going to complain about the food now!

The place is busy. He saunters over to us, leans on the table with one huge hand and says something in Italian. And by our looks, knows we obviously don’t speak the language. So he uses the only English words he knows. “You goa taka anti-pasta,” pointing to a long refectory table groaning under the weight of food. Dyana decides to wait and see. A policy usually used by the most prudent.   The anti pasta is mostly local stuff I don’t recognise, and I also really don’t know what it is, or supposed to be either! So being slightly brave (Benito might be looking,) decide to try most things... only a little;… of course, just in case I don’t like it. And after sitting down and scrutinizing the plate try the first mouthful. Surprisingly, and to my utter amazement, it’s really nice so Dyana & I share all the ‘delicacies’. Well, on the strength of that, we decide to order wine! It’s a local brew, or should I say, a pressing of the latest vintage, Château 2014 plonk. And I’m girding my loins for the vinegar taste because the half carafe arrives in what looks like a big glass milk jug... And again… I’m really pleased with it. Quite drinkable. We’re beginning to like this place more and more as the wine from the milk jug goes down… surprising huh? Looking at the sparse menu we both order main courses which after a wait of about five minutes arrive. My meat and Dyana’s fish platter is also quite palatable. But what is even more interesting is that people from an adjacent table have obviously finished their food, pick up the dirty cutlery and crockery and actually walk it into the kitchen. Now this is a big first for me. The clients first setting then clearing their own tables! Walking back out through the old wooden swing doors, the diners then collect the ‘table cloth’ paper and place it neatly into the bin provided. I know what you must be thinking, “too much wine….. or ….. that’s impossible. Especially at a Michelin Restaurant!’ But I can truthfully tell you that is exactly what happened.

Suddenly there was the sound of an argument going on in the kitchen. Quite loud, and although we couldn’t understand it, knew that there was really something amiss. The voices got louder as all the diners began staring at the two wooden swing doors. Even Mussolini took a few trepid steps towards the door to peek through the small glass panels into the kitchen. His eyes got wider as he stepped backed three steps. Looking round at us with big wide open startled eyes. I knew something was about to happen and the door was kicked open from the other side as the, (and I use the word with some reservation) Chef stormed out in his ‘not so pristine apron.’ Said something in a loud voice to the attending diners. Something we did not understand; and stalked back in to the kitchen. Calm descended once more. Whatever the crisis was, it was now over.

We paid the bill and it was really inexpensive. I mean its local food and drink. So now as I write this, got back to thinking why. Not why did we go, but why was the total bill only 32.00 Euros; for both of us. And like a bolt from the blue it suddenly struck me. Yes…. Of course! I saw the Michelin certificate on the door…. But there was no star attached. However…. In out book, it was a fantastic experience and both Dyana & I think it deserves at least two stars for being a brilliant night out. The only thing I am really sorry about is that I did not have my camera with me to take any pictures.

I’ll tell you about Havana another time.