 'HI, I'm Tony," said mine host from behind his bar as we entered his cosy eaterie. Yes, Tony rather than Toni, and the accent was distinctly more London than Livorno. But the moustache from beneath which the greeting came could very much be that of an Italian ice cream seller. And although the biting wind sweeping in off Cardigan Bay reminded us that this was Talybont, the welcome was every bit as warm as one could expect in back-slapping Torino. Madam had been tempted to join me by the restaurant's excellent word-of-mouth references, it having been an established part of the dining out scene in the area since 1985. Not to mention, of course, the idea of a night out at the Daily Post's expense. However she did concede to harbouring often-held misconceptions about Italian cuisine, imagining herself wrestling with miles of spaghetti as if she was fighting off a giant squid intent on strangling her grandmother. As it happened, not a gram of pasta passed our lips all evening. Explaining that the Latin genes came from his mother, Tony Wadsworth took great delight in outlining the regional ethos of Italian cooking to us, stressing that pasta is a diet staple only in certain parts of the country. Indeed much of the evening, in between courses, was spent being regaled by tales of his colourful life history. At one stage he even produced a rickety fiddle to serenade us with some quite passable Hungarian gypsy music that even had Madam insisting on drawing on the experience of the violin lessons of her youth - any cats in the vicinity retreated to a safe distance as she showed how out of practice she was. It was unfortunate that it was the only music we heard all night. A little ethnic muzak piped in would have set a more intimate atmosphere on what was an understandably quiet Thursday night in November. Be that as it may, at least the candle at our window table flickered alluringly as we perused the interesting menu. We rather unadventurously chose the safe-as-houses Chianti as our tipple, and I picked my way through a dish of olives that Madam had turned her nose up at as we read. We eventually eschewed the printed menu completely, and opted for courses from the chalked-up specials board, nearly always a more exciting option anyhow. My Anti Pasta Della Casa turned out to be a mouth-watering mix of traditional Italian starters, including various salami, smoked ham, cheese, anchovies, assorted vegetables and black olives. Madam commented that it was just my cup of tea, and rarely has she been proven so right. | 
