Jan Moir Are You Ready To Order

Is this a restaurant I see before me? To be honest it looks more like a wrecked shack, complete with lashed-on bamboo roof and a clutch of peeling boats left for dead on the slipway that leads from the front door - hung with plastic curtains - down to the sea. Here there is no menu, only a waiter who will ask you to choose between the three starters and two or three pasta courses the kitchen has prepared, before bringing a tray with the day’s catch.

This might include some combination of John Dory, red mullet, swordfish, thick, ruby slices of incredible tuna, and the various types of bream that are plentiful in the seas that surround this wild and beautiful island. To the delight of the little Italian children dining with their parents, there are often live aragosta on the tray, too; their long antennae waving with irritation as they embark on the final stages of a journey that has taken them, like me, from ocean to boat to restaurant to pot.

For dessert, there will be simple things such as strawberries with lime sugar; a sliced pineapple; fresh apricots bobbing in a bowl of iced water; or perhaps a bacio pantesca, a local sweetmeat that features an unfeasible amount of cream sandwiched between two crisp, flower-shaped waffles. You eat it as you would a voluptuously iced bun – with your hands and with great care. If you are S, you will eat it a lot, especially alongside a glass of passito, the potent, raisiny dessert wine for which this island is famous. Then you will get your bill and you will choke on your espresso - especially if you are used to how restaurants charge in London (a practice which invariably puts the Light Brigade to shame) - at how reasonably and amiably priced it all is. For this is not a restaurant of great luxury and myriad choice, or of opulent saucing, garnish or service. Here at La Vela, you are far more likely to hear the croak of a passing seagull than the crack of a starched napkin. When dining outside, you even have to collect your own chair cushion from a pile stacked just by the door. Yet each time we walked down the path to this ramshackle place, catching the aroma of sweet prawns on charcoal, or of grilling fish on the sparkling air, I would think to myself; this is it, this is it for me.

Whichever way you look at it, La Vela is a long way from anywhere. It is situated near the tiny town of Scauri, on the south west coast of Pantelleria, the largest of the satellite islands that lurk off Sicily. It is unique both geographically and geologically; a hunk of black, volcanic rock hurled into the middle of the Straits of Sicily, nearer to North Africa than Italy. Its patchwork past includes occupations by, amongst others, the Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines and Arabs. ‘But we did not become like them, they all became Italian,’ one resident told me, although you can see living history in the soft mix of Arabic and Italian features on the faces of the people, and the local passion for couscous, which is served in many restaurants every Friday night.

Splendid isolation

It was the Arabs who seized on the natural advantage provided by fertile, well-drained volcanic soil and improved the production of wine and the growing of vegetables on the island. Today, I believe Pantelleria to be one of the last, great gourmet destinations in Europe. They don’t have much, but what they do have is of spectacular quality and the isolation of their position means that little is ruined or tainted by big business production or methods. The fruit and vegetables they grow on the island are of spectacular quality and flavour. The fish is fresh everyday, as are the tubs of ricotta sent down from the hills. The perfumed oregano is richer and deeper after being dried dried in the sun and even the famous capers – the Italian government has decreed them the best in the country – live up to the hype. As there are no beaches to speak of along the dramatic black coastline, mass tourism has passed Pantelleria by, a fact not unnoticed by the ultra rich Italians who have built discreet, palm-fringed estates on the south of the island. Giorgio Armani is Pantelleria’s most famous part-time resident, and he has introduced its charms to Sting, Madonna and Jodie Foster, who have all become fans. In high summer, Pantelleria has become super shabby chic, but at the moment it is peaceful and Tod’s-loafer free, with only the occasional electrical storm to shatter the balmy calm.

To get to La Vela, you turn off the narrow, asphalt road that runs around the island and drive past a haphazard signpost advertising the restaurant, plus local sailing schools, in faded, sunbaked letters. Along a lane fringed with wild fennel and scarlet poppies, the route turns towards the sea, bucking high above Scauri harbour before winding down towards a sparkling bay. Hundreds of years ago, terraces were cut into this curve of land, where vines and even olive trees are trained to grow low to the ground, to protect them from the fierce winds. Today, only a soft, salty breeze stirs the tops of the wild flowers and the sun beats down from a clear, sapphire sky, sharpening the appetite nicely. For the very best thing about La Vela is that, despite its rackety exterior, it has a chef who can really, really cook.

The antipasto caponata is stewed to a perfect consistency and has a lovely, smoky undertone. Delicious sweet peppers are stuffed with bread, local cheese, pine nuts and herbs. Spaghetti is served with chunks of swordfish flecked with mint, or with a gutsy, clean tasting sauce of octopus and tomato. Sarago ( a kind of bream) is chargrilled so precisely that the skin has just left the fish and the nutty, fresh flavour is first class. The chef – obviously a purist – doesn’t even ask how you would like your lobster cooked: it is boiled for the perfect time and comes with a little bowl of salsa pantesca; a potent brew of tomato, garlic, parsley and basil. Prawns are sweet and crunchy, served with nothing more than a chunk of lemon and some paper napkins. There is also a rather brusque local salad, the insalata pantesca, of tomatoes, capers, potatoes, olives, oregano and slivers of red onion which is dressed with oil, but never vinegar. I grew to love its grumpy appearance on the table. When he wasn’t stuffing his face with bacio, S became fond of the lemony, well-made Regaleali Tenuta white wine, which comes from Sicily rather than Pantelleria, and costs around £7. And in the end, we both loved La Vela - in all its rackety glory - and this deeply alluring island.

• La Vela, di Bonomo Pia Rosa, c/da Scauri Scalo, Pantelleria. Tel: 00 39 (0) 923 915097. Three course meal for two, including drinks and service, £50.