Agreste Mar

A piece of fish, whatever came off the boat that morning, cooked without fuss and set down as though it were nothing special. That is the answer, and at Agreste Mar the question of what to order hardly deserved the agonising I gave it. I sat in the Hotel The Serras end of Port Vell turning the menu over, weighing this against that, until the waiter asked what I actually felt like eating. The sea, I said. Va bene. The kitchen leans toward the water without any of the waterfront's usual theatre, and the service is kind rather than rehearsed. It will not rearrange your year, and it does not try to. Once or twice in it, though, when you want to be looked after at a price that leaves the evening intact, it is exactly the right call. I left planning nothing, which felt correct.