We arrived at an almost empty Nuraghe, but it was nearly full when we left and, more surprisingly, bouncy throughout the evening with Italian chatter from the engaging staff.
On the menu, specialities such as curulgiones (pecorino- and potato-stuffed ravioli) meet crowd-pleasing puds (zabaglione, cassata) and 12-inch pizzas, generously topped but inconsistent in execution.
Chef Oscar refused to serve our first pizza because it was burnt, then was over-cautious with the replacement (crisp cornicione, soggy centre) but still served a third burnt dry. And why the barely cooked little tomatoes on top?
The version with bottarga was a subtle balance of sweet passata and salty cured mullet roe, but the margherita was explosively cheesy with sprinkled parmesan on top of the mozzarella and rough-handed scatter of basil leaves.
A superb waft from a passing dish of venison ravioli suggested we should ski off-pizza when we return.