DIVINO takes its wine superbly seriously. Every wall and recess is stacked with its rich selection of mainly Italian bottles. You’ll drink them at their best here because Divino has a properly professional piece of kit, the "Enomatic" wine dispenser, which means that unlike your typical pub or wine bar where choosing a glass of wine is Russian Roulette, once a bottle is opened here it is protected from oxidation.

You can choose from no fewer than 32 wines by the glass, take your pick of 175, 125, or even 25 ml glasses, and flights of four wines that are set down before you on printed mats with the name, region, grape variety, and alcohol content. Divino’s wine service is all very educational, not to mention pleasurable. It rewards adventure and experimentation.

Set slightly apart from the bar in the restaurant proper, swanky with white linen and quietly oozing expensiveness, a plump mortadella sits on a central table, exuding the mouthwatering umami aroma of an Italian gastronomia. It seems to promise straightforward, classic Italian food not the overwrought, fussy, and dare I say it, rather Anglified, distinctly old-fashioned fine dining dishes that crowd the menu.

For instance, grey mullet, one of the dullest, cheapest fish, comes with braised baby gem, asparagus, carrot puree and a fish vellouté [sic]. What a ragbag, and £22 to boot. Scallops roasted in Colonnata lardo, now there’s a sound idea, but hold the celeriac mousse, crispy polenta, ginger and spring onion salad with Coppa and fish sauce. Potato and Jerusalem artichoke soup? Fine. Teamed up with coffee flavoured croutons and anchovies? Not fine.

Up first, presented on a teaspoon balanced on a silly black slate, come fried, breadcrumbed haggis balls with yellow carrot purée. Tourists probably like this dated gimmick. So I concentrate on the bread basket – small brioche-style rolls, breadsticks that are more rustic and artisan than usual, shards of Sardinian pane carasau, and squidgy focaccia with an anarchic sprawl only barely contained by its bubbly crust – that come with top-notch extra virgin olive oil.

It was a mistake to choose the sarde beccafico, the Sicilian classic where fresh sardines are stuffed with breadcrumbs, pine nuts, herbs, raisins, and baked with bay leaves. These fish are just not up to the job: they taste old and repellently oily, and their filling is a grey mush. The gratuitous addition of an odd tomato sauce that tastes as though lemon and sugar has been added only makes matters worse.

Tortellini in brodo, that great Italian classic, has also been fussed over to its detriment. It should be a simple dish. Everything comes down to the expertise in making the filled pasta, and a patiently made broth. The small tortellini are fine – al dente pasta with a satisfying meaty, cheesy filling – but there are only five of them in a watery, over-peppered consommé padded out with broccoli florets.

I’m wishing again that the chef would stop mucking around with time-honoured recipes when I dip my fork into an otherwise sound risotto made from proper Carnaroli rice, Pecorino Romano, guanciale (cured pork cheek) and black pepper. It’s marred by bits of garlic that are too close to raw for comfort. And there are more clunky slivers of garlic in the winey seafood sauce that coats squid ink ravioli stuffed with salt cod that’s gluey – too long in the food processor, perhaps? Where is the bottarga (Sardinian dried tuna roe) mentioned on the menu? There’s no sign of it. "Caponata Scozzese", described as "Scottish root vegetables cooked the Sicilian way" is a jarringly sweet beetroot mess. Stick to the Sicilian recipe. It’s a nice idea to use more local vegetables, but on this evidence, it doesn’t work.

We fall enthusiastically on the carob crème bruleè, which cleverly teams up the treacle-toned darkness of carob with a clean mandarin reduction. Not so the chocolate Zuppa Inglese, which is even worse than a supermarket trifle, layers with murky, indistinct flavours – sponge, custard, more sponge, chocolate – that have a stale biscuit tin taste, all laced with cherry liqueur.

Pricy and primped, Divino’s cucina is too precious for its own good.