HOW to make your fortune in catering: part one. Find a prominent location on a main high street. Put grand awnings outside with lots of greenery and decent wooden furniture. Create a dense interior packed with a horde of heavy tables and choke the walls with a million framed images.

Paint the place yellow, give it a Mediterranean theme and call it something snappy. Then wait for the rush.

Oh, and call the food tapas. Five magic little letters, each one a passport to success. Do this even though the food isn't Spanish, but is Croatian, Syrian, or in this case `Italian tapas', as the waiter described it. Main courses it seems are out, snacking is all the rage.

So, as a family of five, what did we have in an attempt to feel full and satisfied? Let's see, there was Spiedini di mozzarella e pomodoro, Calamare fitte, Salsiccia peperonata, Cannelloni al ragu, Spiedini di pollo, Gnocchi con pesto basilica and parmigiano, Pizzette di pepperoni, Agnello piccante, Taglierini vongole, Spiedini di mare, Stufato di pepperoni salsiccia e fagioli, Tiramisu, Torta di Limone....and so on.

There's no need to translate these dishes, think little pizzas, pasta, sausages, squid, little shish kebab affairs, little casseroles, mozzarella, tomatoes and what us Brits call Bolognese sauce. Prices across the board are between é2.25 and é4.75 per dish.

After ordering these we settled down for a long wait.

Presto

The place was packed to the gills at 6pm on a Saturday evening with punters of all different ages and sizes. But hey presto or even hey pesto, despite the number of dishes ordered and all those customers, the food started arriving in less then 10 minutes.

How was this possible? Had it been made earlier and microwaved? If not, those chefs move fast: we imagined a kitchen full of Super Marios in a blur of activity.

Unfortunately more haste meant less taste.

The food was generic Italian, add basil or thyme where possible, pour the balsamic on the salads and wash everything in olive oil. My notes read like a indictment: 'Taglierini vongole, dead pasta with clams so non-existent it was hard to spot them; Spiedini di mozzarella e pomodoro, a flabby, tasteless mess.

Only two of the savoury courses worked. The Gnocchi con pesto basilicato e parmigiano was enjoyable with the dumplings making for flavoursome little morsels lifted by the pesto and the cheese.

But the Stufato di pepperoni e fagioli was clearly the winner, a casserole with a rich sauce and extra texture and substance courtesy of the sausages and the beans.

The Tiramisu dessert wasn't bad either, if you feel you need to fit one more of those into your life.The wine was the most authentic thing about the Pesto experience. There are 12 whites and 14 reds, and a rose too. We had a 2005 Orvieto (é13.95), which was typically dry and fruity, but could have done without the dose of scattergun laughter.

On an adjacent table was a young man of generous proportions with an even larger laugh. Everything produced merriment, the smallest comment, `pass the parmesan please', would be greeted with a chortle of epic scale.

To begin with this was funny, then it was like someone running a stick down a railing, then it was like a sledgehammer to the brain, then it was the seventh level of hell. The laugh cut through everything, people were holding up diamonds to shape them, my children were putting their hands over their ears. In the end it got so bad I had to go over and ask him to stop.

I didn't really, of course, but it did make us wonder if anybody has been thrown out of a restaurant for excessive amusement as opposed to being rowdy.

Back to the review. Pesto is owned by Neil Gatt, who invented La Tasca before selling it on for a vast amount of money in 2001.

La Tasca

He shouldn't have bothered with Pesto, we don't need it. This is La Tasca in every single respect except one: Italian menu titles. It is a cut and pasta job pure and simple.

Sir John Betjeman, ex-poet laureate, once described Cornwall with its lovely coastal scenery and less lovely interior as a beautiful woman with no brains.

Pesto's the same, all faéade and busy good looks, with food that is lifeless and uninspiring. But unlike Cornwall which can't help its geology this is deliberately, purposely average nosh.

In an age where we are supposed to be rediscovering the value of good food, Pesto takes us backwards. It is a venue naked in its pursuit of profit.

Of course, all restaurants want to make decent money, but the best places feel as though there's a love of the craft of cooking too - and it doesn't matter if they are a chippy, a coffee shop, a bar, a pub or a fine dining experience.

At Pesto, that feeling is most definitely not on the menu.

Pesto, 115 Deansgate, Manchester, 0161 831 9930. Mon to Sat 9am to 10.30pm, Sun midday to 10.30pm.