Score: 15/20

I AM TRYING to make a dinner reservation for Bella Vedere. It's proving a struggle. When the sun goes down, I have been told on more than one occasion, the true spirit of this little Yarra Valley restaurant/ produce store/bakery comes up, emerging mist-like from the nearby rows of vines to infuse the occasion with a unique dinner party spirit.

It sounds like fun.

We get through some perfunctory details on the phone before nominating the proposed date. "Sorry, we only do dinner Fridays and Saturdays," says the reservationist.

Fair enough, then; two people for dinner the following night, Friday; name (false, of course) contact details, blah blah blah. It will involve local accommodation, foisting the children on to friends; there will be logistical hoops.

And having made the arrangements, the gent on the phone says, by way of warning, that "Friday night's dinner doesn't always go ahead. Depends on demand a bit. Just letting you know that we may cancel dinner that night, but we'd give you plenty of warning," or, as the great Sir Les Patterson is fond of saying, words to that effect, ladies and gentlemen.

"We can guarantee you the Saturday night - the following night - will go ahead if you'd prefer to book for that."

For a maze of reasons, I would not.

I extract the promise of an early warning system and, well, hope for the best. Giving this restaurant, attached to Badger's Brook winery at Coldstream, its best shot is proving a challenge. But as we eventually discover, when we get there (on the Friday night, and yes, they ring to confirm on the Wednesday prior) little about the night meets with the norms of a restaurant visit in a conventional sense.

Some of the drama - detracting from the meal in no way whatsoever - is an aberration.

We nip out from Healesville, having been told to be there by 7.45pm for an 8pm start. It's not an a la carte situation; it's a chef's menu, set price, take it or leave it. And since the chef is Gary Cooper - something of an elder statesman of gastronomy in the region - this would seem to be a case of well-placed trust. Cooper and his mate, Tim Sawyer, started the place about four years ago to get away from haute cuisine and back to basics, with an organic emphasis and real contact with the customers.

Except that when we arrive, the chef's not there. It has been one of those weeks.

Back at work only the day before, after three weeks off with third-degree burns to his right arm and wrist from cooking oil, everything was supposed to be back on track. Except that the morning of our visit, the chef's very pregnant wife has emerged from the bath, we're told by the host, and decided her contractions have not only begun but reached their apotheosis.

Young Cooper had decided on an unplanned home birth with father adding midwifery to his hefty credentials as a chef. We share our best wishes and sit down to a much-needed drink.

We take in the restaurant, its simple, pleasant country cottage interiors - timber floors and chunky furniture, oodles of natural light (with idyllic requisite vineyard views) and muted colours - largely unchanged since a visit several years ago for lunch. At night you get a GT stripe of linen down the table's centre.

And then, around 8.15pm, we are called to attention by the maitre d' (owner) who announces the day's events rather theatrically before introducing Cooper's sous chef, who in turn introduces her team, and then the day's menu. If you were driving down the road and stumbled upon the restaurant at that moment, you may well have thought it a mild-mannered 40th birthday party.

In fact, in a world where so many restaurants struggle vainly to differentiate themselves from the flock, the whole - unconventional - exercise is a welcome relief. And show me a food lover who doesn't approve of the whole "trust me, you don't need to worry about a thing" approach.

Bella Vedere is certainly worthy of that trust.

For $65 per head, you get a five-course procession of (mostly) excellent, simple food that gels perfectly with the kind of farmhouse kitchen environment of the place. It's neither Italian nor French; the style seems to follow the produce available, and at least some of it is local.

Tonight it starts with a bowl of Ligurian olives and almond kernels warmed with a little olive oil and lemon rind, a dish of unsalted butter, and another bowl filled with thick sliced, house-baked sourdough of considerable style. They go rather well with Ella Fitzgerald and a local Hargreaves beer.

Next is a broad-rimmed bowl of excellent soup made from Jerusalem artichokes and chestnuts, garnished with sweet/savoury fried-artichoke wafers.

Then, a small piece of pan-seared yellowfin tuna; it's sent out on a little raft of olive-oil and black olive mashed potato and an accompanying "bloody Mary salsa" made with tomato, red onion, the tiniest capers, cucumber, celery and a dash of vodka. Clean and delicious.

After a sensible wait, another fish dish arrives: two boned and grilled sardines with a superb, creamy mild aioli and a supporting salad of shredded radicchio, chickpeas, pine nuts, thyme and parsley - all dressed nicely - with a couple of roasted shallots for good measure. They come with a separate plate of lovely, crisp and charry wafers of sourdough, still hot from the grill, dressed with olive oil.

There is no quibble about the clean, pure flavour of a red wine-braised beef dish; lots of fresh thyme, root vegetables and long cooking had given the dish a fine balance between depth and concentration, and the accompanying mashed celeriac and puff pastry disc flatter the stew. But the meat had cooked long enough as to have broken down almost completely, and a bowl rather than a plate might have helped concentrate the heat and prevent vapours from dissipating.

I think things were all running a little late on the night.

We finish with a baked pudding of ginger and maple, crowned with a star anise ice-cream and a single marron glacee - a sugar-poached and glazed chestnut. It's terrific but being a flour and egg-based pud, a little out of kilter with the balance of the meal. We can't finish them. Our waiter, who shares his sense of the theatrical with the maitre d', removes the plates with a flourish and a Macleans smile. Makes a nice change from Fitzroy musos waiting for a recording contract.

And although we can't finish the puddings, it doesn't detract from what is a delightful, if unconventional experience. Vive le difference.

Score: 1-9: Unacceptable. 10-11: Just OK, some shortcomings. 12: Fair. 13: Getting there. 14: Recommended. 15: Good. 16: Really good. 17: Truly excellent. 18: Outstanding. 19-20: Approaching perfection, Victoria's best.