When dining out, few experiences leave a more unpleasant taste in the mouth than being made to feel like an inconvenience. When I book The Flaming Kilt, I�m told that a Christening party will also be present that day, but confirm the reservation anyway.

282 High Street, Kirkcaldy, 01592 200133
Style: Ultra-local bar and restaurant<<br> Food: Everything grilled
Price: Three-course Sunday lunch, £15.95
Wheelchair access: Yes

When dining out, few experiences leave a more unpleasant taste in the mouth than being made to feel like an inconvenience. When I book The Flaming Kilt, I'm told that a Christening party will also be present that day, but confirm the reservation anyway.

Arriving an hour after opening on a depressing, slate grey Sunday afternoon, I'm slightly taken aback that we have to step over the cleaner's mop and bucket as she blithely continues about her business. And I'm totally unprepared for the staggering dearth of hospitality that we're about to be shown.

A little bread would be nice in the 45 minutes between our drinks being served and our food order being taken, a solitary roll, perhaps, from the baskets delivered to the tiny guest of honour's table opposite. But what really makes my blood boil, in that masochistic manner whereby you continue holding your tongue because you're perversely intrigued to see just how little your custom means to your hosts, is that no-one among the over-stretched staff apologises or even ventures the lie that they might rush to take our order shortly.

I have sympathy for any waiter run off their feet. But this Christening party isn't even that big a gathering. What sort of graceless automaton swishes back and forth with others' dishes for the better part of an hour but doesn't once make eye contact or even shrug apologetically? I'd rather be fobbed off with all the fawning insincerity I've got coming to me.

Part of the problem may lie with the two-tiered kitchen system, which sees staff conveying dishes but also equipment between downstairs preparation and the grill-dominated, open galley on the ground floor. From the restaurant's entrance, a smart, modern bar with a piano leads through to a more conventional dining area, the mauve walls dotted with photographs of quintessentially Scottish scenes that are just the right side of twee, while a raised level at the back affords panoramic views of the estuary.

The Flaming Kilt is part of the Gastro Taverns group, which supports the local economy by sourcing as much produce as possible from within a 40-mile radius of the restaurant.

Typically, they fire up the grill for such prestigious meats as venison, supplied by Fletchers of Auchermuchty, or water buffalo from the Puddledub company in Auchtertool. But today, we're confined to a concise, three-options-per-course lunch menu. A red pepper hummus with chargrilled pitta bread is a somewhat nondescript appetiser but a prawn cocktail in a sizeable wine glass is well-made and sweet enough to qualify as dessert.

The grill-everything approach and the restaurant's standing is greatly enhanced by its mains. A deliciously fatty cut of pork belly is tender in a cider jus, while a gently grilled lamb steak is well worth savouring in its piquantly minty gravy. Even now though, we have to send a dish of potatoes back as several are undercooked.

Dessert arrives unbidden as a selection of fruit tarts, sponge cake and mousse on a platter for two, allowing you to pick and mix. Asking for coffee is our final mistake, as it stretches the meal out to a dispiriting two and a half hours and we're heartily glad when it's eventually time to leave.

While it's impossible to escape the impression that we've not encountered The Flaming Kilt at anything like its best, this remains one of the worst dining experiences I've ever had. I sincerely hope the baby enjoyed it better.