Although I lived for years in Dublin, there are still parts of it where I can get lost and confused. For example there's a maze of roads between Ranelagh and Rathmines, all of which seem to be narrow, twisting, and inclined to keep bringing you back either to your starting point or to somewhere you don't want to go, or into a cul de sac. I've been bewildered here more than once before, so this time I brought a street map. My wife and I were looking for Dunville Place, which is the name of a restaurant on Dunville Avenue. I'd found out about it by browsing through the 'Ad Lib' web site on the Internet, which usefully lists a huge selection of Irish restaurants with their details.

My wife, maps and navigation are three words that I wouldn't normally associate. There's an element of danger in handing her a map to read - there's always a risk that it'll end in a fiery argument as in: 'You told me to turn left.' 'I didn't mean next left.' 'Well why didn't you say so?' 'If you're going to be like that, read your own map' which is then followed by a lingering obmutescence. Tiny print on yellow paper isn't easy to read by a car's interior light, I'll give you that. We were getting closer to Ranelagh and no closer to knowing where specifically we ought to be going. 'What we need,' said Susie, 'is a magnifying glass.' With all the panache of a conjuror pulling a rabbit from a hat, I silently handed her my trusty Swiss army pen-knife, which by chance happened to be in the car, with the magnifying glass at the ready. Talk about serendipity. We got there with no wrong turnings or cross words, which I felt had to be a good portent for the meal ahead.

From outside, Dunville Place looks understated and quietly elegant. It's in a terrace of Edwardian buildings and the dining room runs right through to the back where it ends in a small, tented conservatory. I'd guess that beyond that there's a courtyard that probably comes into its own during the sunnier months. We both thought that it had the look of one of the smarter out-of-town London restaurants. A sponged two-tone paint effect on the walls, ochre and terracotta, long benches along the wall just inside the door, plain wooden tables and wooden chairs with a hint of soft padding and stone floors. Simple, plain, but elegant. It appeared to be filled with young professionals and is the closest thing I've found to suburban chic.

While Susie was getting enthusiastic over the menu I was reading the wine list. I thought it a little out of balance - that's to say there were as many cheap wines as there were expensive ones, but I'm sure that most diners are inclined to go for the ones in the middle of the range. If you want to spend between £15 and £20 here, there's only about eight wines to choose from, and if you've already decided on a colour then you're down to four. A white from New Zealand caught my eye, Giesen's Canterbury Riesling 1996 at £17.50. It turned out to be a gloriously old-fashioned style of wine: residual sweetness balanced with citrous acidity. That hint of sweetness - what the Italians call 'amabile' - was once very much in style. We've developed a taste for much drier wines, but it made a nice change to revert to a style that's very hard to find nowadays. It was perhaps a little on the sweet side for accompanying a meal, but it was wonderfully complex and long on the palate.

For starters Susie ordered the sea-food risotto and I had the crostini with mozzarella. I want to describe these two dishes in detail, because they were both remarkable in their own way. Susie's risotto was probably one of the finest I've ever tasted, and here's why: there were no short cuts taken in its preparation. Arborio rice cooked in a real stock that wasn't from a packet; real Parmesan and not some cheaper substitute like grana; an excellent extra virgin olive oil and not a cheaper oil; flat-leaf parsley, and finally beautifully cooked sea-food to accompany the rice. The same attention to detail went into my essentially very simple starter. Again, the oil in the salad dressing was a good one and the mozzarella was buffalo mozzarella, the real McCoy - not some horrid, flaccid cheese pretending to be a mozzarella. For me this is what makes the difference between really good food and the competent but mediocre. Making the effort to source the right ingredients and then cooking them as they should be cooked is what it's about.

For main courses Susie had the Moroccan chicken brochettes, and I had the rack of lamb crusted with herbs. Both of these were good, but nothing would have had an easy time following the starters. Susie's chicken was tender, interlaced on the brochette with apricot wrapped in bacon and with an almost tandoori flavour. My lamb was pink and succulent, but the breadcrumbs with which the rack was crusted seemed more of a decoration than a useful adjunct. If this seems as though I'm being more pernickety than usual, it's because I sense that there's the makings of a great chef in the kitchen here. This is a kitchen that takes itself seriously, and good food deserves serious appraisal. I wouldn't be surprised if this restaurant begins to get some heavyweight awards, but there may need to be some re-working of the menu before it does.

We ordered a dessert between us, since Susie's appetite - never as Gargantuan as mine - was now defeated. A chocolate truffle won ton, a deep-fried parcel, looked intriguing and I had to try it. It's an innovative idea and it worked brilliantly - another dish to rank high with the starters. Before the dessert came I'd asked for the wine list to see did they sell dessert wine by the glass. They don't, only half bottles of the Californian Elysium. Our waiter, who had looked after us so well all evening said 'Leave it with me.' Moments later he was back with a glass of Beaumes de Venise - a nice touch.

A passable espresso finished a good meal that cost £67.20 with no service charge added. I look forward to going back to Dunville Place; I have a feeling this is a restaurant that we're going to hear a lot more about.