I got a well-deserved reprimand this week from Sarah Dove, one of my sisters-in-law. She pointed out very clearly that I've been doing restaurant reviews for quite a while now and so how come I still hadn't taken her? She followed this with the observation that Italians were supposed to be familyorientated, weren't they? I had to admit, shamefaced, that she was right. 'Okay,' I said, 'where do you want to eat?' 'There's a Spanish restaurant not far from our house, and you haven't reviewed it yet, so I'll book a table there.'

Apart from the fact that she was right and it was about time we reviewed a restaurant together, the idea of a Spanish restaurant was one that appealed to me. If I add up all the months I've spent in Spain over the years it comes to well over two years, which is a fair chunk out of anyone's life. I love the country, the language and the people. And, like Proust's madelaines, there's something about the taste of food that can bring back memories and half-forgotten feelings more effectively than photographs can. It would give me a chance to relive some of those long-gone days of youth and carefree summer nights.

I arranged to meet Sarah before eight o'clock to give us time to go for a drink in Goggins in Monkstown, which is underneath Valparaiso, the restaurant that we were going to. Change was definitely in the air, since much of Goggin's has been remodelled, new white blockwork giving the back part of the bar the air of a country GAA drinking hall. While we were having our aperitifs, Sarah told me that Valparaiso had just been revamped as well and had only very recently reopened, so she was looking forward to seeing the changes.

We went upstairs to the restaurant on time for our 8.30 booking and found a very modern-looking room. 'It's completely changed,' said Sarah, who knew it in its previous incarnation. It's an 'L' shaped room and there's a lot of wood in evidence; on the floor, the tables and the chairs. It has that clean-cut hard-edged feel that so many newly decorated restaurants are going for - a bright, sharp look that puts more emphasis on design than comfort. I mention this because the chairs are a good example of what I mean - pressed wood laminate that is pretty to look at and not amazingly comfortable to sit upon. We sat at a corner table and got the menus and wine list to read.

The first thing that the menus told us was that Valparaiso is no longer a Spanish restaurant. In it's new incarnation it's a Mediterranean restaurant, with dishes from all around the basin of Mare Nostrum; the only remnant of its past life being a paella. The starters were varied with a distinctly Italian flavour, bruschetta and crostini, a canneloni and polenta, these last two being what we chose. They are priced in and around £5, which is increasingly standard now for a starter. Main courses are priced between £12 and £16 and Sarah chose the Guinea fowl and I picked the paella, since I was determined that I ought to experience something Spanish. Since Sarah wasn't drinking alcohol I was limited to half bottles, and there were two on the list. One was out of stock, so I had a half bottle of white wine to myself, while we shared a bottle of mineral water. Sarah was looking across the restaurant to where a large table had been set up for a party yet to arrive. Behind the table a big mirror which ran the length of the wall. 'See that mirror?' she asked, 'I'll bet you no woman is going to sit opposite it.' 'Why not?' I asked, perhaps a little disingenuously. 'Because a big mirror like that makes a woman self-concious; she'd be checking her hair and make-up continually in that mirror despite herself.'

Our starters arrived and looked very well on the plate. Sarah's deep-fried canneloni surprised me. I've long held the view that unusual dishes are unusual for the very good reason that they're not very good, and for the most part I find myself being proved right more often than not. But this time I was surprised to find an unusual dish that worked and worked well. Crispy canneloni served in the modern way - upright with a cut on the diagonal - created a dish I'd order again. My polenta was good, but solid peasant dishes like this are not meant to be rarified and full of finesse; belly-filling was ever their main aspiration.

The main courses arrived and Sarah's Guinea fowl covered a large plate. This was no girlie portion and neither was my paella, which arrived on a hot cast-iron flat so I could spoon what I wanted onto my plate. Fat prawns, plump mussels, chicken pieces, saffron rice and lots of it. How the memories came flooding back of paella on a beach late at night with sand between the toes, when the reveries were interrupted by the arrival of the large party. 'Watch this,' said Sarah, so we did. First to arrive were three girls who took in the table quickly and then sat with their backs to mirror before anyone could suggest a boy-girl boy-girl placement. 'See?' said Sarah smugly. I had to admit she was right, and if anyone ever asks me to design a restaurant interior it's something I'll bear in mind. The guinea fowl proved to be too much for Sarah, so she asked the waitress for a doggy bag into which most of the bird went, destined for my brother-in-law. I got a fair way into my paella before admitting defeat. If you plan to try this dish, I suggest you arrive in Valparaiso very, very hungry.

We both had a dessert, Sarah chosing a berry pudding, the sort of tart-tasting thing I tend to avoid, and I chose a chocolately dessert which suited me well. We finished with a cappucino for Sarah and an espresso for me. The bill came to £61.40, which for a meal with a half-bottle of wine at £8.95 is a more than I would have expected, but it was a competent meal and was served with efficiency and friendliness. I would have preferred a softer chair to sit on, but all in all I rather liked Valparaiso. In a way it's a pity we didn't go before the change, since now I've lost my chance to taste la cocina espanola in it's pure form.