It was raining heavily as I walked Leeson Street with my guest for the evening. He was the director, the actor and poet, Alan Stanford. Alan is a big man, more than a head taller than me, and I walked beside him holding my umbrella aloft rather like the Statue of Liberty holds a torch, trying to keep it above his head. We must have looked an unlikely pair to an impartial observer.

We were on our way to Morels in Leeson Street, which I've been urged to visit by several friends. It's in the basement of Stephen's Hall and although basements are not my favourite place to be, this room is spacious, airy and well lit. We sat at a table laid with linen and looked about us. I liked the decor a lot - a high ceiling, a yellow ochre paint-effect on the walls, two rather imposing pillars that dominate the dining room, well-spaced tables and pleasingly upholstered benches and chairs. Not having yet looked at the menu I decided that this was a restaurant where the food would be in the £25 a head bracket. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that Morel's is reasonably priced given the surroundings. Starters ranged from £4-£5, main courses from £13 to £15 and there is a wide array of choices. After long, foodie-type deliberations during which we worked our way through a tray of three different types of breads - all delicious - Alan settled on the Baked Goat's Cheese with ricotta, rocket and spinach salad, while I chose the Caesar Salad for starters.

It's surprising how much Alan and I have in common: we were both born in the same year, we are both only children, both of us chose to live in Ireland and have Irish wives, and both of us have a love of theatre, food and wine. Alan is also a very good cook. I'm coming to the conclusion that there's a correlation here: people who love food tend to become good at cooking it. We studied the wine list with the enthusiasm of the fanatics we are. The wine list is fairly priced, but I couldn't see anything that really took my interest. It starts with a couple of pages of what are described as 'fine wines', which are medium-priced wines from the New and Old World. But the good part is that after the fine wine listing, comes a page of £15 wines which includes a Petit Chablis, and then a listing of £10 wines - eight red and eight white. Morels have made a real effort to make their wines accessible, and even on the £10 list there are some very acceptable wines. We eventually settled on the Amarone, which is a big, strong wine from near Verona and high in alcohol - sometimes up to 16 degrees. At £22 it was reasonably priced for a wine of this quality. When we tasted it, it was fruity and full, and with fifteen degrees of alcohol, punchy enough.

Our starters arrived and looked very good on the plate. Morels use big plates which I like; it gives a sense of generosity. Alan's goat cheese came in a little filo pastry parcel and tasted very good. My Caesar salad had all the right ingredients, but I have a personal preference for not having whole salad leaves on my plate, I prefer them cut up. Alan assured me that what I had on my plate was done the French way.

As the meal went by we both became gradually aware of how good the service was. There always seemed to be someone there when you needed them. It was friendly, efficient and, like the decor, better than the price would lead you to suspect. Alan and I are both smokers, and people at many of the tables around us were too, but Morels have another big plus: they have excellent air conditioning, which kept the air clean and clear.

Our main courses arrived and Alan, who had chosen Barbary Duck, had a beautifully presented plate of fanned, sliced breast. It was pink and succulent, but he found it oddly lacking in flavour. I tasted it and agreed. The only answer that we could come up with was that as a farmed duck it would have had a lot less flavour than a wild one. I'd chosen a steak and it was exactly like a steak you'd get in a French restaurant: thin, lightly cooked and really well flavoured. For deserts Alan had chosen the Plum Creme Brulee, while I'd picked the Chocolate Tart with Orange Sorbet. I don't often enthuse over puddings, but both of these were first class. I'd been doubtful about the idea of a plum creme brulee, but it worked very well. It had a subtle taste of plums and was large, well-made, with a properly crisp top. My tart was made with good, dark chocolate and the sorbet was sharp and tangy.

We'd been sipping our wine slowly and still had some left. When we poured our last two glasses we made an interesting discovery. The Amarone, a proverbially big and chunky wine, had died in the bottle. The bouquet was gone and the flavour had almost totally disappeared. I've come across this before with really old clarets, but never with so young a wine. Although a 1994 vintage, it was as though it had aged fifty years while being open at the table.

We finished our meal with a couple of good Armagnacs and two espressos. There is something very satisfying about a good meal in pleasant surroundings that is faultlessly served. To quote Alan: 'If all those things are in place, you don't worry about the price.' The bill for the two of us came to £76.50 which I felt was good value for what we'd had.

As we prepared to leave the comfort of the restaurant for the wild wind and rain outside a dreadful discovery was made. Some churlish, ill-nurtured varlet had stolen my umbrella. May a thousand downpours of leviathan proportions cascade unrelentingly on their uncovered head. This wasn't the first time that something has disappeared from a restaurant while I was dining, but it was the first time that I got more than a shrug and 'it's not our responsibility': not only apologies, but an umbrella for each of us was produced. That's the kind of attention to customer care that makes the difference between the mediocre and the good.