If I were a troglodyte I'm sure I'd view my home as a haven: as a refuge from bad weather, from sabre-toothed tigers, and from the aggressions of other tribes. There's something cosy about a dry cave: it's protective and womb-like - a place where you can hide from nature's nastier denizens in a world that threatens your survival. To stretch this analogy a little more, I'll tell you that 'La Cave' is aptly named.

I must have walked past its entrance more times than I can count and never noticed the little door with the small sign above it. It's funny how these things happen: a couple of weeks ago I was walking absent-mindedly along Anne Street when someone stopped me and said, 'Hey, Paolo, why haven't you ever reviewed there?' He pointed to the doorway and I stared at it. 'Probably because I've never noticed it,' I replied lamely. A week later Gayle Killalea asked me to dinner there. Coincidence? You be the judge.

Through this narrow door there's a small passageway leading to a set of narrow steps going down into the basement, which is where 'La Cave' is. I'm not a big man, but the proportions here made me feel a little like Alice trying to squeeze into Bill the lizard's house. At the bottom you find yourself in a small room which is divided into more or less two equal halves; the front part has the counter and bar stools and the back part has the dining tables. The lighting is kindly, there's a low ceiling adding to its lair-like feel, there's deep red around the walls and dark wood, all of which makes you feel ensconced.

We arrived early, so only a couple of the eight or so tables were taken, but within a hour the tables were all full and so was the area around the bar. This is specifically a wine bar - that's how it describes itself - not a restaurant, so it comes as no surprise to find an extraordinary wine list and a somewhat simpler menu. The wine list runs to several pages and lists over 200 wines, the vast majority of these are in the affordable price range and there are more expensive wines for those seeking treats. The first page lists the wines by the glass, and apart from the usual fare you can pick from a half dozen or so different Kirs, a Sauternes and a Muscat. It follows with a dozen Champagnes and then goes on to the listing proper which begins with four house wines; 2 red and 2 white at £12.50 and £11, all of which can be had by halves and by the glass. Next there's lots of half-bottles, plenty of Rhones, including a 1994 Hermitage at £80; Petits Chateaus from the Bordeaux; Beaujolais and Burgundy, which includes a 1983 Chassagne Montrachet at £80 as well as all the old favourites like Gevrey Chambertin, Nuits St Georges and Volnay. White Burgundies start with a Macon Lugny at £15 and run up to a Puligny Montrachet 1er Cru. The French listings end with 6 Alsace wines and an assortment from SW France. So far so good.

But where this list really impressed me was in the 'World Wine' selection, which is alphabetical, and starts with America, Austria and Argentina. But get this, Canada makes an entry with an Inniskillen 1994 - a Chardonnay from the Niagara peninsula. Finding Canada on a wine list is as unexpected an event as finding a taxi in Dublin on a Saturday night. Chile, Greece and Hungary come next, then Italy with all the usuals, the Lebanese Musar 1993, Mexico - another surprise - Portugal, Romania, Spain and South Africa. Quite a global oenological tour. I could have studied this list for hours and it may have seemed to my companion as though I had done just that. She took it from me and ordered a bottle of Meerlust Rubicon 1994 from Stellenbosch in South Africa, which happens to be one of my favourite wines. We also ordered plenty of water, since we were both being determinedly moderate.

The menu, as I said, isn't quite so awe-inspiring as the wine list, but it does have some rather nice touches. There's a table d'hote for £19.50, which is what I chose from, and there's an a la carte which includes all the table d'hote dishes plus a few more. There's also a short listing for light dishes, which consist of a plate of various cheeses or a plate of charcuterie or a plate of smoked salmon slices. These are all between £6 and £7, so if you weren't very hungry and wanted a snack and a glass of wine, this would be where to look.

The table d'hote included things like the perennial baked goats cheese, steamed mussels, pate de campagne and warm salad of chicken livers as starters and then supreme of chicken, fillet of salmon, rack of lamb, entrecote of beef and seven vegetables cous-cous as main courses. I peeked ahead and saw that chocolate mousse, tart tatin, creme brulee, ice cream and chocolate sauce, lemon sorbet and French cheeses finished the menu. Gayle had the crab salad with gruyere in a scallop shell to start and I had a bowl of steamed mussels, and then she followed her starter with the seven vegetable cous-cous while I chose the entrecote of beef with a Bearnaise sauce.

Gayle let me taste her crab salad, which worked very well - just the right amount of cheese not to unbalance the dish - and I enjoyed my mussels. The Algerians may well enjoy seven vegetable cous-cous and so did Gayle, but it wasn't much to my taste. My entrecote was a nice piece of beef, but the Bearnaise sauce was somewhat inexpert and I scraped most of it off. Still, we had the lovely Meerlust to accompany the food, but somehow it had nearly all gone. 'I can fix that,' said Gayle and ordered the Chateau Musar 1993, which to my surprise was still in stock. This fine wine did us instead of a dessert.

It's impossible to give you a flavour of this place without describing the people who go there. There's an extraordinary mix of late-night people here - artists, writers, drunks, tourists and well, reviewers. It has the kind of feel that you get in a great cosmopolitan cafe - smoke, music and plenty of conversation. I liked it just fine and thanks, Gayle, for taking me there.