What kind of restaurant would you go to if your guest had studied Chinese and Japanese culture at university? No, no, don't tell me, I'll tell you. It's not so hard really; what about a Chinese restaurant with a Japanese name? Inspired, or what? My friend and neighbour Isabella Weibrecht was my guest, and she pointed to the name 'Zen' over the front door as we approached the restaurant, after spending a quarter of an hour or so trying to park the car. ''Zen' is a Japanese word. It's Ch'an in Chinese; it means religious meditation.' Another little snippet to add to my collection of abstruse facts. We walked in the door and there was a counter where Isabella found someone behind it and said, 'I've got a reservation in the name of 'Toast' for two.' 'Why toast?' I whispered, as an efficient-looking man looked through the reservations, looking for toast. 'Because no one can spell Weibrecht. It's just a whole lot easier.'

I knew before we went that 'Zen' was in a converted church, but from the outside it looks like a suburban house. Even where we were giving our nom de plume there was nothing churchy about it. But then, after Ms. Toast had been found in the reservations book, we were shown through another door and there it was; a high-ceilinged room with beams and king posts, very church-like, with a big flower display in the middle which visually broke up the room a little. The walls were hung with Chinese prints, some of which were not too easy to interpret. We sat at a table underneath a print of two girls playing Go-Moku, but neither of us could work out what the flying one next to it was about.

I thought that knowing the Chinese for 'Zen' was pretty impressive , but after we'd sat down at our table I was staring at a sign on the far wall that consisted of four Chinese pictograms and was wondering what it meant. 'The last two mean 'house' and 'food', so I assume that means restaurant,' said Isabella. 'so it probably says Zen Restaurant.' We checked with a waiter and she was right. Given this kind of knowledge base, I put the ordering of my food entirely in her hands.

The menu, as in most Chinese restaurants, is long. It begins, as many others do, with four set-price dinners for two or more people, all around the £20 mark, offering a starter, an intermediary course, a main course and then dessert and coffee. Otherwise, if that doesn't appeal, you get to turn page after page of a la carte - long listings of chicken dishes, duck dishes, beef dishes, pork dishes, lamb dishes and seafood. 'We need some dumplings,' said the Sinologist, 'so let's start with fried dumplings for me and some wontons for you, then you'll have the sizzling lamb and I'll have the King prawns with the sweet and sour.' 'Okay, then; if you say so,' I said decisively.

Maybe that sounds a bit wimpy - a bit like a big girl's blouse - but thankfully the wine list gave me a chance to be masterful. She left that choice to me, saying only 'Pick a red one.' It's a reasonably length; there are plenty of wines in the lower reaches and plenty in upper, but it's a little thin on the middle ground. Since red wine was my instruction, after a little thought I chose an old favourite, the Marques de Riscal Reserva, which was listed at £21.50, somewhat higher than usual. With that done and mineral water ordered we awaited the food.

One thing I've noticed in Chinese restaurants over the years is that the Irish habit of trying to establish a rapport with your waiter or waitress is mostly a waste of time. Whatever witty or wry bons mots you come up with are ignored, either through language difficulties or because deep down the Chinese believe that we are total barbarians with only a millennium or so of civilisation behind us, as opposed to their seven. I'm not sure which it is; but I'll still persist in smiling and making little jokes on the off-chance that it'll hit the mark.

As a grace note, they like you to order by numbers here. 'Just like New York,' said Isabella, whose university years of Sinology were spent there. When I asked for the wine the reply was 'What number is that?' '240,' I said, and that was fine. When Isabella ordered our food it was the same. An L1, an S9, an E6, an E3 and so on. It's a wonder that I can tell you what we ate; I usually rely on my bill to refresh my memory, but this one follows the number thing through to the final count. 'Tea' is the only word on the bill, which is otherwise made up entirely of numbers followed by the price.

The starters came and they were pretty good. I liked the fried pork dumplings more than the wontons, which had been deep-fried for a touch longer than I would have liked. They came with a soy-based dip for the dumplings and a sweet and sour for the wontons. I was hungry and at most of both, but I can't say they were great, just Ok when you're hungry. The main courses, however, were very good. The sizzling lamb, which came in that theatrical manner of sizzling on a cast iron flat, was amazingly tender and Isabella's prawns were also very good. Fried rice for me, boiled rice for Isabella and a flat of fried bean-sprouts accompanied them.

Feeling a little replete we contemplated the dessert menu. Nothing cost over œ3.50 which was the price of toffee apples. After a little pause we ordered a 108 and a 110, which were banana fritters and lychees. 'You want ice cream with your lychees?' our waitress asked me. 'No thanks, no ice-cream for me,' I replied. Hell, I'm supposed to be losing weight. So it must be the language thing after all; I got my lychees with a dollop of ice-cream anyway.

We considered briefly the fact that between us we'd had fried dumplings, wontons, rice, prawns and bananas before ordering two healthy Chinese teas. Finish healthily, that's my motto. The bill came to £70.84 including a 10% service charge and it was time for two Dylan fans to set off for the hills, accompanied on the car stereo by Bob's song from 'The Wonderboys' called 'Things have Changed' set to repeat over and over again.