My son was home from Florence for an Easter break, and after a couple of weeks of intense partying he found a free evening to accompany his father to a restaurant. Obviously I treat this kind of father/son quality time as a bonding experience, the sort of thing that will make our relationship deeper, fuller and more meaningful. Apart from that, I actually enjoy his company and I suspect that not all fathers of young men can say that. So having settled on our outing we decided to further increase the pleasure value by going into Dublin in my father's old car. This was a decision that turned out to have a direct effect on the evening.

There was something pleasingly symmetrical about the drive; I remembered the trips that I'd done in the same car with my father and here I was, about the same age as my father was when he bought it, driving my son. It seemed to complete a loop. The difference this time was that we were all older - including the car. A big brute with a four-litre straight six it got us as far as Stillorgan when a strange grating sound came from the back wheels, the sort of noise that disintegrating wheel bearings make. I nursed it into the shopping centre car park and stared glumly at the rear end. I know an expensive sound when I hear it. Looking disconsolately around me I noticed a sign saying 'Casanova' directly opposite me. Being the sort of person who's open to portents and omens I realised at once that this was where we were supposed to eat, the gods were willing it, and anyway, I didn't want to think about wheel bearings for a while.

Giovanni Casanova, the famed eighteenth-century Venetian adventurer, has given his name to a first-floor restaurant on the Kilmacud Road. Half-way up the stairs there's a portrait of him on the landing, painted directly onto the wall. The same artist has painted almost all the available wall space inside the restaurant; a large lion of San Marco is on the middle opposite wall on entry, with Venice in the mists on either side. Two paintings on other walls explore Casanova's best-known attribute, his love of women. A lot of the ceiling and much of the wall space between the paintings have been sponged, and the windows which overlook the road below have a stained-glass effect with little putti ornamenting the corners.

We had arrived in a very busy restaurant, but thankfully they found us a table and we settled in, my son's artist eye taking in the artwork. 'Not bad,' he said, looking around. I started with the wine list, easy enough as there were only seven reds and seven whites, with an Asti Spumante as a sparkler. A Barolo and an Amarone were over twenty pounds, but the rest were under, making it a fairly priced list. You'd have to ask if you wanted any information on the wines, as neither the shipper nor the years are listed. What is on the list is something dear to my heart - the new DOC wine from my valley in Italy. The appellation was only granted last year, so Atina DOC is new to the wine world. It's the typical wine of my valley; a deeply-coloured and big-bodied red made from Cabernet Sauvignon, but still thinking about the car I settled on a light white, a Pinot Grigio from Minini at £15.90.

The menu is much longer than the wine list. Starters include a Caprese salad, carpaccio, crostini, Parma ham and melon, bruschetta, wild mushrooms and rice balls, all centred on the £3 mark. Then come the pizzas which are priced between £6.50 and £7.50 and include all the classics like Margherita, Napoletana, molicone, quattro stagione, quattro formaggi as well as a vegetarian offering and a calzone. There's a listing of pastas all between £7 and £8, chicken dishes, escalopes, steaks and king prawns. Most of these dishes are under £10, side orders come at £2.20 and desserts re all around £3. These prices put Casanova firmly into the 'trattoria' category, since it would be easily possible to have three courses for under £15, something of a rarity these days.

Rocco started off his meal with the carpaccio and it was very much to his liking. 'As good as any I've had in Florence', was his verdict. I'd chosen the rigatoni - a large cut pasta - with the Amatriciana sauce, made famous in the town of Amatrice, just outside Rome. It's one of those classic sauces based on tomatoes, but it has the addition of pancetta in Italy or bacon bits here. It was a tasty sauce, but not as reduced as I would have liked and a little heavy on the chilli. Personally I like chilli, but it's not a usual addition to this sauce.

Rocco claims that as a student in Florence his diet is nearly totally farinaceous; pasta rice and pizzas. Hence when he's here, what he craves is red meat. And red meat is exactly what he'd picked for his main course - a fillet done on the griddle which came with a pepper and tomato sauce. It was a tender piece of meat and Rocco enjoyed it, but to my palate the sauce was oddly reminiscent of the one I'd had on my pasta, except it didn't have the bacon. I'd ordered the escalope 'alla Romana', which normally means with a white wine sauce, Parma ham and sage leaves. Here my escalopes arrived with all of that plus some cheese, which I wasn't expecting. I can't put my hand on my heart and tell you that this was an expert dish, because it wasn't. The meat was tough, the accompanying vegetables were largely unadorned and the dried sage didn't successfully take the place of fresh sage leaves.

Despite this I was a happy punter. The service was excellent and attentive and although the dishes I'd chosen were a little ordinary, I had a sense that it was genuine and honest food. Not only that, it comes at a very reasonable price. We finished the meal by sharing a chocolate cake, which was exceeding rich, and finally a couple of decent espressos. With two bottles of mineral water as well the bill came to £68.40, which included a 10% service charge.

Back at the car I plucked up the courage to look underneath. A plastic container was wedged under the back axle where it had been scraping noisily on the tarmac. Breathing large sighs of relief, we enjoyed an uneventful drive home.