Funny how these things happen; I'd gone into Dublin to meet my dinner date, who had to cancel a couple of hours before we were to meet. It can be a problem finding a companion at the last moment and I'd just given up and was about to go home, when I got a text message. It was from my friend Sonia Thornton who'd arrived in Dublin from London and she was wondering if I was in town. Now that's serendipity - a quick phone call later and we had a plan made to meet and go to dinner.

I've been wanting to go to Pasta Fresca for a while. I've always eaten well there and the last time I was there it was with a party of around twenty people, which is a restaurateur's worst nightmare. I was amazed at how well we were looked after and fed, so a return visit <it>a deux</it> was always on the cards. But this is the review you almost didn't get to read, and here's why. We'd booked a table for eight thirty in Sonia's name and arrived a few minutes after that. The restaurant was as busy as any I've seen, even the pavement tables on a not-so-warm night were occupied. The bar area just inside the door was also full to capacity with people waiting. We made our way through to the cash desk and asked for our table. 'I'll get the manageress,' was the answer and shortly later she appeared. 'You can wait in the bar,' she told me, pointing to the crowded room. 'How long before our table's ready?' I asked. 'I said, wait in the bar,' was her answer as she walked away.

'Wow,' said Sonia, 'that was pretty rude.' 'Maybe she's just stressed,' I said, 'let's wait and see what happens.' So we did, in the only available space, just inside the door. I made a few hopeless attempts to catch the manageress' eye as the time ticked away, and Sonia was becoming increasingly restless. At five to nine the manageress walked out past us to the pavement tables and I took my opportunity. I may not be tall, but I'm wide enough to block a doorway. There was no choice but to face me on her return. 'When will our table be ready?' 'As soon as one becomes available.' 'I do understand the principle, what I'd like to know is an approximate time.' 'As soon as possible.' It was three minutes to nine. I turned to Sonia. 'Okay, if were not sat by nine, we'll go somewhere else.' Two minutes later we were shown to our table.

Now what was missing from this exchange? In case you didn't spot it, I'll spell it out. There was no apology. No attempt to mollify or appease, just a curt command to wait. I can think of many extenuating circumstances, but a simple 'sorry' would have gone a long way to making us feel less cross. From a restaurant's point of view, bringing cross people in to a table means that everyone else has to work harder; the waiting staff and the kitchen now have the job of smoothing the ruffled feathers as well as doing the other parts of their job. You have to re-establish the good will so wantonly squandered at the outset.

So we sat and looked at the menus and wine list, silently aware that even one small cock-up at this stage would assume a significance out of all proportion. But from here on everything got better, starting with our charming and attentive waitress. You could almost feel the icicles melting. We were sat in a comfortable room, a soothing ochre on the walls with the odd classical mural, and we began to relax. Starters are clustered around the €8-€9 mark and most of the classics are listed; antipasto, bruschetta, carpaccio and so on. Plenty of pastas to choose from, mostly around €11, with fish, chicken and meat dishes as well. The wine list has more wines from Italy than any other country, which seems right. I was happy to find the Sardinian 'Aragosta', which is a crisp and refreshing white made from the Vermentino grape, so we had a bottle of that as well as some mineral water.

For starters we'd picked deep-fried mozzarella fingers and calamari, which we divided between us. Both of these were generous dishes, lots of squid rings heaped on a plate and four large, almost croquette-sized fingers of mozzarella with a perfectly runny inside. They were good, too, and the buzz around us of other people enjoying themselves helped put us back into a good mood.

Sonia had chosen the spaghetti Bolognese for her main course, and I'd chosen the saltimbocca alla Romana, a dish I've enjoyed in Pasta Fresca before. Sonia had a large portion of spaghettoni in front of her, which turned out to be more than she could manage, even though she was enjoying the taste of the slightly piquant sauce. Mine was a competently done dish, using pork fillet rather than the Roman veal, something I often do myself. It came with a salad and a serving of pasta rather than potato, a sop I suppose, to the Irish was of doing things. Once again these were generous portions, and despite our best efforts we were unable to finish them.

We finished with a cappuccino for Sonia and an espresso for me, secure in the knowledge that you get good coffee in Pasta Fresca. But the big plus comes when you ask for the bill; it came to €76.17, or under £60 in old money. That's value that's hard to beat in the city centre. We may have got off to a shaky start, but the meal left us happy and well fed.