If you're a parent you really can't help it; you worry about your offspring. What's worse is that it really doesn't matter what age the little darlings are, you go on worrying. Obviously the worries change with the passing of the years, going from 'is she late learning to talk?' or 'isn't it time he was potty-trained?' to worries about school, staying out late, drugs, food intake, sexual habits, clothing, money, jobs, spouses and eventually grandchildren. Once you have a child you're signed up for a lifetime of worry and there's no getting away from it. If you know this already you can nod and sagely agree with me, and if you don't be warned - that's what's in store.

Mine are big now, living in Dublin and are to all intents and purposes self-sufficient. Still, you worry. Are they eating well? Is healthy food up there on the priority list along with beer, or is shunted down to the bottom of the list? It's not that I lie in bed at night sleepless and fretting, but still you want to know that they're doing okay. My son is an artist and therefore he's penniless and starving. All he needs to complete the stereotypical picture is a garret - then he could live on cigarettes and nervous energy and look anaemic and interesting. This is not a prospect his mother is keen on, which is why she told me to take my son out for dinner. 'I don't think he's eating enough, he looks thinner than before.' Actually, before you start to feel sorry for him, he eats just fine, because he's inherited a love of food and he's a good cook.

I met him in Searsons in Baggot Street, which has transformed somewhat since I lived around the corner some years ago. Apart from being a handy place for the both of us to meet, it's also right next door to Langkawi, a Malaysian restaurant that I wanted to visit. It has a very cosy feel inside with pleasing lighting and some rather good oils hanging on the walls, as well as some Malaysian bric-a-brac that helps to set the atmosphere. We sat at the far end of a long and narrow room and were immediately made welcome. That's a big plus as far as I'm concerned; warmth of welcome goes a long way towards putting people at their ease, which is after all a major part of an evening's enjoyment.

I don't pretend to know a much about Malaysian food, so I thought I could usefully put myself in the hands of the restaurant. Rocco, on the other hand, liked the sound of the day's special which was crab claws in a spicy sauce as a starter, so that was a fixture, as was his choice of squid for the main course. I left my choices to the kitchen, adding only that I'm not mad about chicken breasts, which figured more than once on the menu. Maybe it was the background noise, maybe my speech isn't as well enunciated as it should be, maybe I was simply misunderstood, but we both got the crab claws as a starter and I got devilled chicken breasts for my main course.

Fish and shellfish are prepared differently all over the world, but one thing ought to be the same no matter where they're prepared - neither should be overcooked. We got our claws and all the necessary implements that you need - finger-bowls and napkins, crackers and long pointy, hooky thingies to retrieve the flesh from inside the carapace - but the task was made hard by the fact the claws had been cooked for too long, making the flesh crumbly. Despite this, the sauce was good and we finished all that was set before us.

Instead of wine we drank beer with our meal, partly because Rocco's not so keen on wine and partly because beer goes well with spicy food. We talked of his forthcoming trip to Ballymaloe, which made me a little jealous, and then our main courses arrived. Both Rocco's squid and my chicken had been deftly spiced - they were fiery and full of taste, but not so hot that it made your throat close up. Good flavours, but the squid was overcooked. Still, young teeth and a healthy appetite ensured that the dish was entirely consumed, although I struggled a little with my chicken breasts - not, I hasten to add, because they weren't tasty, but simply because I don't really like the texture of battery-bred chicken breasts.

I'm always impressed when someone takes the care and the time to notice what a diner's plate is like. Twice I was asked 'is everything okay?' because there was still chicken on my plate. That's observant and professional. As it happens I wasn't unduly hungry and I wasn't really up to a change of main courses, so I picked away at the rice which soaked up the spicy sauce very well and I enjoyed it. Sometimes when you leave things in the lap of the gods it works well, other times less so.

Perhaps I didn't have the best that Langkawi could have produced, but as I said, it's a comfortable room, it has an easy ambience and the service is good. Neither of us were up to a dessert, so Rocco finished the meal with another beer and I had a mint tea, a drink that I'm coming to enjoy more and more. The bill came to €83.51, which included a 12.5% service charge. And after talking to Rocco over dinner I was able to go home and worry a lot less - after all he was heading off to Ballymaloe for a couple of days.