For restaurant critics there's a continually lingering hope: to find a perfect meal at an affordable price. It's the reviewer's Holy Grail, an aspiration that hovers each time we sit down in a restaurant, a consummation we devoutly wish for. By its nature an ideal meal is rare, so rare that it might actually have no reality - it exists only in the Platonic realm of the ideal. Yet there are times when we come close: times when a meal approaches the sublime, when it transcends the normal, the mundane, the pedestrian and attains an ethereal glory. Times like these make harmless reviewers intensely happy - they are our validation.

You don't have to take my word for it: prices in Irish restaurants are high. I've seen that in print for much of the last year expressed by a lot of different writers. In restaurants we pay silly money for water, we pay as much four times over wholesale for wine, we pay a service charge and then are expected to leave a tip as well. More often than not what we get for our not insignificant expenditure is mediocre food, less than sparkling service and a sense that we've been mugged. Unlike many, I won't just blame the restaurateurs, much of what is on our bill is simply expenses passed on to us, the final consumer, from many different sources. Bank charges, insurance costs and wages are far higher in Ireland than they are elsewhere in Europe. Even the cost of the raw food is higher here than elsewhere. All of this impinges on your bill, so realistically you should expect to pay a 30% premium in Irish restaurants as opposed to Continental ones for these very reasons.

But given that, you should still be able to eat well without arranging a mortgage to pay the bill. It's not easy, I grant you. I've had fabulous meals this year that have cost big money, but the last time I had a really exceptional meal that cost less than €50 a head was last year. I've had to wait till nearly the end of 2003 to do it again, but this week it happened again, and in a way it was due. I've taken my friend Gill Hall out for dinner quite a few times and it's just been her misfortune that many of the times we've been out together for a review meal we've had pretty unimpressive food. Actually I was beginning to wonder whether she was she some kind of gastronomic Jonah, a guest whose very presence predetermined a mediocre meal.

Now unusually for me, I'm going to give credit for a good idea to its originator, instead of taking it for myself. I'd been at a reception in the French Ambassador's residence when Myles McWeeney told me about Mint. 'Go there,' was his advice and thankfully I followed it. I called Gill, she was free, and a couple of hours later we were sitting in Ranelagh in a crisply designed room looking down a menu that promised much. Seven starters and seven main courses, all of which were really labour intensive. The restaurant seats maybe 50 or 60 at most, so the menu is right at the limit of what a small kitchen can produce. I know it's a small kitchen because from the dining room you can see the guys at work through a wide, open hatchway.

Here's three of the starters on offer: firstly boudin of veal sweetbreads and wild mushroom with truffle scented celeriac puree and truffle jus, secondly ballotine of fresh and smoked salmon, beetroot puree, baby beets and lentil vinaigrette and lastly rare peppered tuna with chived crushed potato and Cabernet Sauvignon vinaigrette. Nothing quick to prepare here. Notice too the exactness with which the dishes are described. These various tastes are precisely chosen to go together, that's what a menu as specific as this is telling you. As it happens two of these dishes were what we picked as starters, so when they arrived I was curious to see how well actuality reflected the description. I'll tell you in detail, because what was on Gill's and my plate was a perfect example of what is meant by 'cooking with intent'. My first thought as I put a piece of the rare tuna into my mouth was 'good, but maybe needs a touch of salt.' Then I noticed the vinaigrette and tried them together. A perfect match. And so it went on throughout the meal, each element on the plate was there for a reason, not simply as a decoration on the plate. Naturally every plate looked like a work of art, but the presentation never dominated the tastes and textures, but complimented them.

For her main course Gill picked the tarte-fine of wild mushrooms, sun-blushed tomatoes, rocket salad and parmesan shavings. It may sound a trifle twee, but the execution was exemplary. The sweetbreads from the list of starters had taken my fancy and I'd asked if I could have a double portion as a main course, which Mint were happy to do. Gill really enjoyed her wild mushrooms, but it's hard to find the words to convey how much I liked the sweetbreads. Fabulous, exquisite and consummate all spring to mind, but they just seem a little moderate. I need something stronger than that.

One dessert between us, a plum tart, completed this gastronomic delight. If I have a reservation about Mint it's not the food, it's the wine list. Food this good needs a better wine list to accompany it than the short, rather overpriced list that's there now. It may be the product of newness - they're barely open - so hopefully it will improve. My advice is go there soon. The prices will have to go up and I'm sure the menu will get simplified. Our bill including the wine was just under €90, which is quite frankly, remarkable. The chef's name here is Oliver Dunne. Remember that name, you'll be hearing a lot more of it in the future.