His style was 'Med-Cal', or 'Cal-Med' depending on your location, a fusion of Mediterranean and Californian cuisines.

The restaurant became a fashionable mecca too . . . movers and shakers descended in flocks to see and be seen at his stylish restaurant. Johnny spent four years revelling in relative success. He could do no wrong. And then it went pear-shaped.

There were legal wranglings; the business, in his own words, started "haeomorraging cash" and he eventually wound up the operation in 2002. It was a loss on the restaurant scene but most people had faith that Johnny could be good again. He re-opened the current incarnation in 2004.

Skip to a wet Saturday night in mid 2007, last week. We arrived at Johnny's door at half nine, half expecting to to be told 'sorry, full house' but luckily there was a table available upstairs in what used to be called the Rhino Room.

On the way up the stairs, I had the odd sense that I was entering a dodgy nightclub.

The stairs were looking a bit old and tatty and the poorly applied red paint on the walls almost hummed. At the top of the stairs, a bar; an empty, seemingly unplugged fridge with a small cigarette machine atop, and a most bizzare looking couch/sofa/thing. . .

We were seated at a table at the edge of the room, in a kind of weird twilight zone. It felt as if two, maybe three distinctly different rooms had been spliced together to create the space. On one side, the red dodgy nightclub, on the other, what I guess was a great room in its day . . . but that day had long since passed. Mirrored lightshades surrounded the perimeter wall. By another wall, an exposed coat rack and what may have previously been a kitchen. It was more than bizarre. Our table was strewn with rose petals, two tealights flickered in the dimness.

It was a while before any of us spoke.

A young French waitress came over and asked if we'd like to order, we weren't quite ready so we asked for a few minutes time.

CG only wanted a starter and AT a main, so I ordered the Antipasti selection to start which I thought we might share. Some bread was brought to the table, a wholewheat and what looked like a brown sliced pan! I exclaim because Cookes have previously been renowned for the quality of their homebaked bread. The attentive waitress saw my bewilderment at the bread and asked was everything okay. I asked her where the bread had come from and she said, "Oh, I know, this is terrible bread . . . I will get you something better." And she did. When she returned from the kitchen with some far better pain, she looked at me and spoke in French for about a minute-and-a-half. I wasn't sure whether it was actually happening or not.

Eventually she registered my bemused expression and realised what she was doing.

We laughed. "I am so sorry, I didn't realise I was speaking in French!" Charm herself.

My two companions on the night, AT and CG, are old friends whom I'd not seen for a while so we chatted and laughed throughout and the restaurant seemed to fit that idea of reliving old times.

The antipasti arrived and it was very good: asparagus cooked perfectly, a ripe fig, piquant Parma ham, firm olives and a good quality balsamic dressing. The only problem was that the lighting was so poor, presumably to hide the interior, I couldn't really see it clearly. I want to experience how my food looks as well as tastes.

For mains, AT, a veggie, had the angel hair arrabiata. It lacked the spicy kick expected and at 16 was a bit too steeply priced. CG opted for a starter and devoured her ravioli filled with porcini mushrooms. I thought the pool of Pancetta butter it wallowed in was arresting . . . but in a cardiac way.

My veal liver with creme fraiche and balsamic vinegar was good, although the accompanying spud sat like a sad vegetable corpse in a pool of juice and vinegar. It could have been better and, at 26, the dish was also pricing itself out of the market. To be fair though, the thinly sliced liver was superb.

We drank a bottle of Riesling from Santa Rita which assisted us in unearthing our dusty anecdotes reasonably well.

We had two desserts . . . a pecan chocolate tart and an apple and berry crumble . . .

but neither were particularly memorable.

Dining at Cookes, I almost felt as though we were part of an interactive museum display. We could almost almost smell the aromas of great meals past and nearly hear the raucous banter of pre-Tiger diners as we cajoled our own memories back into view.

I think of Cookes as a bit of a batty old dame, a once-was star chanteuse who is past her sell-by date but still puts on a bit of slap to entertain the sailors . . . and for that reason I am loathe to slate her.

Go, but ask for the terrace, on a sunny day.

THE BILL
Antipasti Selection 11.50
Ravioli 10.50
Angel Hair Arabiatta 16.00
Veal Liver 26.00
Pecan Chocolate Tart 7.00
Apple & Berry Crumble 7.00
Santa Rita Riesling 29.00
TOTAL 107.00

COOKES
14 South William Street, Dublin 2
Tel: 01 6790536