I DON'T know how it happened. It certainly wasn't by design on my part. But somehow I have moved onto a street with a fantastic restaurant at the end of it.

This is like discovering that Pete Postlethwaite's granddaughter was in the year below me at school (I never got that crucial party invite, damn it), and that the Pope once visited the park near my house to erect a stone monument.

And now to my roster of famous acquaintances I can chalk up That Café - one of the best restaurants I've visited in my short reviewing career - and within stumbling distance of my new home in Levenshulme - or LeveVegas, as the locals like to call it. Well, me.

The entrance is discreet - if it weren't for the sandwich board you'd think it was just another house on Stockport Road. In fact, That Café was originally two red brick terraced houses that were knocked together, scrubbed up and converted into a restaurant.

Through a curtained doorway (the curtain kept coming down while I was out having a cigarette, and getting back in was like fighting an extremely tall wizard - serves me right, you might say) lies a true comfort zone.

Opening out into three large parlour-like sections, with a flight of stairs up the centre to the loo, the ambience is immediately one of calmness and familiarity. The walls are decked with pretty floral paper and the tables are simply set.

We were shown over to a small seating area to choose our meals and line our stomachs with a pre-dinner drink. Some people like milk thistle. I like gin.

The competent menu changes regularly, with a special on Sundays (two courses for £13.95 and so on) and lots of tantalising combinations of flavours (duck and beetroot, chicken and chestnuts, salmon and mustard). My dining companion The TV Girl was torn between rabbit (which she'd never eaten) and a beef dish, which I also had my eye on. I was relieved when she went for the rabbit. The rabbit wasn't.

Bookish

If That Café reminded me of anything, it was of the home of the great aunt I never had - the bookish, chintzy, bearded, fascinating great aunt who lived by the sea and let me eat cake all the time.

Unfortunately - and here comes the one negative criticism in this review - it also niffed a bit like a great aunt. We weren't sure what it was, we couldn't quite put our fingers on it (and if we'd have found it we probably wouldn't have wanted to touch it anyway), but there was a distinct whiff of old folks' home in the air. Sort of school and hospital. Dettol and dinners.

Still, nowhere's perfect, and as the evening went on, we got used to it.

We were sorry to miss the real open fires (lit in winter) but not sorry to miss the live jazz (first Wednesday of every month). When will a restaurant offer opera as a musical accompaniment to dining, and let the diners get involved? Apparently it's one of the best aids for digestion, to just stand up and sing heartily. No more dinner jazz please. More opera karaoke joints.

The starters arrived quickly: Pan fried scallops with pea puree (£7.25) for TV Girl and Chicken and ham ballotine (£6.95) for me. The warm ballotine was easily teased apart to reveal pistachios and green peppercorns. Swiped around in the fennel and orange dressing, it tasted like Christmas.

The firm, fishy scallops went stunningly well with the metallic tang of pea puree, and the creamy lemon and chive sauce rounded everything off just as a sauce should.

From the wine list we'd chosen a super-fruity red, a Cabernet Sauvignon (£13.95), and were sitting in a cosy corner by the window. It was a quiet Wednesday evening - a few other tables had couples merrily chatting away at them (That Café has a very loyal clientele) - which was brilliant for eavesdropping.

We overheard some real gems.

"Everywhere we stopped there was an Inca site!"

Scallop

TV Girl nearly choked on a scallop at this point.

And then there was: "I think it's very disturbing to have a prawn look you full-on in the face," from a lady at the table next to us.

Mains were equally thrilling: Chilli marinated beef (£15.95) in front of me - a perfectly medium-rare hunk of meat marooned in a rich, slightly chocolatey, gravy.

Around it, islands of crispy pan-friend polenta slowly soaked up the gravy as I savoured every single small mouthful. The star dish by a long shot - and the bright dollop of guacamole on top to complement the chilli marinade was a stroke of sheer creative genius.

TV Girl's roast loin of rabbit with a home-made rabbit, leek and herb sausage (£15.25) while graphically confusing (a home made RABBIT!? oh…) worked a treat on the plate. The sausage suited the palate of a rabbit virgin (the opposite of a Bunny Girl, we pondered) as much as it suited its traditional bubble and squeak and onion gravy setting.

But one thing that surely works as a good benchmark for any restaurant is whether it serves well-cooked vegetables. And for the perfect seasonal bowlful we shared that evening, top marks to owners Allan McMinn and Sharon Akerboom, and of course chef Alison Eason.

Alison, pinnied up, sweating and smiling, brought our desserts to our table. They were as lovingly prepared as the rest of the food we'd enjoyed - my sunken drunken chocolate cake (£4.95) languished beneath fresh whipped cream and kirsch marinated cherries. Sumptuous.

Meanwhile across the table it was vignotte and stilton cheese (£4.95) for savoury-mad TV Girl, who made short work of the home made biscuits and chutney with her (slightly too small for the price) portions of cheese.

Sharon, who served us that evening, was friendly and very obviously proud of her great gaff. With its charming décor and clever food - which feels like the result of eccentricity rather than pretension - That Café is my latest favourite name to drop.

What do you think? Have your say.

That Café, Stockport Road, Levenshulme 0161 432 4672 thatcafe.co.uk.