I'm telling you now, your mother wouldn't like this Capsule. Whether she's 35 or 90 it makes no difference. She'll complain about the music (too loud), the lights (too dark), the food (all the same) and the chairs (too modern). That's just the way things are.

But for those now wishing to branch out from family dining Capsule might just be your thing. It's all about that elusive 'feel' of a restaurant. 'Feel' doesn't come easily - it needs a near alchemical blend of seemingly contradictory elements - but when it's there you're onto a winner. The whole idea of Capsule is a crazy one: get one of the pokiest shop units in town, put some (variable) modern art up, invite (even more variable) DJs to spin their wheels in the corner and serve (not particularly distinctive) food. But it works.

CapsuleDJs for the night were Sisters of Vengeance (or was it Mothers of Mercy?) who scored bonus points for being able to integrate my Morriston Orpheus LP into the set without a single diner spluttering. Started up with the magnificent antipasta platter (olives, dough balls, bread, cheese) followed by a searingly hot chilli and chorizo pizza, cooled nicely by a bottle of the grenache (definitely to be preferred to the house red). All tasted great, although there isn't a massive choice on the menu.

The service is, er, interesting. First restaurant in ages I've been to where the waitress could remember everyone's order when she came back with the food. Nice one. But try to get a dessert and you may have your patience tested. Forget subtle re-orientations of a single eyebrow. You may need to strip naked and sing 'give me pudding' to the tune of La Marseillaise before you even get sight of a portable blackboard at Capsule.

That said, there's one unrivalled feature: tell anyone you went there the next day and you're instantly the coolest in town.