The chef here loves the sea. He looks at it affectionately from his hi-tech, ultra-efficient open kitchen, set in the centre of his restaurant, and grins. As waves of delicious steam envelop him from the kitchen's lava-grill, on which he's basting a school of rapidly reddening pomfret, an assistant brings in one more bowl of fresh fish, just drizzled in marinade. "It all comes straight from here," he says, waving his arm in a semi-circle, indicating the sea, which hugs Temple Bay and feeds its new restaurant, The Wharf.

Appropriately enough, The Wharf survives on the sea. The restaurant has a tie-up with the local fishermen who bring in their catch everyday. As a result, the fish here may not be exotic, but it's always fresh — and for most foodies, that's usually more than enough.

Laidback and casual, the restaurant is set in a trendy shack, with thatched huts from Mamallapuram and cutlery from Italy. No air-conditioning, but at night, you don't really need it. The sea's a prawn's throw away, and there's a strong steady breeze, mussing up your hair and blowing away your napkins with a wearisome regularity.

Dinner here is slow and relaxed, with waiters ambling in and out with drawling `I'm-your-waiter-for-the-evening' style speeches, and, inevitably, a lot of talk on the weather and waves. So, if you're impatient, or perennially hungry, pack a sandwich. Because dinner's made from scratch, they say, and it takes a while.

The meal opens with a salad of mixed greens with vegetables, tossed in balsamic vinegar and speckled with crunchy chopped walnuts. The salad's an interesting blend of textures and colours, crisp green lettuce, small red squishy cherry tomatoes and chunks of baby corn.

It's followed by an array of appetisers, spicy kebabs made of yam, fresh prawns just tweaked with marinade, and fiery murgh thazzi kebabs, made with double minced chicken and spiked with chopped onions. The highlight of this course, however, is the stuffed mushroom kebabs, with their smoky crusts and juicy insides.

Unfortunately, the main course lets down the restaurant with a resounding thud. A seafood pasta, it's a mess of fish with prawns, squid and chunks of fish, all desolately swimming about in a tomato base that's been half heartedly scattered with olives and the occasional lonely caper.

Dessert's luscious, though. There's mocha mousse, light, fluffy and soaked in the wonderful flavours of Irish cream and a more robust pancake, lounging in thick caramelly condensed milk and a dash of orange zest, with an unpronounceable name (it sounded like Krapestecaicta. Or maybe that was just the waves.) Head here for the waves, and the beautiful setting. And take good company. The drive away from the madding crowd, takes more than a maddening hour, and if you're only going there for the food, it might just be an even longer drive home.