HOWZAT

My “Roasted PIGEON, Tuscan crostini, salmis jus” was rich, fine, uninspiring. No, but fine. My mother’s “YOUNG HEN and crayfish fricassée, lightly creamed jus” was strangely unpleasant – it went back to the kitchen with three of its four shellfish perched on the side of the plate like toddlers daunted by their first sight of a paddling pool. We didn’t have pudding. All sugary things taste the same.

By way of a preliminary freebie, there had been some nice little crudités, including those purple “heritage” carrots that are such a useful objet de conversation, with a thin anchoïade and (oddly) a little pot of chantilly. It’s all meant to be very 2008, I guess. Raw veg in a posh restaurant – cooool.

The room is all a bit fussy without being interesting. There’s a wonky oval porthole in a big, fat upholstered screen by the door. There are porcelain vegetables on the tables (we had asparagus – not even in season). Blatantly offbeat cutlery sits in little bespoke holders. Perfectly designed lighting (I admit) picks up the faint silvery pinkness of everything: glassware, menus, napiery. It’s dully pretty, like, I don’t know, Billie Piper. But eating here doesn’t feel like much of an occasion – the only person who seemed even mildly excited was the editor-in-chief of The Independent, and he was eating in a secluded corner with celebrity pole dancer Dita Von Teese, who was down to her hat and shoes before we’d had our starters.

Service was supremely competent, occasionally charming. There were some free chocolates. Wines suggested by the glass were well chosen but unexpectedly pricey (two glasses of good Riesling turned out to be £36). Oh, and there is a ridiculous, shimmering, beaded entity in the middle of the room like some cosmic shower-cubicle or the beam-me-up deck of the Starship Enterprise in which, apparently, six people can, for £1,350 not including booze, eat in a small space even less fun than the one outside.

I don’t know that Ducasse’s arrival necessarily has “meaning”, but if this place is a roaring success, in its current form, with this little oomph, this little originality or sense of adventure, then it will rather suggest that London is losing its soul.

Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester
Park Lane, London W1
020-7629 8866

Meat/fish: 7
Cooking: 7
Excitement: 1
Score: 5
Water: 2 (no jugs of tap, glasses filled reluctantly)
Price: I lost my bill, annoyingly, but for two courses and three glasses of wine each my mum and I paid something like £250.

Scotts Bistro
Loch Achray, Callander, Perthshire
01877 376389

Dr Melinda J. Duer writes: “I recently came across this fantastic bistro, a mile west of Brig o’ Turk, which serves superb three-course meals for a mere £19. The food is locally sourced and just begs to be eaten. I can recommend the duck’s breast (served properly pink and succulent) on gorgeously sweet black pudding with a redcurrant jus. Service was friendly and efficient even when they were very busy. And if you want, owner Mark Nichols will recommend walks to suit your stamina and the next day’s weather.”

E-mail feedme2@thetimes if you know somewhere nice, and maybe we’ll go there together.

Book a table at Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester

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