Camper than a row of tents

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Ann and I live up the road, in nice, swish Kennington, so we are irregular regulars. I still treasure the memory of a Valentine's Day when Herve insisted all his guests wore black tie, then forced us to sit in the Irish pub next door because he wasn't ready. When we were eventually allowed in, he served a seven-course tasting menu, and entertainment including a guitarist who sang Yazoo songs in the style of Charles Aznavour.

Not having been back for a while, I'd forgotten how wilfully eccentric this place is. The sound of seagulls and steamers is piped into the two tiny dining rooms dotted with nautical memorabilia. Tropical fish bob behind portholes set in the walls. Herve wears a waxed moustache, while his wife and maitre'd Nathalie is kitted out in matelot jacket and stripy Breton shirt. Some might find all this unbearably camp, but I like it and the food is straightforward and good.

Ann's starter, crab salad, was a delicate pile of white crab meat accompanied by mango at the perfect point of softness and a generous dollop of Avruga caviar. The blend of flavours worked magnificently.

My cassolette of langoustine and asparagus was lovely, the cream sauce studded with little depth charges of sturgeon roe. From past experience, I know the fish soup with homemade rouille is also excellent, as is the platter of Fruits de Mer. Herve goes to Billingsgate every morning to get the best fish.

Our mains were slightly less good than we'd had in the past. Ann's fatly fleshy skate wing was nicely flavoured but had been cooked just a little bit too long. She looked with mild yearning at the massive Scottish lobsters that trotted out of the kitchen - sorry, "Galley" - at regular intervals.

My gurnard fillet with cajun seasoning crust was fine, the fish nicely firm, the coating crisply blackened and spicy without overwhelming the fish. Both dishes came atop a pool of the Lobster Pot's ubiquitous white butter sauce, with a small parcel of spinach and three boiled potatoes. Although he cooks them well, Herve seems to treat vegetables as an afterthought. Mind you, so do I.

The wine list is short but to the point, the house white a crisp £12 Muscadet: we had a deliciously fresh-tasting 2003 Pouilly FumÈ Le Champ des Vignes for £25.50.

For pudding, Ann had profiteroles, the light pastry globes bisected and sandwiching scoops of homemade ice cream - a very agreeable variation on the cream-puff norm. In my selection from the "Genuine French" cheeseboard, a pungent Carre and a nutty Tomme saw off a rather indifferent Reblouchon.

The Lobster Pot offers intelligent, unfussy Breton cooking in an absurdly kitsch setting. I think it's delightful. And - gasp! - it's in south London.

The Lobster Pot
Kennington Lane, London, SE11 4RG