One Blenheim Terrace - review

But here this twist by another name - perhaps it should really be shtick - is favourite British dishes re-interpreted by Shaerf's "vision of nostalgia, modernity and decadence". This means that, for example, an assembly called Welsh Rarebit comes as Welsh rarebit soufflé with white onion and cider soup and a herb scone. Dover Sole Meunière, rather than being traditionally dusted with seasoned flour and fried in butter, is served with brown shrimp, caper berries, duchess potatoes and brown butter powder.

The high-flying aspirations of the approach were immediately signalled by an amuse-bouche of baked potato consommé with a soured cream and chive foam. I think I remember this notion from Gordon Ramsay Royal Hospital Road and as Shaerf has worked at Gordon Ramsay at Claridge's, I could be right. Into a base of chicken stock are introduced jacket potatoes baked in the oven until almost black. The resulting strained and clarified liquid does take on a convincing bonfire night identity and is more weirdly pleasing than you might imagine. Also the homemade white bread and the butter also described as homemade were notable.

Egg (just the one) Benedict posing as a vegetarian option came coated in crisp fried breadcrumbs, with artichoke purée, some vertically sliced baby artichokes and Hollandaise sauce. It was perfectly nice if you accept that eggs and artichokes can belong together but it wasn't even remotely eggs Benedict.

Roast chicken, my choice of first course, was presented as risotto with a piece of brittle baked chicken skin crying out pitifully for its mother "Noma, Noma" and a section of chicken wing sitting arm akimbo. The oily, buttery gravy of the risotto was ridiculously rich, making it impossible - for me anyway - to finish even half of it.

It was during the main course of duck à l'orange that the underlying fallacy of this "vision" became clear. If anyone has nostalgic fondness for a dish, however much a cliché it might be, an altered or traduced version is going to have to struggle to impress. Or, as W B Yeats put it rather better, "Tread softly because you tread on my dreams".

Duck with braised lentils - although the menu mentioned spelt - sporting a few chunks of fresh orange segment is not going to satisfy atavistic cravings. At least the meat wasn't just a dreary magret - there was in addition confit leg - but the only element that harked forwards or back in a positive sort of way was citrus-glazed braised endive.

What you might call the giddy limit of these culinary high jinks was fish and chips with no chips. I thought its recipient was going to burst into tears. The beautifully roasted cod was served with whorls of batter scattered on top, mushy peas fashioned into croquettes and a warm tartare sauce. The menu description also mentioned malt vinegar air but that seemed to have wafted away.

Everyone loves fruit crumble so why turn apple and blackberry crumble into sugared doughnuts? More fun was the pre-dessert of toast ice cream with liquid caramel and a fragment of brandy snap, which with no preconceptions or expectations - it was unannounced - managed to beguile.

One Blenheim Terrace is an address that in the past few years has seen a brisk turnover of businesses. The deep terrace outside is an obvious asset in the right weather and there is also a glazed area at the front that could bear the description "conservatory" but the rest of the premises are an ergonomic disaster decorated in colours and with light fittings reminiscent of a Seventies bedsit. A fixed screen behind which staff dart to fetch or unload plates -Shakespeare would have called it an arras - is not beautified by a huge gilt-framed mirror leaning against it, nor is the activity around it conducive to customer relaxation.

Noting the short lifespans of most recently Vineria, the outpost of an Italian group based in Treviso, and before that Rosmarino, the new owners should perhaps have bitten the bullet, stripped out the interior and started again. St John's Wood is not blessed with many alluring restaurants - interestingly, the French L'Aventure next door seems to have been there for ever - and for all the folderol and codswallop Ed Shaerf can obviously cook. Our cheerful young waiter who had served in the Royal Welch Fusiliers in Ireland and Afghanistan added considerably to the pleasure of the evening.

One Blenheim Terrace
1 Blenheim Terrace, NW8 OEH