Stuck in traffic at the approach to Old Street roundabout, on my way to lunch at The Hoxton Grille, my heart sinks. Other parts of London are just as ugly - Elephant and Castle, for example - but they don't lay claim to be the centre of the universe.

The Hoxton Grille is not much more than spitting distance from Old Street - and I mean spitting. It's in the middle of a row which elsewhere would be regarded as run-down and seedy, but here is perceived as cool.

It's part of The Hoxton Hotel, the new, smartly designed but inexpensive brainchild of Sinclair Beecham, one half of the duo behind Pret A Manger. The restaurant is under separate management but reached by the same entrance.

In keeping with the local predilection for hype, the restaurant, I suspect, likes to see itself as edgy. What that means in reality is a bizarre "e" on the end of "grill", accompanied by the standards of voguish London dining: a DJ stand, brown leather chairs, bare brick walls, open kitchen, air conditioning and heating pipes running across the ceiling.

So common is the look - think DFS meets former industrial turbine hall - as to make it seem dated. Likewise, there's a long menu that promises simplicity but can't avoid pretension. So sausages and mash becomes Gloucester Old Spot sausages and mash; roast chicken is roast Haughley chicken. The point, of course, is that such things shouldn't require saying - that in the best establishments it's taken as read that their suppliers will be the best.

Thanks to the gridlock outside, by the time I'd arrived, my two companions were already seated. They looked glum. It wasn't hard to see why. One of them is a great bear of a man - 6ft 6in and some. The place was only half-full, yet they were plonked at something not much bigger than a bedside table. They'd asked for still water; they got fizzy. A Coke was from the tap, not a bottle. We ordered a small carafe of white Rioja - the waitress brought a red Rioja.

They each chose a Gruyère-and-leek tart. "Very good" was the uniform response, but that gave way to disappointment as it was obvious the warm top was masking a cold base. The unavoidable suspicion was that across the other side of the room, where the chefs appeared to be so busy amid the gleaming steel ranges, lurked a microwave.

It was impossible to see for sure, because another aspect of the Grille, as doubtless it wants to be called, is that the room is uncommonly large and, as a result, quite soulless. I had potted shrimps, which were fine, but for reasons I couldn't fathom came on an over-large rectangular plate. There we sat, the three of us, hunched over our tiny table, trying to find space for our crockery and glasses. It was surreal: we felt hemmed in, when all around there was space galore.

The tables weren't so far apart that we couldn't help but overhear when our neighbour complained about his salad: he'd found two bugs in it (presumably-they belonged to a special variety, like the pigs and chickens - the type that causes Hoxton diners to nod approvingly in name recognition).

My guests both left perfect, almost untouched, chilled triangles of pastry on their plates. The waitress took them away - and nobody asked what was wrong. Similarly, when one of them ignored virtually all his plaice, pronouncing it "flaky and tasteless", no one sought the reason why. A sucker for labelling, I had the Gloucester Old Spot sausages. They were bland. Seeing as the official Gloucester Old Spot website (yes, there is one) describes them as "the most laid-back pig" (I'm not making this up), perhaps that was to be expected.

The giant left much of his haddock and chips. With some mixed berries and a Bramley apple crumble (they do love their name-check), the bill came to £114.58. I want to say it would work if it tried harder, but in a sense it already tries too hard - that's the problem.

They need to come off their cloud and look at what else is available (they could try, for a start, Anthony Worrall Thompson's Notting Grill - no "e" but also with bare bricks and visible kitchen - but then, they probably have). Better still, they should put themselves in the position of a paying customer.

According to its PR blurb,The Hoxton Grille "is exactly the restaurant, food and buzzy atmosphere Londoners are looking for". No. Not this one, not ever.