One of the friends I took to dinner at St Alban spends quite a lot of her time living in the country. "Who owns this restaurant?" she said, looking around the large, spiffily designed space. "It looks a bit like an Oliver Peyton place." Were HM Bateman still alive, it would have been a fitting cartoon.

Here we are in London waiting with bated breath to see what Chris and Jeremy are going to come up with after their resounding successes at Le Caprice, The Ivy, J Sheekey and more recently The Wolseley. Will we be invited to the soft opening? Are they having a party? Why have they gone Mediterranean?

Publicity-shy, Mr Corbin and Mr King, hommes tres serieux, have, of course, not thrown a party. They have been quietly trying out the restaurant for the past week or so, apparently admitting those who thought to ask to come. Even on Monday of this week, when I dined for the second time, they were giving 50 per cent off, presumably on the grounds that not everything was absolutely tickety-boo.

On a site that was previously, for about 10 minutes, an Italian restaurant called Il Pomodorino, the new owners have had the luxury of laying out and lighting the spacious low-ceilinged dining room exactly as they want it. In addition, a kitchen on the same floor is the facility of which every restaurateur dreams.

This kitchen features a Josper oven driven by charcoal as well as the wood-fired variety. Chef is Francesco Mazzei, who opened the short-lived Anda for Alan Yau and most recently was involved in the relaunch of Franco's in Jermyn Street. To some extent his southern Italian roots inform his style, but St Alban is not exactly offering cucina povera with a first course of tagliolini of langoustines at £16.50 and a main course of lobster fregola at £27.50. However, these are both most expensive in their class.

Italian breads are served with a notably beautiful olive oil. They arrive in a basket fashioned free-form from olive wood. "I wonder if they got this from the Lakeland Catalogue," said the country mouse and I could feel Jeremy painfully freeze at 20 yards.

Every item of design has been deeply considered. I was pleased to see that they had chosen china designed by my friend David Queensberry for Rosenthal's Thomas range. Architects Stiff + Trevillion have been involved and my suspicion is that they are responsible for the waiters' stations that resemble cabinets in a dentist's surgery. Murals by Michael Craig-Martin, the guru of the YBAs, celebrate what he has referred to as "a democracy among the (mundane) objects". I can imagine the owners thrilling to that phrase.

Comfortable seating with little pools of privacy is upholstered in different areas in purple, turquoise or tomato red. Customers will torment themselves about colour significance. Just so you know, we were in purple and so was Ralph Fiennes.

Part of the success of Corbin and King's previous restaurants is their flexible, matey menus suited to repeat business and ready and willing to respond to a caviar moment or a cornbeef hash craving. Here the food is all of a piece and flavoured in a somewhat heavy-handed way where salt, herbs (rosemary particularly) and chillies are concerned.

Shellfish impepata (meaning peppered) had juices so saline they were disagreeable. Too many little land mines of chilli were discovered in a side dish of spinach and also among the turnip tops served with slow-roasted black Norfolk pig (great meat and perfect crackling).

Pumpkin risotto was exactly as it should be and charcoal-grilled quails piled around a mound of pistachio-spiced butternut squash was a triumph of roasting small birds. The really ace item was mashed potatoes mixed with bone marrow stuffed inside the hollow veal bone that was served alongside tagliata of beef. The three desserts tried were faultless.

"Won't people want chips?" said my rural friend. I told her she would have to go back to Cornwall.

Open daily, noon-3pm & 5.30pm-midnight. A meal for two with wine, about £105 inc. 12.5 per cent service.