Bread and circuses: the phrase coined by the great Roman satirist, Juvenal, which criticised people for putting greed before civic duty. And no, I'm not drawing any modern-day comparisons (I'll leave you to do that), it's just that I was walking down Regent Street the other day and the Christmas decorations looked exactly like the safety nets used by circus trapeze artists.

I was on my way to Patterson's restaurant, which is tucked away in a quiet little road just off the main drag (you'd never know it was there unless somebody told you), and meeting an old friend who works in television. She arrived before me on a dismal grey November day - the kind of day which badly needed brightening. Once this kind of meeting would have led to the wine waiter wearing out his shoe leather, but alas, she no longer drinks and tellyland no longer tolerates its executives lurching back to work after a long, liquid lunch. And I'm quite happy with one good glassful at lunchtime.

Inside, the room is restful; the exhausted-looking Barack Obama would benefit from a visit. Stonecoloured walls and greenish tiles give the place a vaguely subterranean mood. This underwater sensation is augmented by the brightly lit fish tank along which creep beautiful blue-tinged lobsters. We sat watching them, mesmerised, feeling as if we were in the middle of a Jacques Cousteau documentary. I suggested to the executive that putting a likeable Frenchman back on our screens might help boost her ratings. She wondered if 'likeable Frenchman' was not an oxymoron. Television people can be so nasty, can't they?

Her mood was softened by the appearance of an amuse-bouche - we were each given a miniature mound of mash topped with a teeny slab of tender pig's cheek. Unpredictably, she leant across the table and twisted my plate round. 'I just wanted to turn the other cheek,' she said. She's such a wag.

The waitress brought us bread which is baked on site - we each meant to try a different variety but neither of us was prepared to concede on the raisin and walnut. These were just perfect. My à la carte appetiser of squab breasts came accompanied by a colourful assortment of vegetables. The meat was flavoursome and the vegetables just the right side of crunchy. My guest decided to try the £20 per head set menu and began with the pumpkin velouté. This was a creamy goldenhued soup, which she said was as smooth as Peter Mandelson's recent appearance before the Business Select Committee.

Next came my halibut cannelloni: a meaty slab of fish arranged alongside a tube of pasta - all good. The executive's cod fillet was perfectly cooked and came with olive mash, roast asparagus, baby spinach and spring onion foam. She said it was delicious but she didn't like the foam because it always reminds her of cuckoo spit. But that's just her.

Other customers were predominantly male and looked like captains of industry; well-fed, expensively clothed and quietly powerful. That the place was full was no real surprise. Actually, Barack Obama would probably love it here, since he's already being lauded for espousing family values and Patterson's is very much a family-run restaurant. Raymond and his son Tom work the kitchen while Raymond's wife Maria is in charge of front of house. Food remains true to their Scottish roots and is as fresh as a coastal breeze. They care and it shows.

At this point another friend joined us for coffee just as the pudding arrived. The white chocolate blondie cake, nougat parfait, strawberry milkshake and white chocolate foam sounded like an entire children's birthday party on one plate. Unfortunately the cake resembled one of those dry and tasteless slabs I used to get at school, the milkshake was unremarkable and the foam didn't taste of anything, let alone white chocolate. But this was the only disappointment in an otherwise faultless meal.

Afterwards, we walked along Regent Street and lifted our eyes to see that the circus safety nets were in fact giant stars, which will look wonderful when they're illuminated. I recited a quote from Oscar Wilde: 'We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.' 'Thank heavens I gave up drinking,' said the TV executive drily.