A kind of Chinese torture

I ate Sunday lunch recently at Hakkasan. It was, as ever, brilliant - a fantastic collision of eye-popping design (I took a Hakkasan virgin, his face on entering was a joy) and first-rate, innovative and expertly realised nouveau-Chinese food.

The dim sum, though considerably dearer than Chinatown, are commensurately worth it - each one is a model of its kind; the glutinous rice was ambrosial; vegetables and noodles perky and perfect. Reports have surfaced of indifferent service; we didn't find anything to quibble about, despite the crowdedness of the dim, atmospheric room.

I mention this in contrast to our experience at the newly opened Taman Gang (apparently Balinese for Park Lane, its location), an equally lavish, no-expense-spared nouveau-Oriental. Further connection comes from the involvement of Gary Yau, younger brother of Alan, the visionary behind Hakkasan, Wagamama and Busaba Eathai. Though why I expected similar quality just because he's a sibling, I don't know: I mean, look at Kylie and Dannii.

So, where Hakkasan is ground-breaking, Taman Gang is hackneyed. Despite glamorous, Oswald Boateng and Ghost-clad staff, it's all a bit cheesy. With its stepped, amphitheatre-like set-up, extensive bar area with suggestion of dance floor, terracotta and rust scheme, plethora of scatter cushions and moody lighting, it looks like the kind of Marbella disco where middle-aged wealthy gentlemen buy overpriced champers for hard-faced, younger dames. Hmmm, come to mention it...

And it's so unuserfriendly. To get into my first table (I was moved without a murmur), I had to squeeze through a space that would have challenged a stick insect and managed to bash my bonce on the low-flying lampshade in the process. A trip to the lavs meant falling up a step before battling with a ridiculously heavy, beaten copper door; and as for figuring out how to wash and dry hands in strange, rocky outcrops? Forget it.

Food is just as disenfranchising. It's described as 'Asian-style with a strong Chinese underpinning'. With chefs culled from hotspots like Nobu, Zuma and Vong, you'd think they'd be able to pull it off. You'd be wrong.

Soft shell crab with Thai vinaigrette and crushed garlic was good, lulling us into a false sense of security, but sashimi-style organic salmon and turbot dressed with 'new-style' black bean sauce - that'll be a black bean sauce with all the musky punchiness removed? - verged on the inedible. A fishy undertaste suggested the salmon was a little long in the tooth; the turbot was so unpleasantly tough it was almost crunchy.

A tiny amount of correctly lacquered duck came with 'Asian-style hoi sin sauce'. As opposed to what? Italian style? Plump, good scallops brandished an anorexic dollop of improperly trimmed foie gras and an anaemic 'spicy XO sauce' (try the Hakkasan version for what it should taste like). Choi sum was fibrous and tough. Presentation only highlights the lack of generosity: tiny dods of food are marooned in the centre of Desperate Dan-proportioned white dishes. And if there's a drizzle to be drizzled, you can bet your life it'll be done.

All of this came with a sleepinducing amount of preamble from a tyro floor team - the 'At Taman Gang, our philosophy's about sharing' kind of tosh. Still, you're woken up by the prices: starters hit £18; mains £28; a side of veg an alarming £6.50. We were surrounded by American accents: no wonder tourists think London is a rip-off.

Taman Gang
141 Park Lane, W1K 7AA