All is not well with Empire Ramsay

The name Gordon has surged in visibility over the last year. Previously, other than eccentric references to the Gay Gordons (a Scottish dance) or Gordon Bennett (cockney rhyming slang which means I-have-no-idea-what), it was very low profile. But suddenly, two famous Gordons are springing up everywhere.

One is the man we hope will make politics more serious and restore some integrity to public life. But others think he likes cooking the books - and I do worry about his belief that he has an unquestionable right to power. The other Gordon is very similar. I'm talking about Ramsay.

He's everywhere - with a restaurant here, a TV show there, a cookbook of the TV show - and no doubt a cookery school in the offing. His telegenic wife and family never shy away from appearing on his shows. Celebrities love him - they're queuing up to get a walk-on part in his show and the spin is that he's particularly matey with David and 'Lady' Beckham. The three of them are rumoured to be opening a new restaurant in LA (unless Becks quits Stateside to come home, which is the other rumour). Oh, and Ramsay is engaged in a very public feud with another chef which helps keeps his profile as buoyant as an île flottant.

Not that you'll find anything as floaty as the custardy-meringuey pudding inside Ramsay's latest venture. The Narrow is a gastropub (a horrible term I've always thought sounds like a medical procedure), situated at Limehouse marina, where the canal system meets the Thames.

The restaurant is decked out like a boat-house, complete with a couple of old oars (both a bit small to be taken seriously). The room is light, overlooking the choppy waters of the river, where you can sit and watch the dirty British coasters speed by.

We sat down and were given bread and butter by one of the sweet waitresses, but the service was like Tony Blair's transition of power - slow, slow, slow. It wasn't laziness on their part - I think they were short-staffed - but it took ages for our order to be taken and we were so hungry we finished off the bread. There is something very dispiriting about having to wait in a London restaurant at lunchtime.

When they eventually arrived, our starters were very good. We had asparagus, potted crab, and devilled kidneys on toast, which we finished, despite the huge portion. I had invited the romantic novelist who never misses a chance to see my other guest, the footballer. She thought the place lacked the pizzazz you might expect from somewhere bearing the Ramsay name.

The menu is small, British and certainly not light. Not a place to visit if you are watching the calories - which might explain the girth of the average customer in there. Presumably, Gordon would never bring Posh here.

Bravely, the footballer opted for pigs' cheeks with mashed neeps - an inspired choice since they were butter-tender and exquisitely flavoured. Sadly, the lemon sole was swimming in butter and my boiled salt beef was dry and bitterly salty. Chips scored 6/10 on the chip test.

We shared egg custard served with Goosnargh cake - a type of caraway seed biscuit - and a gypsy tart with delicious filling but rock-like pastry. Four glasses of Rioja and lots of fizzy water brought the bill to £103 - which was certainly reasonable.