At home in Chelsea

The siblings Amy and William were taking the piss, re-enacting the time when, at a sorry stab at being on primetime telly, I described an unpleasant sauce by making tiger claws and going, 'It's a bit grrr!'.

It was funny, in retrospect, but it won't net me a spot on Newsnight talking about the evils of fizzy drinks in schools. 'Oh don't worry, sis,' said Amy. 'It's your Bridget Jones moment, like when she slides down the fireman's pole with her bum in the camera.' The thing about familial ribbing is that it is made of love, and while you wouldn't tolerate it from anyone else, somehow it's comforting from loved ones.

The food we were eating on the night of taunting, at The Crown in Chelsea, was very much of this ilk. From the moment we sat down on a banquette smothered in pretty scatter cushions, we felt as if we were at home for an informal supper in one of those cosy basement kitchens you see glowing below as you walk the streets of the SWs. Instead of smelling of pub, The Crown's narrow dining room smells of seagrass and expensive paint colours, such as muslin and Regency white.

The Crown is owned by the Heggies - a floppy-haired chap in tweeds and a scrumptious-looking pregnant lady. Iain Heggie had just taken some wine exams and the list was a short and sweet example of his enthusiasm. At £13.50, the Southern Italian Falanghina was crisp, clean and notably drinkable for that price in this postcode. He has London Pride on all the time, and rotates his guest ales according to their popularity. Currently on is Otter from Ottery St Mary in Devon. The female bar staff wear pinnies with roses on.

The short menu is middleclass, informal home dining in tone and taste. Not quite fish pie, peas, ketchup, but old favourites you might prepare at home.

My gazpacho was refreshing, pleasantly stinging with sherry vinegar and garlic and elegantly thin. Amy's chilled watercress soup was, I felt, not correct, being thick with lots of potato - I prefer it green, smooth and clean. Amy liked it, though. William went for the tomato and mozzarella and the tomatoes were red and full of flavour. Our fourth diner, who did not want to be named, chose chicken liver pate. It was a slice of pure Seventies style straight from Mummy's larder with a dash of sherry - fine straightforward eating, except it was too cold. It came with triangles of sliced granary bread, crusts off.

William's main course, Heggie's pasta, was a plate of pasta with basil and balsamic-roasted baby vine tomatoes. As he speared the tomatoes, they coated the pasta with juices. I had a salad of perfectly poached chicken dressed in lime and too much sesame oil. I found joy, instead, wrapping the stringy chips up in gem lettuce (Vietnamese-style McDonald's). Fourth diner had an uninteresting leek and cheese tart, not enough flavour in the cheese, and the leek a bit watery. Amy took the crab cakes: 'A bit burnt, can taste sweet potato more than the crab.' We played the Sunday lunch game of 'wait and see' for pudding, and distributed all on the menu randomly. Nothing stood out, other than some perfect raspberries and some bland ice-cream which turned out to be Waitrose Soft Scoop.

The Crown has only been open a few weeks, so standards will rise. A perfect example of a nice, but not brilliant dinner at home.

The Crown @ Chelsea
153 Dovehouse Street, SW3 6LB