Good Brixton beat

Boy, am I off sherry - especially fino, that lemony, innocuous-looking fortified wine which Tio Pepe are trying to persuade us to drink like wine. Take it from me, don't. And especially don't on an empty stomach. It's nearly halfway in proof to vodka, and you wouldn't drink a bottle of that with your din-dins unless you were the President of Russia. I am thinking of suing Tio Pepe after their free-flowing sponsorship of the Carlton Restaurant Awards left me with a nasty bruise on my bottom and a massive dent in my ego.

I rang my Granny to lament. She said, 'Oh dear, not sherry. Disaster!' 'Yes,' I sobbed. 'And it was really dry.'

Why is dry sherry so scary? Master Of Wine and restaurant consultant, Peter McCombie, tells me, 'It is the fortification that is the killer. Sherry contains a lot of aldehydes and fusel oils which give that peculiar quality to the taste, and which may not cause a hangover, but do enhance it. I think the Spanish probably drink a little less than us, they just sip it - a fino really works with salty and fatty southern Spanish food.' The awards were funny. I sat next to Tony Hadley - ex-Spandau Ballet - who, as we listened to the nominations for best Italian restaurant (Zafferano), told me that his favourite Italian restaurant was Alfresco in Whetstone.

He didn't drink any sherry.

Stone-faced genius Tom Aikens deservedly won two awards. Pascal Aussignac of Club Gasconwon Outstanding London Chef (he didn't drink any sherry either). I will be first in the queue at his new lady lunchers' brasserie, Le Cercle, opening in April.

Tim Haigh, the chef at Atlantic 66, did his time at Thyme and Chez Bruce with Bruce Poole, who picked up London Restaurant Academy Award Of Excellence on the night.

I sat next to the open kitchen and threw questions at the poor bugger when my dinner date failed to show. Haigh is cooking to a simpler but thorough and intelligent standard.

I really enjoyed my meal here, despite being on my own. The food is eclectic, modern European with a strong British bent, without being self-consciously rustic. A cauliflower and black truffle soup was pleasantly thin, with a flavour that came from essence rather than heavy pureed content. It was also creamy, without being full of cream. The truffle balance was spot on. A good soup, with proper truffle, and only four quid.

In between courses, I sat on the wooden banquette and thought how rude it was on my bruised bottom. My suggestion: cushions please, because Atlantic has the sort of calm ambience and nice food you might want to dawdle over. It's not posh - the picture windows look over Brixton's fabulously downbeat and funky Atlantic Road. Blondwood and white paint make the room a bit cold, with a few bright and silly student canvases to break up the white.

The restaurant was pretty empty, but the man at the table next to me was mouthing his plans to 'take out' some poor associate. I hope he wasn't a hitman, because he entertained this eavesdropping diner with his 'I'm a loose cannon, he'd better watch it!' ITV-drama, textbook criminal boasts.

Chicken wrapped in pancetta with sage and parmesan polenta and creamy mustard sauce was comforting and the sauce, a simple deglaze with grainy mustard and cream, was simple and flavoursome. The chicken was moist, perfectly cooked, the polenta crispy, sweet and golden. It was simple, but the execution was professional to the last.

Puddings were so good I had two. Haigh does not use a lot of sugar, and flavours were the better for it. A rich panacotta was balanced by a cherry puree and a tasty little biscuit flavoured with wine, cinnamon and sesame. An orange cake with vanilla ice cream and ginger syrup was eggy, not sweet or floury. Despite gobbling both up, I did not feel greedily saturated in sugar and fat.