Home cooking with a twist

There's something awfully familiar about Chelsea. It's as predictable as an Opposition budget statement and as comfortable as last year's swimming trunks.

Somehow, the Royal Court Theatre looks unchangingly disreputable; and Chelsea is the only place in London where you're still likely to see a woman wearing an Alice band. In fact, it's a bit like post-election Pakistan: nothing much changes.

I'd had a rather dispiriting day, which began with me being trapped in a lift on the way to a meeting and descended into farce from then on. But life is all to do with attitude, and the slow-fading light and faint cheep of birdsong reminded me that spring is just around the corner. As is Manicomio, a local Italian restaurant/bar and adjoining delicatessen, that has just enjoyed an extensive refit.

Although it sounds like the name of someone who should be managing a Premiership side, manicomio is actually Italian for madhouse - this was once the site of the Royal Military Asylum. A crazy little joke then (I suppose we should be grateful it wasn't an abattoir in a previous life).

The first surprise is that it's tucked away in a small modern development just off the King's Road. Yet somehow this manages to be less about crass and more about class - maybe because it isn't a great sprawling thing - and the fairy lights looped in the trees give it a permanently festive feel.

The second surprise was that the Italian fare on offer is billed as 'regional', which made me cross my fingers but not with much hope.

London may currently have an abundance of Italian restaurants, but I've yet to find one that serves such simple and delicious seasonal dishes as you find in the restaurants of Umbria.

Being winter, Duke of York Square was quiet, but not for much longer, I'll wager. Charles Saatchi is housing his extensive art collection in a nearby gallery, due to open soon. Who knows? Manicomio might feature as an outside location for one of his wife Nigella's cooking programmes.

You walk through Manicomio's busy bar into the restaurant. Brick walls give the room a warm and rustic feel, while lavish displays of racy scarlet blooms contrast nicely with a city-slick touch. I'd invited an art dealer to cast a professional eye over the space, to tell me whether he thought Charles might find this an aesthetically pleasing location for lunch. Sadly not.

The paintings are diabolical and have clearly been chosen to match the burgundy leather seating. They look as if they'd been lifted from one of those internet quizzes in which you have to guess whether they were painted by a human or a chimp. (A chimp, definitely.)