It's a fishy business

Despite the fact that I made it a mission to eat in every restaurant of note in London (about two-and-a-half stones ago), I'd never been to Rudland & Stubbs. So I canvassed foodie and restaurant-obsessive pals: had they been? Nope, not one. And it's been there for years. This struck me as very odd indeed.

After all, it ticked the boxes: cool City location; fishy menu that must have gone along the safe-stuffy-zeitgeist continuum at least once; former industrial premises - in a sausage factory, no less. When I read about its new ownership, I couldn't believe I'd missed out for so long.

Why had it slipped under the radar? One clue came from our fellow diners. We visited mere seconds after the relaunch and, I think it's fair to say, tidings of the new regime hadn't quite hit regulars, all of whom - how can I put this kindly? - were not in the first flush of youth.

Now, I like older people. I intend to be one shortly. But ours is a shallow culture and this is a shallow part of town. It's likely the decor, too, played its part in the absence of profile. Although new owners Raymond de Fazio and Rupert Hill (of Cafè Med and the late lamented Osia) have given the place a tart-up, I couldn't see any evidence of it. They've kept the original tiles and floors, and the dark Bentwood furniture, palms and etched glass screens don't exactly shout makeover. Unless, of course, it's the deeply ironic result of a trolley dash in Lassco and I'm too dim to spot the subtlety.

The new menu, from ex-Osia chef Konrad Inghelram, reads like a nod to the area's too-cool-for-school brigade (sea bass ceviche with spiced pineapple and coriander dressing), coupled with aged-punter palliatives (potted shrimps; fish and chips with mushy peas and tartare sauce). But almost everything we ate came across as though it had been rustled up by some provincial numpty before they called in Gordon Ramsay.

Take my starter: filo pastry, spider crab, courgette and green curry sauce. 'Good choice,' stoutly lied the charming manager. It was, in fact, a hymn to hubris. Plate-sized squares of brittle filo sandwiched flaccid coils of julienned courgettes and a beige slurry of viciously spiced crabmeat. It was difficult to eat (shatteringly crisp in parts, swampy in others), misguided (no taste of crab) and downright ugly.

Salt and pepper calamari turned up as chewy rings in clunky batter with an amorphous relish (mango pink pepper, supposedly). We watched an older customer bemusedly prise the fish from its coating, leaving a pileup of carapaces on her plate. Worse still was what was described as lobster 'pot au feu' (their inverted commas). 'It's big,' warned the waitress but even this caveat didn't lead me to expect what arrived.

A family-sized Le Creuset casserole groaned under the weight of about a quart of thick cream laced with shellfish stock and uncooked brandy. It had the pot au feu components right but their ratio startlingly wrong. In its murky depths swam chunks of lobster, toughened by over-exposure to creamy heat, fibrous baby leeks and turned potatoes. And a timbale of rice. I lived with this lunacy for days, futilely bombarding it with Rennies. And, talking of lunacy, we had caramelised Roquefort trifle for pudding - and got all we deserved. The date described it as the best thing he'd eaten all evening. Compliment? I'm not so sure.

There were good bits: lovely staff and ozoney-fresh oysters. Shunted into the spotlight by new management, Rudland & Stubbs could have performed a star turn. But if our meal was anything to go by, it's destined to remain an anonymous bit player. Marina O'Loughlin

A meal for two with wine, water and service costs about £110. 35-37 Greenhill Rents, Cowcross Street EC1. Tel: 020 7253 0148. Tube: Farringdon

Rudland & Stubbs
35-37 Greenhill Rents, Cowcross Street, EC1M 6BN