Jefford goes BYO

If people power really does begin to mould the economic policies of "listening" governments, there are plenty of worthy targets other than the price of petrol which The Great Disgruntled could have a go at. The price of train tickets, for a start, or the price of a pint of beer; both, like diesel, are more or less given away free on street corners in Europe, while we pay much and enjoy mediocrity. More than anything, though, why aren't outraged diners blockading London's leading restaurants to protest at the gross mark-ups inflicted on bottles of wine?

Perhaps because there's little choice. Which is strange, really; the BYO (Bring Your Own) culture flourishes in countries like Australia, where restaurant wine prices are actually more modest than in this country; we queue up for repeated punishment. There are, it's true, more than 50 BYO restaurants in London, but mostly these are unlicensed outer London Asian restaurants which offer BYO more or less by accident, in a spirit of simplicity or incomprehension.

Chez Max at 168 Ifield Road SW10 is well-known for its BYO option, but corkage there will set you back £7.50 a bottle. Two new restaurants, HULLABALLOOS in Twickenham and MUSET in Kew, are not only BYO by design, but also charge zero corkage, giving you a restaurant evening of potentially fine drinking at cost price.

These are part of a small, West Country chain of restaurants in Bristol, Bath and Cardiff. Value is their banner: not only is there no corkage but the service charge is strictly optional; there's an early evening menu (£8.50 for two courses and £10.25 for three courses between 5 and 6.30pm); and modest pricing for everything else. "It's worked well in the cost-conscious provinces," director Geoff Hanson told me; "so it just might be well received in London."

Well, it might. My guest and I were almost the only ones doing the receiving when we visited Muset, though since it's almost next door to Kew Gardens station and public transport in our major world capital had just disintegrated, this wasn't surprising. The streets were deserted; traumatised commuters had scuttled home to sip tumblerfuls of whisky as an antidote to fear, trembling and incomprehensible announcements. Things were a little jollier at Hullaballoos, though not (I'm glad to say) quite as jolly as the name suggests. The two-level Muset is smarter, full of pale wood and acute angles; Hullaballoos has a bistro-like feel, its cream-and-turquoise walls hung with French country watercolours, the tables laid with paper tablecloths and napkins. The menus share some common dishes, and are simple in conception and execution; vegetarians get plenty of choice (five starters and four main courses at Muset, for example). The wintry chill permeating roasted artichoke on puy lentils and tomato salad at Hullaballoos and Mediterranean vegetable quiche at Muset indicated advance preparation and refrigeration which barely seemed warranted on either occasion; half the flavour had been left in the fridge.

One starter of warm squid, mangetout and baby corn salad with saffron and turmeric, though, was appreciated by a guest who had had lunch the same day at Maison Novelli: "It's more honest and there's more of it than the poncy stuff I had at lunchtime." Starters cost between £2.95 and £5.25.

The best of five main courses (priced at between £8.50 and £14.50) was undoubtedly the magnificent, clove-studded honey-roasted ham hock which I hit lucky with at Hullaballoos, though ideally I should have done a day's work replacing railway lines in the driving rain in order to do justice to its half-kilo of salty, fat-softened pink flesh.

Char-grilled rib-eye steak was ordered rare but arrived medium; it was replaced speedily and accurately. King prawns, sweet peppers and monkfish brochette on rice with lemon dill butter was moistly cooked. Over at Muset, a vegetarian dish of tomato pancake filled with asparagus and Asian greens and topped with Gruy?re cheese was confused but colourful, low in flavour intensity, and involved a lot of calorie-burning fork work.

Desserts (about £4) are, if anything, even simpler, though the warm pancake of saffron cream with citrus fruit compote was served with fresh citrus slices among which lurked innocuous-looking pieces of eye-watering fresh lime.

The wines, of course, were wonderful: I was able to raid my cellar, allow a sensible bottle each, treat my friends, cater for all dishes, and we could still all walk out for less than £25 a head for food.