Locals: Westbourne Park

The Krispy Kreme people have been urging me to scoff off their production line prior to the opening of the cult American brand's first British store.

Doughnuts are so hot right now: Krispy Kreme in Harrods, and hip pukka tea spot the Caramel Room at the Berkeley doing a real classy haute cuisine 'nut, with fillings from Valrhona chocolate to bitter orange marmalade.

So I let a car pick me up at 7am to eat doughnuts. I ate two - lovely examples of the sexy threesome of hot fat, sugar and flour. But hot doughnuts for brekkie made me feel a bit queer all day. KK's people have that American evangelical zeal about the 'Krispy Kreme' experience which is upbeat and infectious. There is much to this brand that is truly cultlike. For example, the ethos of only selling them in boxes of 12 because it is a 'social, sharing' experience, and not because people are greedy pigs.

If you were to take 12 friends to a restaurant, the chances are you may get a less than KK enthusiastic response. I always get the feeling that smart restaurants loathe big tables, and as such I feel embarrassed when booking one. Lola's is a tiny little restaurant, open barely two months, but they accommodated a last-minute response to put a table for two up to a table for 12 with noticeable good humour.

The process of 12 ordering did not annoy, and I could tell that we were getting as good a service as Geri Halliwell and Rita Koenig at the table next to us. Yes, Geri was in with her new boyfriend and her new fuller figure. Lola's looks like it is going to become a haunt for low-lying, highflying, unostentatious West London types. I hear Stella was in the previous week.

Rupert Baird-Murray, the man behind Lola's, fits the demographic of the Westbourne Park landlord to a T - a handsome, upper-class chap who has done his time in New York, Australia and some of the smarter Notting Hill pubs. At Lola's, the decor is effortless shabby chic. The floor has a rough Turkish rug on it, the walls are panels of dark-stained wood and red velvet, and there are pictures of everything including the Queen, Elvis, ship's rigging and Richard III slayed at the Battle Of Bosworth.

The tablecloths are all different floral patterns, china is mismatched and looks like it was from an old hotel or country house auction, the room is an odd triangular shape, the double doors to the street thrown open, the table flowers - pretty antique roses and funny old garden flowers - drooped in a most romantic fashion. All of this attributed to an excellent bohemian bourgeoisie vibe.

To the food. Five starters, five mains for a fixed price of £21.50 -excellent news when you are splitting the bill. Each item was familiar. This was like comfort food with the stodge stripped out. I started with a pint of Dorset prawns and mayonnaise - fine. The other starters included prosciutto, honey roast figs, rocket and balsamic, and wood pigeon, duck and parma ham terrine. Also fine, if unexceptional. Everyone, to the last, said (soberly): 'I like it here.'

Cod and chips with pea purée got a big thumbs up everywhere. A little taste made me think of the version at Quaglino's. Chargrilled rib eye, chips and Béarnaise scored low for too few chips, medium for tasty but chewy meat (dat's rib eye fer yer, folks). Coq au vin was extremely garlicky and universally loved. My sea bass was properly cooked, and the parsley, caper and olive salad that came with it was fresh and green - and went some way to ameliorate the doughnut queasiness that lingered on.

Puddings featured a Claridge's favourite, the Baileys brulée, and a summer berry fool with spiced shortbread. House wine is £9, and perfectly pleasant drinking.