Negative chain reaction

If you stray from pizza and pasta at this latest outpost of Marco Pierre White and Frankie Dettori's moneyspinner, you wind up paying for it: our bill for two was £102.

Which is fair enough if the food is up there with the top joints - but it just isn't.

Gnocchi were home-made but pesto tasted less like the real Ligurian deal and more like the (admittedly not bad) stuff that comes in supermarket pots.

Seared octopus was resiliently rubbery and tasted only of the grill.

Sea bass with 'citrus fruits' (er, lemon) was overcooked. If every restaurant in town is going to serve this fish, can they please get the timing right?

Only tuna, flash-seared to ruby pinkness and served with cherry tomatoes and olives, made the grade. Everything came with tangles of rocket but we had to ask for oil to dress the weaselly herb.

So why is it worthy of attention? Because this beautiful, beautiful room - a collision of glitter and opulence - deserves to throb with happy punters.

Marco Pierre White is a clever restaurateur and genius chef: his customers - and the Criterion - deserve the full beam of his talents, not this.

Treat it as the chain it is, despite its glamorous drag. Stick to pizzas and burgers and you'll be fine. Otherwise, it leaves a dodgy taste in your mouth.

Frankie's at Criterion
224 Piccadilly, W1