New nutcase on the block

On West Hampstead's West End Lane every other building is a restaurant. From Israeli juice cafes to the Gourmet Burger Kitchen, this part of town is stiff with eating options and I have been meaning to check it out for ages.

West Hampstead is happening. The City bankers haven't arrived yet, but some of my favourite ageing counterculture freaks are here: gravel-voiced underground DJs, the sandalwood-flavoured Barefoot Doctor, a portly garage producer and now the Genuine Wild Man, with whom a sensible meal is impossible. (The last time he accompanied me on a review I had to go back the next day on my own - that is how shabby both handwriting and memory were after dinner.)

So it was high time for West Hampstead to get a great local modern European and join the ranks of important gastronomic postcodes. A local foodie said he had heard good things about Walnut - he joined me and the GWM for Sunday lunch.

The leather high-backed chairs, white walls, parquet flooring, fishbowl windows and curious sequin and leather art would pitch this place in the modern European/British category.

We had smoked halibut mousse to start. Halibut is a fishy fish but here it was hindered in doing its job by the heavy use of cream, which didn't taste too modern to me. The cream of roasted courgette soup was confounded by what tasted to me like dried herbs. On the short menu there were none of those chef's follies, those ill-judged dishes that are one of the endearing signs of a passionate, confident cook having fun in the kitchen. At these prices £12.50 for one course rising to £17.95 for three - I'd like to see the chef sticking his neck out a bit.

The foodie said his braised lamb shank was flavourful and beautifully cooked, but the GWM and I found the grilled sea bass tasted tired. Of course, it was a Sunday, so the poor little fishy had been dead a while, but it wasn't
really good enough. The food came plated up with lots of perfectly cooked, sparkling vegetables and some new potatoes that were over-cooked. We split a warm chocolate tart, which was just the right pitch of cocoa-bitter over eggy sweetness. The presiding feeling was, 'I could have done this at home'.

Sunday lunch is apparently a simpler menu than that in the evenings. When I rang to find out what else is on offer I was told it was dishes such as seafood risotto, pan-fried lamb fillet, poached sole and a walnut vegetarian lasagne -still very dinner party.

It wasn't busy, the service was in the sweet style of pretty girls who probably have more A levels than I do. The Barefoot Doctor joined us for tea. He said that Walnut has proved a bit of a pink elephant over the years, chopping and changing like the cast of Art, but always remaining, like Art, ever so slightly bland. I insisted on some oriental mumbo jumbo to explain this. 'This spot has got very bad feng shui - the way the corner is cut off means there is no flow of energy. You could correct that with a mirror and crystals, but until they do, it's going to look and feel like a failure.'