Paradise regained

I went to Astons on instruction that it was under new ownership and much improved. On arrival we said, 'Are you serving lunch?'. The barman said, 'Yes'. We said, 'Great. May we have a bottle of red and a table for three?' The wine was chosen, sold, opened, and then we were told: 'No tables though.' The Dirty Blond was appalled. While my back was turned he said, most annoyingly, 'She reviews pubs for the Evening Standard, you know.' To which the feckless barman said, sarcastically, 'Well, we can set you up a table in the garden.' Outside it was too cold for snow.

The light was flat and grim and sallow. Astons felt horrible. Even if the Yorkshires coming out of the kitchen looked tempting, 10 yards away the Paradise looked more so. The Paradise sparkled and twinkled at us. Perhaps it was greener grass, or perhaps Astons should give that rude barman the push. Life's too short for sarky service. The waitress at the Paradise was the friendliest, must-can-do woman in the world, and found us a table instantly. We dropped contentedly into the lively room which roared with warmth and good spirits - a roar loud enough to obscure any annoying squawks from the several cute (ie, soundless) nippers in the room. A glamorous Chelsea granny looked quite at home among a rainbow array of Londoners getting sozzled on a Sunday. The lighting was spot on. A bottle of cheap rioja was deliciously leathery tasting. They have real ale on tap and interesting continentals in the fridge.

The pub is named after a G.K. Chesterton poemwhich refers to the cemetery just down the road. There's a rococo/gothic/tarts' boudoir feel to the decor - cherubs and gilt and not a simple white wall in sight.

The food, however, is dire. Fish soup was thick, brown, spicy fishy sludge. Beneath the primordial goo, a lone, tasteless piece of bread. Why? The mini chorizo in my salad came with watery, entirely tasteless squid, the sausage had a zingy charm, but the leaves were barely dressed and from a bag, I think. Deep-fried Camembert was some uniformly too perfect crispy breaded triangles - super runny inside, lacklustre flavour. Don't rush to order them unless you are a Seventies Carrier's Kitchen fan.

My roast cod fillet was spongy and watery - a waste of a rare beasties life - the mash and salsa verde that came with it were, respectively, underseasoned and bland, and over-vinegary with capers. The boys both had a roast beef lunch. The horseradish being the most flavourful thing on the plate, the beef grey and chewy.

In spite of that we had a nice afternoon. The atmosphere was great. I suspect the food is better at Astons. I suspect food isn't everything.

Paradise By Way Of Kensal Green
19 Kilburn Lane, W10 4AE