Parisian pastiche

The Wallace Restaurant at The Wallace Collection, Hertford House, Manchester Square W1
***

I've said it before and I don't mind saying it again: I'm a huge fan of Oliver Peyton. The man may have the occasional peculiar idea, the odd misstep, but he doesn't have a dull bone in his body. (Obviously, I'm talking from a restaurant perspective; he may be utterly turgid in real life. Still, somehow I doubt it.)

Even though his latest enthusiasm seems to be all about heritage - his gorgeous addition to St James's Park, his soon-to-be two outlets in the National Gallery, and now this new treasure in The Wallace Collection - there's never a sense of stuffiness or of the rehashing of familiar formulas. On the contrary, he takes his surroundings as the starting point for everything from playfulness to profundity: so we get the grassroofed Teletubby surrealism of Inn The Park and the classical, people-friendly sophistication of The National Dining Rooms.

Which is why, with The Wallace Restaurant (in the magnificently, opulently Francophile Wallace Collection), he has given us an intriguing pastiche of a Parisian courtyard. In the enchanting, glass-covered central space of the building, long-time collaborator Shaun Clarkson has created an environment that looks like Alice In Wonderland directed by Peter Greenaway. In a French accent.

I'm not sure it's wholly successful: the 'bespoke gunmetal wire' furniture, embroidered cushions and tasselled canopies give the impression of having been bought in a job lot from somewhere else; they don't sit completely comfortably in the towering space. And the trees look like catering marquee fakes. There's an air of slightly eerie impermanence.

The menu, however, is a fantastic document. It, too, talks French (chef is ex-Gavroche Thierry Laborde): roaming from breakfast and morning coffee through lunch and afternoon tea (the restaurant is only open for dinner on Fridays and Saturdays), taking in oeuf a la coque et mouillettes (soft boiled egg with soldiers), seafood platters, roast rib of peppered beef for two to share, with a whole host of viennoiserie, cakes and ice creams in between. And terrines you can help yourself to - as much as you like.

Does it deliver? Well, up to a point. There's excellent nut bread and strongly flavoured, artisan French butter but our starters looked mean: a weeny hillock of rather ordinary smoked salmon with dill creme fraiche and a measly pile of baby octopus with chickpeas and lemon confit that actually tasted a lot better than its beige demeanour suggested.

But our main course - a whole black leg chicken 'roasted and stuffed with foie gras' - brought enough to feed a family.

A jointed chicken (not a whole roast bird) with two fat lobes of foie gras on top (not as stuffing) on a forest of green beans, accessorised by two large bowls of salty, addictive string frites. We managed a manful dent in it - it was all good stuff, caramelised from the roasting and tasting of real chicken - but wanted to leave room for what is usually a highlight of any Peyton establishment: pudding. What a let-down: a hazelnut, coffee and chocolate sundae that lacked any kind of praliney punch and a bitter chocolate tart that tasted of wax.

A belated mention for the staff: just lovely. Especially the lanky chap who served us with a rare blend of judicious friendliness and helpful charm. His cohorts dealt with earlydays hiccups with grace and humour. And, when our long, long lunch collided with the arrival of what looked like the world's poshest coach party - a charabanc full of boffins and bluestockings - they took care that we didn't feel ignored or disenfranchised.

Not an unqualified success, then, but, as I've come to expect from Peyton, The Wallace offers a trip that's never less than interesting.

A meal for two with wine, water and service costs about £100.
Tel: 020 7563 9505.