Posh and proper pub food

Pub-quiz types will know that the commonest pub name in Britain is The Red Lion. The more advanced among them will know that the reason a lot of pubs are named after obscure, titled chaps is that ex-soldiers who became publicans when pensioned out of the forces would name their premises in homage to their generals and admirals.

Of the 22,000 pubs in London, eight are called The Lord Palmerston, and I assumed that he was one such military type. But no, he was a prime minister, apparently. Perhaps the new pub chains should call their boozers after politicians - we could binge on alcopops at The Blair & Firkin, and meet the boys at The Slug & Mandelson.

Back to Palmerston, specifically his namesake in Lordship Lane, which has only been open for four months. The chef/patron, Jamie Younger, is out of the kitchens of Bibendum and The Wolseley, which made me wearily assume that 'smart brasserie food' was on the menu. I assumed wrong.

This Palmerston is turning out quite singular British-type ingredients - meat, offal, potted sea creatures - served up with natty but never pretentious Italian and French elements. The space is beautifully, Britishly simple - they've brought out the original Arts & Crafts (I'd guess) fixtures and fittings in this once old fellas' boozer: mosaic tile floors, plain wood panelling and some cute original wall tiles etched with the labels of legendary wines.

London Pride is always on tap, with guest ales such as Greene King's IPA. It's pretty cheap - a jug of Pimm's or Bloody Mary is just £9. The most expensive main course is a veal chateaubriand at a most reasonable £26.50 for two.

Younger was dashing in and out of the kitchen, managing to be my convivial host and a pretty hot chef simultaneously. Brother William's friture of anchovies came like moist, corpulent whitebait, in a thin, crunchy, dry batter with deepfried parsley and a gentle aioli. The anchovies offered a few irritating bones, which detracted only slightly from an otherwise cheering experience.

I chose warm smoked eel with roast beetroot and horseradish cream, a classic that used the plumpest, meatiest Dutch eel. Friend Antonia went for sautéed calves' brains with brown butter and capers. She liked the delicate moussey texture and flavour but the next day she e-mailed me: 'Cracking meal, but in postscript I must say that as a cranial virgin I felt traumatised about scoffing brains.' She's right, there is something challenging about consuming brains. I don't like eating them, and neither does my father, a surgeon, having decided on health grounds that nervous tissue (optic nerve, spinal chord, brain) could carry some pretty hairy diseases in any beastie.

Knightsbridge Al's potted salmon with brown shrimp and caper crème fraiche was simply 'good', he said. His sweet and tender grilled kidneys with sherry, chorizo and basil went down like a helium balloon: 'Very good, the sauce is a great combination of flavours. The kidneys don't have any of that bitterness that gives them a bad name.' Antonia hailed some jewel-bright roast rump of lamb with the bread gnocchi, strozzapretti, with: 'Know what, this is the best meal I've eaten in ages.' Brother William agreed. His roast sea bass came with girolles, some nubile little broad beans and the earthy intensity of meat juices.

I took a thumping rib-eye steak, which was far more tender than you'd expect of this cut. It was smothered in foie-gras butter, which produced a dry, pleasantly cheesy taste, a bit like gorgonzola. I woofed it down with a herby green salad and chips. Steak, chips and salad --the perfect meal.

We took a selection of puds, a biscuity-edged brownie, which was madly gooey and eggy inside. Wild strawberries were a rare treat with vanilla cream. I'd put £500 on this being the finest Palmerston in town.

The Palmerston
91 Lordship Lane, SE22 8EP