Princely bill in Queen's Park

I'll never win a Nobel. Or be a Playboy bunny. And at the rate of its gentrification, I'll never live in Queen's Park. A few years ago, Salusbury Road, NW6's main drag, was grimy, with goodishtorubbish curry houses and a wellstocked ironmongers. Today every other shopfront's a shrine to costly organic food.

Nowhere epitomises the confident chic of NW6 better than the famous Baker and Spice. Ostensibly a bakery, it provides rustic tables, mugs of coffee and a communal butter mountain for that nubbin of bread you hoick from a loaf's bottom before you've paid.

Penk's Restaurant next door has that same designer, earthy, style. It's a narrow room, lit to a perfect warm glow. Blackboards on the wall announcing special cheeses and beers and wines by the glass add to the casual feel, as do tatty cookery books on a shelf. The menu and mood feels French, but is littered with international bistroisms - Wiener schnitzel with baby artichoke and chervil gratin, brochette of king prawn, monkfish and tuna, griddled king scallops with pea puree and mint vinaigrette. For a brass monkey night, the menu erred on the summery.

I'll say right off, we had a good evening. The ambience is cosy, the house wine, a South African Shiraz, drinkable. But we three - a vegetarian ballet dancer, a carbohydrate-spurning writer and yours truly - were picking up on some bum notes in the food.

Every dish had one important thing wrong with it. Ballet and I started with the spicy aubergine, tomato, potato and yogurt soup. 'The tomatoes are tinned,' said Ballet. 'Impossible,' I said. We agreed though, that it tasted slightly metallic. Writer was unhappy with his coddled eggs 'Albert' in a runny pool of cream, three shrimps, cayenne and parsley. My main course of hare braised with shallots, mushrooms, bacon and wine tasted very strongly of hare - a pleasantly bitter and liverish, gamey flavour. It was slightly dry, but forgivably so. I asked the busy French waitress where it was from. 'It's very difficult to explain in English, it's like a rabbit.' 'No, where is it from?' 'France... probably,' she mused. So I left it at that.

The roast rack of lamb with dauphinoise potatoes was perfectly cooked, but the rosemary jus that came with it tasted of Marmite, according to the Writer. My dinner dates really had it in for the food here. The Ballet Dancer's criticism of her vegetable casserole was extensive, the squash unacceptably greasy, the sweetcorn fritter ditto, the sauce too creamy. She left most of it, and complained. She got a free glass of wine but the £10 casserole stayed on the bill. She loved her lemon and ricotta cheesecake and he loved his cheese, but my chocolate brownie was dry and burnt. The final reckoning came with the bill. At around £35 a head, with only one bottle of £10 wine, Penk's is just south of good enough. But then it is just north of Notting Hill, so I am sure it will improve at the same galloping rate as the house prices.

Penk's
Salusbury Road, London, NW6 6NH