What a lousy reception

The big restaurant news is that former refined-sugar-pusher Gary Rhodes has launched a new operation, one that comes across as a determined hunt for the twinkle of Michelins. I haven't loved Rhodes's restaurants, but since wallowing in his unforgettable mutton pudding (oo-er) at Rhodes Twenty Four, I am cautiously prepared to be a massive fan.

So I am determined to get in there super-pronto for the month or so that the great man is likely to be actually manning the stoves. Or so I think. Here's how my attempt to book a table at this new swankerama in the Cumberland Hotel goes.

Me: I'd like to book a table in the new Rhodes W1 Restaurant.

Receptionist: I'll just put you through. One moment!

I'm transferred on to a looped tape for Rhodes W1 Brasserie. I hang up and call back.

Me: Hello - I spoke to you a minute ago, I wanted a booking at Rhodes W1 Restaurant and you put me through to the Brasserie.

Receptionist: That's what you asked for. Me: No, I wanted the new restaurant... Receptionist: One moment!

Back to the Brasserie loop. Okaaaay. Try again.

Me: Me again. I wanted the new restaurant, Rhodes W1 Restaurant, not the Brasserie.

Receptionist: I'll just transfer you... Me: Please. Just to be clear, it's the new one I want, the fine dining one.

Receptionist: You didn't say you wanted the one called Fine Dining.

Me: It's not called Fine Dining, it's called Rhodes W1.

Receptionist: Well, what would be the point of that? There's already a restaurant called Rhodes W1. I'll just transfer you. One moment!

Loop-de-loop; I give up. Fortunately, there's a rather lovely new seafood restaurant only too happy to take my money.

Olivomare comes from the same illustrious stable as Olivo and Oliveto, long-standing and perennially popular Belgravia joints, whose claims to fame include launching Giorgio Locatelli's career and introducing the fishy luxury bottarga to an appreciative London audience. Owner Mauro Sanna has built up a loyal clientele over the years, culled from the area's wealthy inhabitants. So it's no surprise that, without a whisper of publicity, the new restaurant is already rammed with people who look like rather louche connections of the royal family. If Ginger Hewitt turned up, he'd fit in nicely.

On a sunny day, there are oh-so-desirable tables outside. The sombrely painted exterior contrasts with the pale brilliance of the inside. A graphic fishprint wall apart, everything is white: ceilings, furniture, light fittings and floor - there's a skylit ante-room so blindingly white it's like sitting inside a Tic Tac. It makes my latent inner fusspot wonder how they're going to keep it clean.

The menu is Southern-focused, specifically Sardinian - both Olivomare chefs, Marco Melis and Andrea Orrù, hail from this part of the world. As you'd expect from the name, not a shred of meat pollutes the entirely piscine menu. There are loads of diverting choices such as the aforementioned bottarga, ricci di mare (sea urchins), black squid-ink pasta with cuttlefish and moscardini (or baby octopus).

And it's all either fabulous or pretty damn close. Six ravishingly fresh oysters are served with nothing other than their brine and a spritz of lemon: perfect. My 'caponata' (usually a sour-sweet aubergine dish) of tuna presents chunks of fine fish with a heavy whack of good vinegar and the fragrance of bay leaves.