Grace and Flavour: Soif

I rarely make Battersea a food destination. Too far from my East London home, too many dining distractions en route, too many ghosts of my misspent 1990s falling out of The Clapham Grand with one shoe on and a lovebite from a banker called Jonty. So a Saturday night trip to Soif, Ed Wilson and Oli Barker's follow-up to Terroirs and Brawn, was a real Dent diary event. Perhaps this was where I went wrong.

Despite an open kitchen, a reservations system, a 150-bin biodynamic wine list and a menu serving the likes of Montbéliard and choucroute, or chanterelles with speck, Soif still appears to think of itself - as was mentioned in its opening PR blurb - as 'the ultimate drop in for a quick drink and end up staying all night neighbourhood bar'. Which is perfectly true. If Battersea is your neighbourhood, then I'm sure the option of a large, souped-up Pizza Express to 'drop in to', stuffed to bursting with slurring blondes and rugby shirt-clad future capitalists, is a treat.

I went for dinner, having reserved a 9pm table four days in advance, so didn't aim to be still sitting by the front door at 9.30pm, blasted by cold winds, listening to an American female Jar Jar Binks impersonator by the jam-packed bar quack on about Cape Cod, before eventually being transferred to a tiny table and waiting for bread and olives that never appeared.

But a large glass of Vouvray took the edge off matters as I pondered the menu, a single column of foodstuffs, while watching plates of leeks vinaigrette with eggs mimosa, and braised beef with red carrots, arrive as 'sharing plates' for the large table next door, who were then stumped how to share them. The only situation in which I want to share a stew with six people, all picking grimly from one bowl, is if I'm in a humanitarian disaster.

A firm ball of mozzarella on a bed of raw Jerusalem artichoke arrived for us. It was not a taste sensation, more day-nine Rosemary Conley. Our oysters were good. Bream with parsnips, shrimp and mace was delicious. A bowl of mash appeared apropos of nothing, but I snaffled it and ate it with a fork like a cold woman eating dinner at 10.20pm. I'd write more about my actual dinner, but it wasn't their priority, so frankly it's not mine either.