Saved by the brulèe

My impression of Patterson's was of a gaff with ideas above its station: the Mayfair location (previously upscale pizza joint Condotti); the snooty goateed maitre d'; the amuses bouches; the prices - at £35 for three courses, this pits Patterson's against the big guns.

And though it's pleasant enough, it just doesn't have the gumption to live up to its pretensions.

Dishes are ambitious, but occasionally clumsily realised. Trio of pork with an apple sauce was a courgette flower stuffed with a Wall's sausagey pork mousse, an overcooked nugget of tenderloin wrapped in pancetta and a square of pork belly.

My smoked haddock soufflè was dusty from grated parmesan on top (should have been flash-glazed under the grill) and slumped into a soup when its chive and butter sauce was applied.

Chef/patron Richard Patterson's institutional past - he was chef at the Garrick Club for years - showed up in the main courses.

My dover sole (pearly, moist, good) came rolled into one of those retro bolsters you see at provincial weddings; flanked by grey, leaden lobster tortellini and perched on a rather evil compost of spaghettied courgettes.

The monkfish was much better, with more pancetta, an allegedly truffled polenta and wild mushrooms. A gussied-up blueberry cheesecake and an excellent red fruit crumble with crëme br°lèe ice cream just saved Patterson's from eminent forgettability.

Patterson's
Mill Street, London, W1S 2AX