Telephone: 020-7351 0761
Address: 7 Langton Street, London SW10
Rating: 14.5/20

Locanda Locatelli for lunch, La Famiglia for dinner: what cheery serendipity life serves up from time to time. Locanda Locatelli is the smoothest and finest of what you might call London's new-wave Italian restaurants; La Famiglia, "fondata nel 1966", as the menu proclaims, is a hairy mammoth among metropolitan eateries, a survivor from some proto-restaurant era, complete with blue-and-white tiled walls, white-tiled floor, fans on the ceiling, pudding trolley and bevies of waiters who have been there since the dawn of time.

And it was full. In fact, to say it was full is something of an understatement. All the evening that Tucker, Tina and I sat in our window seat, customers kept arriving and departing, departing and arriving. The restaurant was never less than 85% full between 8.15pm and 11.15pm. That's not bad business, particularly from a clientele to whom cashmere, tailored jeans, docksiders, Ralph Lauren, pink shirts and pink faces were no strangers. This was a well-heeled brigade, among whom were several people who would be far too grand to appear on I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! What could possibly draw such a crowd on a regular basis?

Well, the regularity bit may have something to do with it. Each guest, including Tucker, Tina and myself, were greeted as old friends. "Good evening, signore/signora. How nice to see you again. La signora is looking very well. And everything is well with you, sir, I hope? Gianni! Table 15 for Signore Tucker and his wife." In many cases, I am sure that the customers in question really were old friends. Being recognised, being made welcome, no matter how professional the warmth of the greeting, is deeply soothing. Cordiality makes regulars of us all, particularly when we are surrounded by people like ourselves.

And, to be truthful, the food - Tuscan pretty much through and through - was not at all bad. Some of it was downright good. All of it was served in a more authentically Italian manner than anywhere else I have eaten in London, including Locanda Locatelli - namely, with very little ceremony and absolutely nothing by way of plate artifice: no sauces, no garnishes, no mint sprigs, no carefully structured arrangements of protein, vegetables and juices. Plonk: a deep plate of borlotti beans, cooked al fiasco (in a flask), in their cooking juices. Plonk: a plate of melanzane alla Parmigiana. Plonk: a plate of zucchini flowers in batter, deep-fried. Plonk: agnello al forno, three lumps of roast lamb with a small puddle of gravy. Plonk: a plate of grilled sardines with half a lemon. Plonk: a vast bistecca alla Fiorentina.

Admittedly, the beetle-browed waiters then tended to complicate matters by resurrecting an even more antique ritual - serving vegetables from battered, catering-style silver dishes with a spoon and fork held in one hand - but they took kindly to the suggestion that these vegetables - spinach, fried potatoes and fried batons of zucchini - should simply be put on a side plate. So, in terms of overall style, La Famiglia is a notable adherent to the fundamental simplicity of the Italian eating experience.

The trouble is that such simplicity places considerable emphasis on the inherent quality of the ingredients, and here, sadly, La Famiglia slipped from grace a bit. The steak was a tremendous piece of meat, quite the best I have eaten in London for years. It was impeccably and properly grilled, nicely bloody, beautifully carbonised, judiciously seasoned, as tender as such a cut should be - that is, not too. The melanzane was pretty much on the money, too, a deeply comforting goo. Perhaps the tomato element did not quite carry the intensity needed to give light to the shade of aubergine and cheese, but it was still a pleasing dish on a cool, showery spring evening.

But the sardines sang more of the fishmonger's slab than the sea; and the lamb, although tender, was simply insipid. The fagioli al fiasco were soft enough for the most dentally challenged to eat happily, but could have done with a splash of high-grade olive oil and seasoning to lift them. Tina and Tucker abandoned ship at that point, but I finished with a pudding from the trolley: profiteroles, cheerfully coated with wholesome, sticky chocolate, another grand survivor from the 1960s. They always appeal to the happy innocent in me.

So we came to the bill, which was £156.20. Two bottles of decent cerasuolo and one of water accounted for £66.10 of that, which left £90.10, or £30 a head, as near as dammit. Considering that the bistecca at £18.50 was comfortably the most expensive dish on the menu, and that there are plenty of wholesome dishes around the £9-£11 mark, La Famiglia can't be said to be expensive. In fact, the value-for-money element might be another reason why diners were still arriving as we departed.

· Open all week, lunch, 12 noon-2.45pm, dinner, 7-11.45pm. All major cards.