Osia is the kind of restaurant that makes me fret. It makes me worry about the investors and the staff and, most of all, the chef. It is just so completely over-engineered, so over-designed and over-finessed, that the food can never hope to compete.

I stood there looking at the lovely leather-padded walls and the limed-oak panelling and the glowering slate, and all I could think was: dinner here is going to cost too much and it's still not going to be enough to pay for the decor. How can this business succeed?

The problem is summed up, I think, by the default wine glasses. Everything here is served in something big enough to house a goldfish. That's fine for a bruiser of a Bordeaux, but useless for the chilled Provençal rosé we ordered.

The glasses seemed to be as much a statement of intent as anything else. Look at us, they were saying. We are a serious restaurant. We have glasses big enough to keep pets in. We asked for smaller ones. For the record the staff were also completely flummoxed by the idea that we should want the bottle on our table so we could fill those glasses ourselves.

All of this stuff forces the food into a defensive position. Osia describes itself as a 'contemporary Australian' restaurant, which again feels like overselling. Chef Scott Webster would probably insist that there are ingredients in his dishes unique to Australia, and perhaps there are. But by the time he has cooked them, there really is very little here which is unfamiliar to a city like London.

Steamed black mussels with basil, coriander, chilli broth and grilled lemon bread? Risotto of Aylesbury duck, Italian mushrooms, spinach leaves, crème fraîche? What this tells us is that in contemporary Australia they like to eat many of the same things we like to eat in contemporary Britain.

The irony is that, beneath all the labels and leather padding, there is some good cooking. Not startling cooking, or unique cooking, but good cooking all the same. The menu comes in four sections, starting with a list of ceviches - raw fish 'cooked' in citrus juice - from which we shared a Celtic scallop ceviche in a dressing of saffron-preserved lemons. The scallop was huge and sliced in three, and the citrus did not overwhelm its sweetness. One of the starters, pieces of salmon rolled in nori seaweed then wrapped again in spring roll pastry and deep fried, was a little dull and solid. However, my companion's salt-and-peppered soft-shell crab - a large specimen in a tempura-like batter - with ginger honey mirin dip, was more successful. The dip also helped to lift the salmon spring rolls.

I won out on the main course. My wildfire-spiced Scottish beef fillet with a pink peppercorn jus was one of the best pieces of dead cow I have eaten in a long time. It was crisp and well spiced outside and, inside, deep and red and dense. The menu said it came with 'Moreton Bay bug tails', which are similar to large shrimps. This was more hyperbole, for it came with not tails, but half of one tail. I liked ripping it apart with my fingers, though I'm not entirely sure what it was doing there.

The other side of the table ordered a fillet of halibut, and it was a huge meaty slab, expertly cooked and served with cubes of sweet butternut squash, artichoke hearts and a wild lime cream sauce. We finished with an iced macadamia-nut soufflé for me, and a slab of blue cheese served with a dollop of oozing honeycomb for him and, with a couple of kirs before, and a dessert wine after, finished up with a bill of £133.

Without the extra drinks and the ceviche, a meal here would, as I say above, cost around £100 for two.

I think you would come out saying you'd had a nice meal, but wondering whether it was all worth it. And that's what makes me fret.

· Osia, 11 Haymarket, London SW1 (020 7976 1313). Dinner for two, including wine and service, £100.