Thyme at Hospital, 24 Endell Street, London WC2 (020 7170 9200)
Meal for two, including wine and service, £140

Eating at Thyme, part of Hospital, a grand new multi-media complex in London's Covent Garden, was ever so slightly baffling. I knew, and loved, the original Thyme, situated not far from my home in south London. I wrote, when it opened, that this was the breakthrough restaurant for gifted chefs Adam Byatt and Adam Oates. Now they have gone on to those bigger things, but they are not necessarily greater. To see the transformation is a little like re-meeting in adulthood a friend who as a 17-year-old was sharp and witty and out for fun. Now look at them! All grown up.

This makes distinguishing themselves in a crowded market tough. The original Thyme had so many USPs: there was the tapas-style menu, full of myriad little dishes, which showcased brilliantly their mastery of simplicity. There would be a slab of a princely foie gras parfait on a plate and nothing else; a beautiful square of crisp-skinned roast cod, a little pea puree. And nothing else. Squid stuffed with oxtail, saffron rice. And nothing else. It was so very confident. The price point was remarkable (looking back, I see we paid £23.50 a head for food), and the joy of stumbling across this in a quasi-suburban location.

All of that has gone. Now it's a straightforward three courses.

It's £45 for food, which is not exorbitant at this level but also not £23.50. There's almost nothing below £20 on the wine list, and it's up in the big city. It no longer distinguishes itself by being both unusual and good. Now it can only distinguish itself by being good.

Happily, in matters of cooking, it is. Very. Dishes are listed by a heading of a single ingredient, with more elaboration below. So a starter of 'cauliflower' brought shards of caramelised cauliflower, tubes of al dente macaroni and a very generous shaving of truffle in a light cream sauce. It was the kind of satisfying dish the word 'lush' was invented for. My wife's lobster was sweet ravioli of same with braised artichokes and leeks. A simple, balanced dish.

Mains were equally full on. Savoury, unctuous braised pork came with perfectly seared scallops and a puree of further cauliflower. Slices of gamey venison lay atop a rich mix of sauteed Brussels sprouts and chestnuts. This was, Pat declared, the first time she had eaten sprouts - albeit bonsai ones - and enjoyed them. No, loved them. All those skills with single ingredients are here, but worked out over a larger palate. Puddings - equally intricate things with two textures of chocolate, or a hazelnut-themed concoction with the sweetest of foams - were on message. Add on canapes of tender deep-fried squid, an amuse of a pumpkin fool and some fine bread and, foodwise, it's clear Thyme delivers where it matters.

There are problems, though. I'm not convinced by the room, which has a club-class lounge feel about it. There's thick (overly) patterned carpets and velour seats, but very little warmth. And then there's a sommelier who appeared to think 'We'll fill our own glasses, thank you' meant 'Please come back and be a pain in the arse every 10 minutes'. Then again, there are always growing pains.

I do regret the passing of the old Thyme, but I have decided to be brave. Given time, I sense the new Thyme can become something really special, too.