The last time I went to a restaurant owned by the revered chef Paul Heathcote, it involved the single most fiascoid journey in my arid little life. On an A-road towards Preston, the sunroof of the Renault I'd bought the day before from my cousin Linda elected to leave the main body of the car, much like the landing module separating from Apollo XI, only without the applause from Nasa HQ. Then, as I watched it in the rear-view mirror, cartwheeling towards Leeds before splintering into a zillion pieces, it began to rain.

It would be technically incorrect to describe what followed as a monsoon, but after driving for 35 miles unprotected from a downpour that would have staggered the stilt house-dwellers of Manila, the distinction lost its relevance. This was as dispiriting a journey as a driver could make without dying or having Melanie Phillips in the passenger seat reading without pause from her collected works. The highlight of the ensuing meal was that it was served in a warm, dry room by people kind enough not to make us sit on tarpaulin-covered chairs.

Since that evening six or seven years ago, Heathcote has expanded his affairs with almost Ramsayesque vigour. Aside from that Michelin-starred place at Longridge near Preston, where apparently he still sometimes cooks, he owns a dozen or so less fancy joints, among which is London Road, in the footballers' wives' paradise of Alderley Edge.

When I say that, rather than eat there again, I would reprise that sodden drive not merely in the company of Ms Phillips, but with Celine Dion in the back bellowing her entire Las Vegas set through a riot squad megaphone, I barely exaggerate. For this is as brutally cynical an operation as you will ever encounter, serving food of bewildering nastiness and incompetence.

At first sight, there was no hint of the horrors to come. Expensively done out in beige, glass and chrome, with voguish hanging lamps and swish banquettes, the room is smart enough. The staff seemed well-trained and friendly, and the menu looked all right, albeit in a round- up-all-the-usual-modern-brasserie-suspects kind of way.

Then the starters came, and the facade disintegrated, much like that sunroof. My friend's lobster and seafood bisque wasn't quite inedible, albeit that this over-sweetened mush was sub-Heinz. But my crispy duck salad certainly was, a mound of desiccated, astoundingly oversalted shreds of withered meat bearing the same relation to duck as pork scratchings to belly of Gloucester Old Spot.

As the plates were being removed, one of those increasingly unavoidable 3663 delivery trucks drove past, and my friend wondered whether London Road might use the firm that provides so many catering outlets with boil-in-the-bag and bake-in-the-foil-carton dishes to present as their own. If only, I said - at least with 3663 there's a reliable standard of stolid competence. Decisive proof that London Road was a home-made disaster swiftly arrived in the unlikely form of a bowl of chips. Chips aren't easy things for a cook to screw up, but one way to do so is to fry them in nut oil so rancidly stale it might first have been used for a street party to celebrate the coronation of George V. "Quite the worst thing ever," said my friend, wrinkling his features at the repulsively bitter taste. "Ever."

His dover sole, wickedly overpriced at £30 for a fairly small fish, was lukewarm and spongy, and what little taste my veal chop possessed was the faintly rancid one of reheated butter, though the creamed polenta I had with it was inexplicably good. The cloying, essence-of-mango aftertaste from the sorbet we shared for pud, however, hinted at a medium-priced brand.

That Heathcote is a sharp businessman is clear, this restaurant being cutely positioned to soak up the custom of those with more platinum credit cards than active taste buds, and there are people with stronger calls on our sympathy than the Wags and retired minor rock stars of Cheshire. But as a Michelin-starred chef long regarded as one of the north-west's most gifted cooks, he should be ashamed of himself.

Rating: 2.5/10
Telephone 01625 584163
Address 46 London Road, Alderley Edge, Cheshire
Open All week, Mon-Thurs noon-10pm, Fri and Sat noon-11pm, Sun noon-9pm
Price £50-70 a head for three courses with wine, water and coffee