Simpson’s in the Strand, 100 Strand, London WC2R 0EW (020 7420 2111). Meal for two, including drinks and service: £200

There is a great difference between wanting to love something, and genuinely loving it. I want to love Simpson’s in the Strand. I want to adore it, in the way I once did; as you might a dotty elderly relative who can be infuriating, but is still a wonderful person to have in the world. I last ate here a few years ago, when it was firmly set in its ways. The huge, high-ceilinged room – the Grand Divan – smelled like a stately home, on the edge of having to let the National Trust in to make ends meet. It was that intoxicating mixture of boiled cabbage, damp dog and dust being burned off by the cranky central heating. The food was very brown, and the staff mostly quite senior and rather cross.

The place opened in 1828, as one of London’s great chess rooms. Roasts would be wheeled round to the tables under shiny silver domes, so the games would not be disturbed, and are wheeled still. Some of the food back then looked like the best kind of leftovers – a ham hock fritter with a fried duck egg and capers, for example – and the rest was what school dinners hope to be when they grow up.

The old Simpson’s laughed in the face of modernity. I didn’t love it back then because it was totally brilliant. I loved it because it had a sense of itself, and did what it did very well indeed, especially those roasts, with their accompanying vats of gravy. I talked then of veteran waiters who were there not to please you, but for you not to disappoint them.

A couple of years ago the owners of the next-door Savoy hotel, of which Simpson’s is a part, announced their intention to refresh the old war horse. As the hotel had been through a multimillion-pound makeover, this made sense. They talked about giving it over to a big-name celebrity chef, and the sort of diners who care too much about the consistency of their gravy shuddered.

In the end they decided to keep the operation in house, closing in April for the refurb. And now it’s reopened. It no longer smells of old food. The saggy seating has been replaced with genuinely comfortable booths and banquettes. The staff are polite. For comedic effect I could now declare it a disaster, but these are, of course, the good things about the relaunch. A cheery, enthusiastic waiter is a delight, and the new Simpson’s is full of them.

The problem is the food. They’ve worked exceptionally hard to revive and refresh it and in so doing have lost everything that made the place what it was. They talk on their website of chefs cooking “with the hand of history on their shoulder”. It would have been better if history had been standing over them shouting: “Stop it! Stop it now! For God’s sake, just do it like they always used to do it!”

Steak tartare is pointless if the texture is wrong. Here, the beef hasn’t so much been chopped as puréed. The smoked egg yolk is a nice touch, but one that’s lost to something that could be sucked up through a straw. Accompanying grey splodges are described as Gentleman’s Relish, which should be a big powerful rush of anchovy. This is a toned down, mild- mannered condiment which needs a testosterone supplement. A ham hock terrine is served far too cold and far too dense. It comes in Minecraft-style blocks, under artful curls of pickled carrot and radish. The accompanying pease pudding fritters are blunt nuggets of deep-fried something. They beg you to call back the menu, run your fingers down the list and mutter: “Oh, that’s what it is.”

The best dish is a main of boned-out lamb rack, wrapped around black pudding with a fritter of the confited shoulder. It’s a nice enough roast dinner, as it should be for £29. The other main, their beef Wellington, is calamitous. Beef Wellington is tricky. It’s all about moisture: putting layers between the beef and the pastry to make sure one does not leak into the other. If you’re going to charge £42, you’d better get it right. Here, the pastry at the bottom was practically raw, which is unforgivable. At the end the pastry was left uneaten. Nobody asked why.

So what was really good? Beef dripping roast potatoes were excellent. They had the authentic tang of a northern chip shop. (Old Leeds hands may recall the smell outside Bryan’s of Headingley back in the day. That.) The peppercorn sauce with the Wellington was also deep and powerful. So that’s chips and gravy, at a place where the bill came in at £271.

Did we spend a lot on booze? Yes, because we had to. The wine list used to be punishing. Now it’s just one long maniacal laugh in the face of sanity. A nice enough Fleurie costs £52. Simpson’s was never cheap. It was priced for those who weren’t going to look at the bill. It’s definitely not cheap now. In 2014 fish cakes were £12.50. Now they are £15. The beef from the trolley was £31.50 and is now £35 (though an extra slice has dropped from £12 to £9.50). The problem for Simpson’s is that they have real competition in this market. Rules is just across the road, doing what they’ve always done very well indeed at two-thirds of the price. The Game Bird at the Stafford is executing the same proposition with more grace and style and appetite.

Dessert is a moment to mourn. A baked Alaska seems to have been left in the freezer to the last moment then suddenly blowtorched. It is hard and unyielding, and comes surrounded by a puddle of something as sour as we have become. Cranachan, which should be a luscious mixture of honey-sweetened thick cream with bountiful raspberries and oats, is rough and undersweetened. It’s less blissful gift, more misplaced warning.

So no, I can’t love Simpson’s any more, however much I try, however much I want to. On the plus side the Knight’s Bar upstairs is an extremely comfortable space run by very welcoming chaps who mix good cocktails, and may well recall what you had from one visit to the next. On the downside Simpson’s used to be famous for its breakfast and particularly it’s Ten Deadly Sins, the ne plus ultra of the full English. The new Simpson’s is no longer even open for breakfast. Says it all, really.

Jay’s news bites

Like Simpson’s, the old Bibendum site in London’s Fulham has recently been relaunched, under chef Claude Bosi. It too includes a carving trolley and a whacking bill at the end. But the cooking is terrific. Star items include the Cornish crab with apples and lime, the tripe and cuttlefish gratin (a tribute to Bosi’s mum) and the chocolate soufflé. It’s a class act (bibendum.co.uk).

I’m convinced the best veal jus product on the market is the one produced by TrueFoods. Which is indeed used by many restaurants. Until now, the only place I knew to get it was Fortnum & Mason. So rejoice. The high-quality online butchery company Farmison has added it to their pantry section. Yours for £4.95 (farmison.com).

A quick shout-out for the brilliant Manager’s Special twitter account. It’s a simple idea aimed at those on a tight food budget: if you spot an instore food bargain, tweet them the offer, then hashtag the store name, the area and the postcode, and they’ll retweet it. Follow them at @MgersSpecial.

Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or follow him on Twitter @jayrayner1