I have been accused, in the past, of being overly interested in restaurants near my home in south London. I'd like to say here and now that there is no truth in the claim. I would like to say this, but I can't, because I am totally guilty as charged. In this I am no different from any of my so-called rivals. All of us critic johnnies have our little fetishes. One is good on the pubs of Gloucestershire where he lives. Another is guaranteed to be first through the door of any opening in Highgate. Me? I do sarf London because, well, it needs all the help it can get.

I have tried to restrain myself in recent months, if only to avoid the charge of parochialism. But then I stumble across a place like Franklins and I just can't resist.

It's an exemplary neighbourhood restaurant, the kind we all want, and I believe the world ought to know about it, if only so that I get really good service the next time I go. Franklins is not a gastro pub, though it was indeed once a public house and has a sturdy scrubbed wood, bare brick and sawdust feel to it. The menu is equally muscular and to the point. It shows, I think, the influence of Fergus Henderson now of St John, with whom the chef Tim Sheehan worked when he was at the French House. It is about solid flavour, good ingredients and, most of all, simplicity.

Nothing could have improved my starter of cold sliced salt beef, with good crisp pickles and a pool of pungent mustard. A dish of 'scallops and peas' brought four fat scallops on a dense minted pea purée. I've seen restaurants in London's West End charge £14 or more for a dish like this. Here it was £7.50. The main courses showed a sensitive touch with fine and generous pieces of meat: perfectly pink slabs of lamb with white beans and mint butter; a hunk of steak with good chips and béarnaise; pieces of veal, served with big anchovies and a fried egg; poached chicken with leeks and an aïoli that won't let you forget you ate it.

I finished with a great platform of Welsh rarebit, in a version which leant the cheese a major ale and mustard kick. There was also a huge plateful of Eton mess and a seriously powerful (perhaps overly powerful) chocolate and lavender pot. This is food which does not ask to be admired on the plate but on the tongue. It makes its point via flavour and combination and demands no philosophising. Service is cheery and there's a concise wine list which starts at £10.50 a bottle. What's more, at lunchtimes, they serve the best bacon sandwich for miles around.

I was going to say that Franklins is the kind of thing we in south London like, but I would be wrong. Franklins would be likeable anywhere.

· Franklins, 157 Lordship Lane, London SE22 (020 8299 9598). Dinner for two, including wine and service, £65.