Telephone: 020 7352 3449
Address: 11 Park Walk, London SW10
Rating: 17.5/20

'This is just about the best thing that I've ever eaten," said Heathcliff, and then repeated his statement, just in case there should be any doubt. The dish in question was a galette of pig's head with langoustines and a shallot and caper dressing, and his delight irritated me just a little because that was a dish I would have chosen had he not got in first. Not only that, he had taken my main course as well: roast grouse with blackberries.

We were sitting in the kindly, lowwattage glow of Aubergine, just off Fulham Road in west London. Aubergine was once celebrated as the launch pad for the protean figure of Gordon Ramsay. Now it is the showroom for the less relentlessly publicised talents of William Drabble. Theatmosphere has changed somewhat since the Ramsay glory days. The smoky, creamy-beige, slightly corduroyed wallpaper, wooden floor and blousy abstract paintings have softened the intimidating chic of the original. It is cosier and warmer, but still remains a kind of destination neighbourhood restaurant of very considerable sophistication, with impeccable French service and a fairly intimidating French wine list.

Heathcliff kindly put a forkful of the galette and langoustine on my plate. It was all he said it was. The galette reminded me of a crubeen that the great Richard Corrigan used to do in his early days. The outside was crispily crunchy, like a divine version of a fish finger coating. Inside was delicate, soft pork. The langoustines were fat, taut coils of marine sweetness. The shallot and caper dressing just lifted the weight and richness of the dish as a whole.

My seared scallops with celeriac and apple purée with summer truffles did not work on quite so many levels, but it was a smooth, accomplished, deeply pleasurable dish nevertheless, the silky purée providing a discreet, fruity commentary on textbook scallops the size of tree stumps. Juan, who arrived so late that we had ordered for him, was faced with a dish of red mullet with roasted fennel, red-wine sauce and tortellini of crottin de Chavignol, a goat's cheese from the Sancerre. I knew that he had lunched at one tip-top gaff, so might appreciate a light supper - which he would have done, had what I ordered been light.

It was impeccably cooked - muscular mullet with crisp skin, melting fennel, delicate pasta, and a sauce of seismic intensity. It all added up to a dish whose flavours were so powerful that it seemed rich. In fact, although Drabble does delicacy very well, as Tucker's and my courses showed, his muse seems to lead him to big flavours, intense reductions, blockbuster effects. His dishes have a kind of monumental stature. Certainly, Heathcliff 's roast grouse with blackberries and my wild duck with a game reduction infused with juniper were on the power-packed side. That is not to say that they were without refinement or subtlety.

Drabble again used the fruit to good effect, producing a layer of autumnal flavour that sat beautifully with the gamey grouse. The leg of my duck had been braised to the point where I could just suck it off the bone, while the breast had been cooked pink and sliced on top of a gratin dauphinoise. The juniper sauce was dark and glossy as oil, and deeply flavoured - but not in the least aggressive. Just very, very rich. Juan's breast of corn-fed chicken with a cassoulet of ceps, bacon and onion was another cheery, mulchy winter warmer, even if the bird tasted pretty wishy-washy after the clean distinction of the game.

Having moaned about how full he was, Juan recovered his selfpossession with the puddings. He and Heathcliff had poached peaches with lemon verbena, which they declared to be simply sensational. I continued my seasonal fest with a humble-sounding apple mousse that turned out to be anything but humble but still managed to evoke those musky autumnal flavours. There is something almost oldfashioned about Drabble's food, which is not the same as being passé. It is like coming across a play that conforms to classical verities. Due attention is paid to the construction of dishes (and it is cheering to find vegetables built into the structure of each), the careful balance of elements, cumulated effects, all underpinned by sauces of real substance.

The results are undeniably rich, not because of the use of cream or butter, but because of the power of the flavours. The wine list had more than its fair share of three-figure bottles, but there were glories, including the 1998 Châteauneuf-du-Pape Vieilles Vignes, which helped lift the bill comfortably above the £150 that we would have paid had we drunk nothing - the threecourse dinner is charged at £50. That price alone pitches Aubergine into pretty serious gastronomic territory. The pleasure of the service, the evident ambitions of the restaurant and, above all, William Drabble's cooking, justify it.

· Open Mon-Fri, 12 noon-2.30, 7-11.30pm; Sat, 7-11.30pm (closed Sun). Menus Lunch, £32 for three courses; dinner, £50 for three courses; Menu Gourmand, £70 for eight courses. All major credit cards