Rating: 7/10

Telephone: 020-7734 4545

Address: 63 Frith Street, London W1

Open: Mon-Sat, lunch, noon-2.30pm, dinner, 5-11pm; Sun, lunch, 12.30-3.30pm, dinner, 6.30-9.30pm

Price: About £40 a head with wine; set meal, £13.50 for two courses, £15.50 for three
No wheelchair access.

A novelist friend has developed an unusual condition we have identified as Reader's Block. He will pick up a classic, possibly Emma or Vanity Fair, read the first page, nod in cool appreciation and morosely replace the book on his shelf. He knows better than most how magnificent the prose is, but has been so overexposed to great literature that his appetite for it has gone.

I was reminded of this disorder at Arbutus, a modernist French bistro in the heart of London's lascivious Soho and one of the most glowingly received openings of the year. It's not hard to see why: the food is technically superb and the trick of serving everything on the wine list not only by the bottle but also the 250ml carafe is a stroke of genius both for those who like to experiment and those of us who cannot hold our drink. Chuck in slick service, decent à la carte prices and a bargain lunch and pre-theatre set menu (the usual rider applies - restaurants often hike the prices by 30% the moment the last critic is out the door), and I ought to be raving about Arbutus along with my so-called rivals.

And yet, and yet ... half an hour into lunch, I caught myself nodding with detached appreciation, like my friend starting Pride And Prejudice for the 49th time, certain that I'd never choose to go back. It's entirely a stimmung thing. I just can't be doing with restaurants with the aura of a swanky waiting room, this one suggesting it might belong to a fashionable Manhattan doctor. I speak here, as so often, from a standpoint of complete ignorance (the only time I went to New York, I was too ill with bronchitis to see a doctor), but I'm sure I once saw a similar room on Seinfeld when George had, or was affecting to have, a bad back.

There are those who adore smart but clinical rooms such as this (pinky, off-white walls covered with swirly wave patterns but no pictures or photographs, black banquettes, spotlighting; sterility taken close to the point of crowd control), the lack of distraction helping them concentrate fully on the food. Myself, I can never relax when anticipating a hatchet-faced boot calling out, "Mr Norman, doctor will see you now - please take your sample with you."

For all that, both of us were richly impressed by every morsel, from the sourdough bread at the start to the puds. There's enough gruesomeness on this menu to suggest a change of name to Ooh, We Are Offal (But You'll Like Us!), but we sidestepped the tripe parcel and braised pig's head. My friend kicked off with "chicken sot-ly-laisse" (a dark, flavoursome cut from behind the breast) served with macaroni and broad beans, the chicken browned and inviting, the pasta arranged like railway tracks, and the ensemble drizzled with flakes of hazelnut and a lemon thyme dressing - a terrific little dish, full of strong, complementary flavours, and beautifully presented. My starter, a healthy portion of smoked eel with pressed beetroot and creamy horseradish was excellent, too, in its fresh and simple way.

There was enough of a gap between courses to allow the room to fill with a huge party of noisy young office workers, possibly from a thrusting graphic design firm, and when it became clear that one of them would be making a speech, we asked the waiter to hurry things along. What arrived was worth the wait. My "poached and roasted" chicken combined the best of both cooking methods, the chicken being really succulent and enticingly crispy of skin, and came with tarragon gnocchi and leeks. My friend loved his breast of veal "laquered with spices" and served with butternut squash. "This is a restaurant not afraid of the flavour that fat brings to a dish," he said sagely, "which is always a good thing." The puddings - an elaborate mangoey creation with Breton biscuits and vanilla cheesecake with strawberries - were brilliant, too.

Technically, this was as good a meal as you're likely to find at these prices. But then, great technique without a shred of passion is what the place is all about, and while that's probably the best careerist recipe for many of the self-employed women who work above shops in the area, it doesn't get my juices flowing one bit.