Being a generous soul I would like to believe that the delays we experienced at Lola's in Islington had something to do with the young chef who slipped his foot into a vat of bubbling chicken stock shortly before we arrived and who then had to be sent off to hospital, leaving the kitchen understaffed. I'd like to think this, but I'm not convinced it's the case. When we raised the issue of the delay with the lady of the house - we arrived at 8pm and the main courses did not join us until 9.50pm - we were told quite tartly that there was always a 25-minute gap between courses (although ours would prove so much longer). It was of a piece with the general amateurishness of the service. If you go there, do beware the waiter who looks like Sean Penn. He snatched a box of matches from the hand of one of my companions as she was trying to light a fag and insisted on doing it for her despite her (at first) polite pleading that she thought that kind of thing outmoded bollocks.

The shame about all this sort of stuff - which, inevitably, sits in the memory - is that so much else about Lola's is so very good. The airy, attic-like room above an antiques arcade is relaxed and unstuffy. The wine list with its 'wine flights' - selections of five different wines by the glass at a modest all-in price - is a model of its kind. And then there's the food, which is terrific. Followers of the new chef, Hywel Jones, will not be surprised by that. He made his name at Foliage at the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park Hotel where, earlier this year, he won a Michelin star. My review of his cooking then couldn't have been more of a love letter if I'd scented it with Chanel.

Here, he has taken off a few of the bells and whistles, but it is still thoroughly complex stuff. There were three of us so we tried nine dishes and only one of them didn't come off. I started with a single fat scallop surrounded by a fricassee of earthy snails and ceps. A loin of tuna, with a crisp outer skin, came with lush quenelles of a smoked anchovy cream. A third starter of foie gras three ways - mousse, marinated and seared - is almost the same as a previous Jones dish at Foliage, and all the better for that. The flavours of the delicate shards of liver become more intense as you work your way around the plate. At Foliage it was offered with three sherries, whose growing intensity matched that of the dish. I don't know why they don't do it here.

Of the main courses, the star was my impeccably roast rump of lamb with a dense, savoury cannelloni of braised shoulder. Crisp, seared fillets of gilthead bream - a fashionable fish in London - were rich and strongly flavoured, offset by a crisp risotto cake and a crush of garden peas. That one unfortunate dish was the breast of 'label anglais' chicken. Everything around it - braised lettuce, morels, leeks - was bright and fresh. The skinless chicken itself was terribly bland.

We finished with some cracking 'artisan' cheeses, a plate of lemon three ways - including a spiky tart - and a coconut parfait with caramelised banana. So, good grown-up stuff at moderately grown-up prices. Including a glass of champagne, two Bloody Marys, my obscure 'wine flight' at a tenner and a few other wines, the bill still went no higher than £55 a head. It's just a pity I spent so much of the evening looking not at the plate in front of me but at my watch.