The rejig, it seems to me, suggests an establishment that has set its sights somewhat lower in the kitchen than in the bar, which, some might argue, is hardly surprising now that a major brewery owns the place. And what came out of the kitchen the night we were there certainly confirmed that impression. It was insipid, lazy food that promised much and delivered little, well short of what you expect from a place claiming to be a bistro.
Our young waiter was obliging to a fault. He had to spend a lot of time shooing out intruders - punters looking for the loos, I suspect - but the rest of the evening he watched us like a hawk and kept asking whether everything was all right, which made me wonder whether there was something I ought to know about.
Because we had arrived early, the music from the bar, beyond a two- metre screen with holes in it, was relatively quiet and so I could hear the Professor very clearly as she reminded me that she had suggested Prego. It wasn't long before I was wishing I'd listened to her.
My entree of kangaroo was a visual catastrophe: a half pear poached in red wine was sliced and fanned out beside small slabs of the cured meat which looked like half-size Tim Tams. The plate was dark brown, and only a small blob of horseradish stopped it from being a black hole into which the entire room disappeared. The taste was beef jerky and the texture classroom eraser, but the pear pushed my 5+-a-day count up and meant I had pudding sorted.
The Professor's home-baked goat cheese consisted of some nice chevre smeared into a small ramekin, drizzled with honey and baked. A topping of a pile of walnuts, which were not freshly shelled, was the most inspired touch. I think you get my drift.
Things could hardly have got worse and, mercifully, they did not. A thick, lean pork cutlet, peppered and grilled, was masterfully moist and juicy. The chef had a right to be proud of the buttery creamed leeks on which they sat, but I thought that sticking a layer of them under the risotto accompanying the Professor's snapper was overdoing it. Perhaps he had made a big pot and wanted to use it up.
That fish was cooked sous vide and finished off nicely in the frypan, but the menu description - "seasonal accompaniments" - gives you an idea of how blandly corporate the approach is here. To say that the Prof, who likes her fish, was impressed would be to overstate it. She wanted me to say she's never found the fish of the day at Prego less than inspired.
We shared a huge slab of liquor-laden tiramisu which was, I think, the highlight of the evening. It's plainly a popular pub, but I'm left wondering: did the heart go out of this place when Honeyman left, or did he leave because it had already gone?
