Les Riches Crédules, Kensington

My good lady friend - sometimes known as my "filly", at others as Marina Featherington-Cope, had been hearing good things about a little eatery in Hunter Street, Kensington. Apart from the occasional Crab Roulade at Boris Getjakitov's "Ra-Ra-Rasputin" cafe in Gurning Street, Kensington has been a bit of a taste bud no-go area of late. So a chance for a bit of nose bag at an eatery not far from where one resides seemed too good an opportunity to miss. I called "The Filly" on the blower and asked if she minded joining me for dinner in Kensington tonight. She was down at her sick mother's bedside in Little Dozey-on-the-Wold, but sounded thrilled at the prospect of driving up to London to pick me up and go out to dinner. Before she hung up she muttered something about dinner with me that evening would "make the decade seem worthwhile." What a lucky chap I am.

When the Filly finally arrived (making various excuses about the M25 and rush hours) we jumped in her jalopy and drove the 500 yards to this new super eatery. "Les Riches Crédules" is decorated in a sort of Les Miserables style, the main restaurant sign depicting a garishly over made up aristo having his old top knot knocked off with a big guillotine thingy. On entering you wander past large pictures of Donald Trump, Rupert Murdoch and Bill Gates all doctored to look like they are facing a firing squad. The owner and head chef turned out to be my old sparring partner, Phillipé Trémblé, who had once chased me down the King's Road in Chelsea with a meat cleaver after my joke about his langoustiné terrine went a bit pear-shaped.

"Les Riches Crédules" is famous for it's aggressive waiting staff, expensive water list and a menu entitled "Peasant Fodder". Filly and I were eager to sample the delights and were not disappointed. For a starter I had a "Nouille de pot" in a sort of light curry sauce which was served with a small sachet of mango chutney. Filly had "Chips de crème aigre" which came in a long green cardboard tube with the French word Les Pringles on the side. These were both most agreeable and were washed down with a light Italian sparkling wine entitled "Lambrini Light". For a main course I plumped for the "Bâton de poisson" with "Haricots cuits au four" and Smash. Filly had a "Pudding de bifteck et de rein" which Phillipé tells me was prepared by his Argentinian sous chef called Ray Bentos. The main course was served with a delightful Californian wine called "Thunderbird" which turned my teeth pink and made me want to sing Bob Dylan songs very loudly to the waiter. We finished the meal with two lovely frilly concoctions of Phillipé's called "Fouet instantané" with a "écrimage rêveur" jus. Delightful. And at just £783.34 (excluding tip) this was one of the cheapest nights out I have had in Kensington for a long time.

Filly made some tired joke about me dragging her halfway across southern England to eat crisps, but I was tired by then and after she had dropped me home I told her she should head off back to her maters now as she didn't want to get caught up in the morning's traffic. I shouted at her to drive carefully and she responded by telling me I should too. Well she didn't say it, she just gestured with two fingers. A lot. What a girl!

If you can think of somewhere within 500 yards of where I live that I haven't reviewed yet, then drop me a line and I'll see if I can get the Filly up from Hampshire again to drive me to it! Good eating, friends!