In Claridge's, signage is deemed vulgar. Which makes it impossible to find the reception. Or the bar. Or the restaurant where Gordon Ramsay has just set up shop. The foyer staff aren't likely to help - well, they don't want to appear too pushy. So I would recommend putting any special requests (like "where the hell is every damn thing?") in writing. I wasn't sure I was even in the right building until I spotted Meg Matthews in her denim mini. Pop culture, evidently, was somewhere in the vicinity.

Gordon Ramsay's new venture looked a little too open-plan for my taste. It had too many doors, and felt like a hotel lobby with tables. It certainly wasn't the kind of place where I felt comfortable enough to slip off my shoes. The room was art deco in style, but little about it felt original - apart from the intricately-etched mirror. The lights gave everyone in the room a warm, orange glow. Like eating at a George Hamilton III convention.

The staff were settling in. One waiter was being reprimanded by the maitre d' for holding his head at the wrong angle. Well, Ramsay could see the evidence for himself on CCTV. Every table is covered by a camera so that he knows when to send in food, and when to clear it away. The 'pass' is like air traffic control. And air traffic control is like chess in three dimensions. But cooking, or rather Gordon Ramsay's cooking, is a much more serious business than that.

I hope Ramsay caught sight of my waiter on his CCTV. He was typical of French waiters, who know that the customer is never right. And his smile was the most disingenuous I've ever seen. It evaporated quicker than chloroform once he had taken my order. He then used exactly the same script on the next table. Like some double-glazing salesman, working from a call centre in Cardiff. It didn't make me feel uniquely special and different.

I was pleased to see crosnes (pronounced croans) on the menu. The tiny Asian tubers, that look like fusilli and taste like artichokes, are the hush-hush vegetable of the vegetable set. Crosnes won't even be in Tesco's until this time next year. The funny little things are fiddly to prepare - to fashion, if you will. I've only ever eaten them with their stems trimmed 'au paysan', or into the shape of a 50p piece. At Claridge's I thrilled to see them formed into a perfect round.

I hate to put Ramsay on a pedestal - his voice only gets louder, up there. But, regrettably, it's where he belongs. Still his cooking manages to surprise. In his hands, the simplest of dishes taste complex. My fish in sauce (civet of brill, poached in red wine with creamed potatoes, glazed salsify and roasted shallots) tasted like no fish in sauce I've ever tasted. It stopped me mid-conversation. What the hell did I just put in my mouth? Was that really just fish in sauce?

When I last met him, Ramsay was ranting about the phenomenon of celebrity chefs. "About 99 per cent of them don't actually have restaurants. They don't have profit to worry about. All they've got to worry about is when they are next appearing on Ready Steady Cook." He seemed to despise that whole circus. A few favoured customers - Michael Winner for instance - were allowed into his kitchen, just to say hello, but it was a rarity. All that has changed.

At Claridge's, Ramsay plans to introduce his own 'chef's table'. Eight guests will be summoned to sit in the middle of his kitchen. So, no more tantrums. And no more 'accidents' with the meat cleaver. But then a £100 price tag makes it easier to keep one's temper. Ramsay seems happy with the new set up. His heroic face - in the style of Stanley Spencer - graces the cover of the restaurant matchbox. And he paces around his kingdom. Six times in the course of an evening.

I liked the price - a three-course dinner for £38. But if dinner is good value, Ramsay knows his guests will buy better wine. Ramsay wants to be the first chef in Britain to win six Michelin stars. But winning three stars at Claridge's, while keeping three stars at Gordon Ramsay, isn't going to be easy. In order to be in two places - Mayfair and Chelsea - at once, Ramsay says he'll have to run. To date, his personal best is seven-and-a-half minutes. Four minutes of that is probably negotiating the Claridge's foyer.

Gordon Ramsay at Claridge's
Brook Street
London W1A 2JQ
020 7499 0099