A little treasure from Alastair

ALASTAIR LITTLE LANCASTER ROAD; 136a Lancaster Road, London W11 1QU. Tel: 0171 243 2220. Open for lunch Mon to Fri from 12.30 to 2.30 and Sat from 12.30 to 3, and for dinner Mon to Sat from 7.30 to 9.15. Three courses, pounds 20. Major credit cards acce pted

Forty -something celebrity chefs Alastair Little and Antony Worrall- Thompson tend to get mixed up in people's heads: partly because they both pioneered a new type of British restaurant - understatedly stylish, with a Mediterranean-based, eclectic modern cuisine - but essentially because both their names begin with A. Strange then, that Alastair Little should have chosen to decorate his new restaurant with a huge "A" on the wall - as if he had hit upon a brilliant idea to clear up the confusion once and for all: with just one tiny flaw in it.

Unlike Worrall-Thompson, who has many restaurants, Little for many years had just the one, Alastair Little in Soho, where the bills were so fearsome that some were moved to re-christen it Alastair Large. But Little is known as a chap who sees there is more to life than Michelin stars: like abandoning the restaurant for the summer to teach in his cookery school in Italy for example, and this year fulfilling a long-standing urge to open a simple, stylish neighbourhood restaurant round the corner from his home - the Portobello bit of London's Notting Hill. Seldom, unfortunately, can an area have had more simple, stylish neighbourhood restaurants than the Portobello bit of Notting Hill. The former run-down drug-land is now overrun with glass-fronted haunts where, "OK Yardies" discuss Channel 4 treatments over char-grilled kangaroo or whatever is the latest thing. Even more of a tribute to Little then, that his is such a hit that it is impossible to get a table without booking days ahead.

The frontage is very understated, with a single burst of flamboyance: a giant hounds'-tooth-heck plastic canopy. Inside is a happy blend of cosiness and minimalism, softly-lit, split-level, with wooden floors, curves and subtle design touches: here a Japanesey back-lit suspended- glass ceiling, there a Sixties pink glass lampshade, there a bloody enormous letter "A" on the wall.

The clientele seemed more grown-up than in the rest of Portobello, even including people in their fifties, some in suits looking as though they'd spent all day being lectured by John Birt on inter-actual downsizing curves. There are only about 50 seats, so it's all quite intime - or, as some might put it, squashed. Best tables are on the top level at the back; tiniest was definitely ours, a triangular construction which could feature in the "Creating Space" section of the Ikea catalogue.

The very good thing about Alastair Little Lancaster Road (apart from being a very long name which fills in people's restaurant reviews) is that it offers a set menu only, which changes daily. At pounds 15 for two courses at lunch and pounds 20 for three courses at dinner, it represents superb value. The night before I'd eaten in the distressed-walled candle-lit gloom of the First Floor on the Portobello Road, where two indifferent starters and two half-bottles of pounds 14 wine came to pounds 30 a head. Here we had three fantastic courses, coffee, drinks and wine for less than pounds 40 each.

Despite the almost modest prices there is no corner-cutting on extras - linen tablecloths, fine glassware. My date wasn't keen on the bread: "I don't like this rough Italian peasant stuff." Something of a wine buff he was massively cheered-up by the succinct list, which he declared triumphantly well-chosen, with an excellent price range (beginning at pounds 12 and with over half the 50 or so bottles less than pounds 20). We treated ourselves to a Rully 1ere Cru Mont-Palais Olivier Leflaive 1994, whose name I put in full because it was the most sublime white wine I have tasted for ages and not, of course, to fill up the restaurant review, which is quite long enough already.

I started with pappardelle with cockles in a spicy tomato sauce, which arrived looking exactly like a picture in a recipe book - perhaps even the new Alastair Little recipe book advertising itself without embarrassment on the ledge behind us - with the cockles still in their little shells, the red sauce nestling attractively in the thin flat pasta and the whole liberally sprinkled with flat leaf parsley. The problem with a spicy sauce is that it inevitably masks everything else, including everything about itself which isn't spicy. But this was a good one, the pasta was done to a "t" and I really liked eating it. My friend declared his squid and chickpea soup "delicious". "It's an exercise in texture," he gushed, explaining rather limply when pressed, "Well, chickpeas are a funny texture and so is, um, squid."

As anyone with an inkling of fashion sense knows, brown is this season's black, and seldom can this have been more evident than in our two main courses - both of them symphonies in browns worthy of the Joseph section in Harvey Nichols. "Very exciting," enthused my companion of his braised rabbit, mushrooms and lentils. "I'm thinking dark, I'm thinking woodland, I'm thinking earthy notes ... It makes you want to chew your way through Watership Down." I'm not sure what he was on but I don't think it was just the 1ere Cru Rully.

My grilled tuna was great: pink in the middle and delicious with black olives - not the most obvious combination but a huge hit. Raspberry and custard tart really tasted of custard: not Bird's custard of course (and alas) but not snooty pale imitation creme patissiere either. There was no cheeseboard on offer but Oria, which turned out to be Irish ewe's cheese - served sliced with apple and proper water biscuits, strong and tasty, but maybe not everyone's cup of tea.

By this time things were getting a bit noisy. A group of young Australians carrying, for some reason, bin liners, were being far too big and boisterous waiting right next to us at the bar - and a shouty man with a cigar at the higher level was rattling the Chinese steamers used for bread baskets and yelling, "Dim sum at lunch, is it?" as if he had just made a hugely amusing joke.

It was time to leave - but we'd loved it. It's exactly the sort of place you always want to find: good value, stylish, comfortable and relaxed, with great food. It's worth remembering to book well ahead to get a table - and that it isn't called Antony Worrall-Thompson's. !