The Wharf, Teddington

The Wharf enjoys strong maritime links, a quiet setting and a novel use of the words 'osso buco'. What more could a landlubber want, asks Richard Johnson

I live by the words of Mark Twain. I know that, 20 years from now, I will be more disappointed by the things that I didn't do than by the ones I did. So I like to throw off the bowlines. I sail away from the safe harbour and catch the trade winds in my sails. I explore. I dream. I discover. Which, to be honest with you, is how I ended up in Teddington.

Teddington is the point on the River Thames where the tide finishes. Hence Tide End Town and so Teddington. In the long, languid evenings of summer, cormorants and herons loiter in the shallows. And plumes of fresh, sea air wash over the banks. But I visited in winter, and the place was shrouded in mist. No wonder the receptionist sounded a little "whatever" when I insisted on a table with a view.

The Wharf used to be Tough's Boathouse. In its day, Tough's built everything from the Nore, used by HM the Queen as the Royal Barge, to the PLA Havengore, which carried the coffin of Winston Churchill to his state funeral. You wouldn't know it now. The place has now been well and truly made over, with a marquee to give it that indoor-outdoor feel.

The Wharf is a draw for a well-to-do middle-aged crowd. So it was nice to see Rick Parfitt in the bar. If the party's flagging, put on some Quo. Am I right? To impress my hard-drinking dinner guest, I said "Give me a glass of whatever Rick's drinking" to the waitress. She came back with mineral water and a twist of lime. Seems that, since his quadruple heart bypass in 1997, Dr Rhythm is taking things easy.

There might have been a view from our table in the marquee. But whatever view there was, was distorted through the dirty polythene "window". I was glad to see that management had gone for the wooden floor. Having got married recently, I know that wooden flooring costs extra. But Neris told me it was classier than jute matting, and much easier for dancing.

The rustic breads (with olives and chilli aioli) weren't rustic. But, to judge by the shopping malls and industrial parks in Middlesex, I think they have a different understanding of the term. Our starters of beetroot cured salmon, crab, ginger and lemon vinaigrette (£8) and flaked snapper and coconut salad, coriander, Szechuan pickled vegetables (£8) stuck more faithfully to the Trades Descriptions Act.

Each region of China has its own distinctive pickle. In the western province of Szechuan, they favour a spicy brine of salt, with peppercorns, dried chilli, ginger and gin. I couldn't taste any gin on my pickles, and there was only the faintest register of chilli – not like the Szechuan dan-dan noodles I once ate for a bet. But at least its delicacy guaranteed that the flavour of the snapper wasn't lost.

My guest was sitting directly under a patio heater. In fact, he was in danger of third-degree burns along on one side of his face; he had to face away from the heater to talk. After his starter, I think he said, "The beetroot cure adds nothing to the salmon apart from colour. But it's nicely smoked. Why can't they install wall heaters like everywhere else?"

The best part of osso buco, a famous Lombard dish, is the bone marrow. It's scooped out with a utensil called a scavino, which, for some reason, in Milanese dialect also means "taxman". But I haven't eaten osso buco in years – not since the talk of BSE first started. The Wharf offers up an alternative osso buco of monkfish, saffron risotto, gremolata and crispy mange tout (£15.50).

I know that, literally, osso buco means "bone with a hole". But to call a monkfish stew "osso buco" is helping no one. Having said that, the texture was perfect. And the chef served it with gremolata, the traditional accompaniment to a classic osso buco. So I forgave him. This blend of orange and lemon zest with finely chopped garlic and parsley adds a sprightly flavour to dishes. This was no exception.

My guest had ordered the crispy skin fillet of seabass. Given that he was now starting to blister from the patio heater, how ironic was that? I'm used to chermoula as a marinade. With its coriander, parsley, lemon juice, olive oil and garlic, this North African pesto is flavourful enough to stand up to the oiliest of fish. But at The Wharf they drizzled it round the plate. It was enough to lift the dish above the mundane.

At first glance, the dessert list seemed full of masterpieces from the nursery food canon. But it's easy to get nursery food wrong. We live in the age of the restaurant chef, and nursery food most definitely belongs within the realm of home cooking. It isn't to be experimented with. I feel this especially strongly when it comes to bread and butter pudding.

At the Wharf they make it from panettone. Fine, if you must, but don't serve it with chocolate sauce. Chocolate doesn't sit well with candied fruit – buffalo ricotta cheese or marscapone is better. I admired the adventurous spirit of The Wharf's chef. By all means, throw off the bowlines. Explore. Dream. Discover. Just don't do it when you're making my bread and butter pudding.

The Wharf, 22 Manor Road, Teddington, Middlesex (020-8977 6333)