Eating Out: Lost from the outset

"THIS MUST be the scenic route," Alexandra, my agent, says, arching an eyebrow and casting a languid eye over the car- wrecking pound. We're on the A one-oh-something, heading for Bluewater in Kent, the new ultimate consumer experience. Three-quarters of an hour from north London on a Saturday night and we're whizzing by an endless line of industrial sheds, abandoned warehouses and empty lots fenced in by chainlink and flooded with sodium light. Leaving the city by the south- east is anything but an uplifting experience. At least we have the prospect of Hediard's French cooking to cheer us up.

First, though, we have to find Bluewater. After taking the wrong exit at a roundabout, I phone the restaurant for directions. The girl is very helpful, and very understanding. "No problem, Mr Bennett, and I'll tell them you're going to be a little late." She's still helpful and still pretty understanding when I call again, on arrival at Bluewater, asking how we actually get into the place. It is vast. Alexandra and I cannot find an entrance. "Look for people in yellow T-shirts, Mr Bennett. They'll be happy to direct you." She adds that most people don't find this part so hard. At the far end of a huge carpark we discover the secret passage and at last penetrate Bluewater.

Bluewater may be the ultimate consumer experience. It is also, the signs say, "a non-smoking environment". "Fuck me,"Alexandra says on receipt of this information. She totters along in her high heels, by now grimly determined to find one of these yellow T-shirt people. We encounter one consulting a map and talking to an exhausted shopper. "It's that way," the man in yellow says. "You've got about a half-mile walk, unfortunately. Hediard?" He looks at the map, turns it upside down, bends his head to the side, does an about-turn, sets the map to rights again. "It's down past the Winter Gardens." "No, John," a passing woman says, pointing in the opposite direction. "It's past the `Knuckle'." He turns the map one more time, then he says brightly: "Oh yeah." He grins. "Lucky I checked."

We find the "Knuckle", we find Hediard. The lighting is of interrogation intensity. "Not good for a woman my age," Alexandra remarks, taking her seat against a red-and-black striped wall. "There is a reason they have candles in restaurants." Good news, though, for Alexandra at least. Ashtrays. She lights up and we ask for the wine list. This takes a while to arrive (10 minutes) and there's another wait when we ask the waiter to talk us through it. He says he doesn't know anything about wine but will find someone who does (15 minutes). During this time, the maitre d' invites us to join in a chorus of Happy Birthday for Charity, who is enjoying a celebration meal with her family tonight.

Ten or 15 minutes after we've ordered from the waiter who knows, the Chablis premier cru arrives. Alexandra also wants a red, something she can taste. The waiter suggests a bottle of Graves 1996, which meets with Alexandra's approval. But that, it has to be said, is about all that does. On top of the lighting, the delays, and the cafeteria-like surroundings (up-market, but still cafeteria), there is a disturbing shortage of bread. We're offered one bit each - a slice of crusty French.

It doesn't get any better. Alexandra's starter - tian of lobster, saffron potato and white truffle cream with Beluga and langoustine essence (pounds 11.50) - is tastefully colour-coordinated, but Alexandra decides it's trying much too hard. "Actually a bit sicky," is her verdict. My rabbit and smoked bacon terrine with pear chutney (pounds 6.50) is so-so. I like the pistachios in with the meat, but the chutney is so strongly flavoured it likewise makes the concoction a little on the sicky side.

As the plates are cleared, the maitre d' calls our attention to Molly, who is also enjoying a celebration meal with her family. There's another chorus of Happy Birthday, though this time distinctly less rousing than before. I would say this has less to do with Molly than with the diners' evident wish to be left to get on with their meals. In any case, it's the last such invitation of the evening. A woman a couple of tables up leans over and whispers, "Is the fixed menu on? It's up on the board, but I can't see it." I say I don't think it's available on Saturday night. She looks at her husband a little glumly. It's going to be an expensive dinner. The cheapest thing on the main course is polenta (pounds 9.50), but most of the others are pounds 15 or pounds 16.

The servings are not what you'd call hearty. I am not a particularly big eater, but after my seared fillets of John Dory (chewy, by the way), with crab and potato dauphinoise, braised baby fennel and red wine butter sauce, I was still hungry. Alexandra forks over one of her lamb cutlets. She's like that and I am very grateful. Dessert is sticky banana pudding with a teaspoon of rum- and-raisin ice- cream: nothing special. We have coffee and brandy, and I pay the bill (pounds 142, service included).

Hediard in Bluewater seems to be intended for those who want to round off their orgy of shopping with what they're told will be classy French cooking in a fancy setting. But an evening there made Alexandra's blood boil. "Patronising," she announces as we pass the "Knuckle" on our way back to the secret passage. "The kind of place that takes advantage of people who think they're getting something special."

Hediard

The West Village, Bluewater, Kent, 01322 624447.

Lunch Mon-Fri noon-2.30pm. Two- and three-course set menus pounds 13.50 and pounds 16.50.

Lunch Sat noon-4pm, Sun noon-6pm. Two- and three-course set menus pounds 14.50 and pounds 17.50. Dinner Mon-Fri 7.30-10.30pm, Sat 6-9.30pm. Average price pounds 25 per person. Service added at 12.5 per cent. Credit cards accepted, except Diners

WHAT'S ON THE WINE LIST

Richard Ehrlich's selection

If this wine list could talk, it would say: "At your disservice, Monsieur. We will tell you the alcohol content of each bottle we sell. We are not, however, telling you who made most of the wines, preferring to say that they have been especially selected by Hediard, Paris. In other words, trust us." Well, I sure as hell don't like ordering wine this way. On the other hand, the list is fairly cheap. Apart from a short section of named wines, which are mostly top-notch Bordeaux properties from inferior years. Chateau Brane Cantenac 1993 for pounds 65? No thanks