Robert Hardman

FULHAM has been the up-and-coming thing for about as long as Nasa. Back in the Seventies, it was tipped as the next Kensington. In the Eighties, it was still being tipped as the next Kensington. Through the Nineties, great things were Spoken of the potential of SW6. And yet it is still, well, Fulham.

The Sloanes and City types have multi- plied, edging out the old working-class fam- ilies; Fulham Football Club has few fans Who still travel to Craven Cottage on foot. Golf GTIs and Range Rovers fill the resi- dents' parking bays and houses are nudging the million pound mark. But, if the demo- graphics have changed radically, the local restaurant scene has not.

Stalwarts such as the Blue Elephant (Thai food in fluffy surrounds) and the more recent Montana (adventurous Ameri- can) continue to pull them in but dining options in Fulham remain, for the most part, a choice between a pizza, a burger or a plate of nachos.

All of which may have something to do With the instant popularity of the Salisbury Tavern. This is the latest venture of Long- shot, an up-and-coming restaurant group Which has established roots in Chelsea with the refurbished Admiral Codrington pub and Vingt-Quatre, the head-swivelling, open-all-hours celebrity café by the Fulham Road cinema.

With the Admiral Cocirington — 'The Cod' to its regulars — Longshot took a famous Sloane watering hole and gave it the `gastropub' treatment with the addition of a decent restaurant. The Salisbury Tav- ern was a rather different prospect, being the sort of place where a chap with a Bar- bour and a braying voice would be more likely to end up eating hospital food than crab and avocado salad.

'This place?' asked the cabbie. 'Bit rough, isn't it?' Apparently, it had once commanded a formidable reputation as a 'fight pub'. Longshot have not just redecorated the Old pub hut, effectively, rebuilt it, adding a large extension to house a 75-seat restau- rant in addition to the bar. The bouncer on the door suggested that the Salisbury may not have shed its glorious past entirely. Inside, though, it could have been a point- t°,-Poirit carpark in Gloucestershire. 'It's Sloane Central,' my friend Catherine Observed as we walked in. To the left, a large bar area echoed to the honk of hilarious recollections of Biffy's 21st birthday party or tales of mooning and misdeeds in Meribel. Those pining for the authentic ambience of the apres-ski happy hour in the Alps will find it here. To the right, quieter but still bustling, was the eat- ing half of the joint. This was no pub dining section but a fully fledged restaurant in its own right — and a decent-sized one at that. Within the first five minutes, there was a bray from an adjacent group (along with some clanging namedrops) but the tables were sufficiently far apart for it not to mat- ter. Too many restaurants squeeze tables, especially tables for two, into rows which would do justice to the economy section of an airliner. Here, Catherine and I had no shortage of space. The menu is the modish combination of modern British clubland plus a few quirky touches, all overseen by the executive chef Charlie Rushton, late of the Mirabelle.

Catherine started with the special of the day, grilled halloumi with roast vegetables and pesto. 'A clever combination . . . like the pesto touch . . . nice and herby,' she cooed between mouthfuls.

I ordered the tarte tatin of onion and goat's cheese, a surprisingly subtle blend of flavours thanks to a chevre somewhat milder than the stinkers some chefs like to lob into their starters now that goat's cheese is trendy. Catherine followed with grilled escalope of wild salmon which she enjoyed although she found the hollandaise rather watery. From a list of solid dependables — salmon fishcake, sautéed calf s liver, confit of duck — I chose the roast rump of lamb on a bed of truffled celeriac. The lamb was a little on the dry side but the side order of mustard mash was excellent and I cheer- fully ate the lot. By now, the honking from next door was 'Have we got this swapping thing right? starting to die down. The bar area, which has a pub licence, had started disgorging its polo-shirted estate agents into the street and the music changed tempo.

The Nina Campbell decor is pretty lavish, even by gastropub standards. Red walls overlook the mandatory wooden floor and a curvy, flower-stalk theme governs the fit- tings. For some reason, the walls are cov- ered in old industrial scenes — a black and white photograph of a shipyard here, a fac- tory there. I suppose it might be a way of reminding the punters that this was once a working-man's pub, although the only industries which seemed to be under dis- cussion were property-selling and dotcom- mery ('Yah, Martha's an old friend. . . ' boomed the namedropper).

I was expecting a selection of puddings from the Chalet Girl's Guide to Grub and the menu duly obliged, with banana ice- cream and 'Sticky Toffee Pudding' to the fore. Entering into the spirit of the place, we decided to share the 'Chocolate Orgasm'. I was not expecting anything ter- ribly exciting. For some reason, restaurants insist on applying a ridiculous name to any- thing with chocolate in it — 'Death by Chocolate' etc. This would, surely, be just another chocolate mousse.

'Thank God you're having a pudding. We've only sold four tonight and the chef is getting a bit depressed,' said the waitress. The omens were not good.

As it happened, all the other diners had been missing out. The £6.50 'Chocolate Orgasm' was a huge assortment of excellent puddings — a cream-packed chocolate conch, a toffee thing, a chocolate sponge, an ice-cream and so on. With two forks, we just about finished it off.

As for prices, the Salisbury Tavern fol- lows the mainstream for this part of town. At £5.75 for a Caesar salad and £9.50 for a fillet of cod, it is neither a bargain nor over- priced. A Berry Bros wine list starts at a £10 house claret with most bottles under £30. The Salisbury Tavern had been open for only a few days when we arrived, but it was completely full and it was coping with- out any discernible teething troubles.

It may be a little lively for the more deli- cate diner but the Salisbury management clearly understands its market and know that Fulham hearties have moved on from the days when eating out was a plate of spag bol and a bottle of plonk.

The Salisbury should be a very welcome addition to the area. Any former regulars returning to their old haunt in search of a scrap, though, are likely to be disappointed. The only fighting in here these days is likely to involve bread rolls.

The Salisbury Tavern, 21 Sherbrooke Road, London SW6 7HX Tel: 0207 381 4005. Open daily, 12-3 p.m., 7-11 p.m. Dinner for two, with wine, £70.

Robert Hardman is a columnist and corre- spondent for the Daily Telegraph.