With a Royal Wedding in the air, the stench of unemployment wafting through the bunting and a London trend for overpriced, small plates of food, 2011 is starting to smell a little like 1981. So said @richmajor slightly euphorically about the state of things, as we enjoyed our first meal at Pollen Street Social.

Perhaps he was hallucinating in the Athens-like heat. Head chef Jason Atherton, formally of Ramsay’s maze, had managed to find the only golden statue of a leg of lamb in London, displayed proudly in the window. The effort would have been better spent securing the services of an electrician to fix the air-conditioning. But, I tried to stay positive as my legs glued themselves to the black leather, Manhattan-style banquette at which we were sat.

Our waiter suggests we share lots of small plates of fancy food and @richmajor reassures me this cool Italian bar snack thing is a good thing. But like leg warmers, space exploration and big hair, it was tricky to pull off. You try fighting over a single orkney scallop across a linen-covered table while acting like a big-shot.

“This cabbage pesto is the kind of thing I’d have tried to make when I just moved to London, and couldn’t afford rocket,” said @richmajor, amusingly. Luckily it tasted substantially better than that.

For a sporadic reviewer, this meal was a test of nerves. The food was largely not great, but its presentation so spectacular and the hype of the launch so big, my tiny brain was soon frazzled by the contradictions.

Here’s a nice image from @richmajor aka the grumbling gourmet: “The low point came with a miserly pair of emaciated red prawns, sat in a bamboo steamer on a bed of seaweed. a teapot of consomme was poured through the slats of the steamer, the ‘reveal’ coming after we’d eaten the two prawns – a pair of dumplings sat underneath in the rapidly chilling ‘tea’. blitzed fish in odour, scrambled egg in texture, nothing to tell of in taste.”

This is the place to go when you want to feel like a winner. At £150 for eight sharing plates, one bottle of house wine, no dessert, it takes true guts to say you didn’t enjoy it. But perhaps bring your good friend Charlie. Remember him? He helped Eighties peeps leave their appetites in the bathroom.

Or, if you actually want a wonderful Italian experience, go to La Luna on the Walworth Road. Last night @silentypewriter and I enjoyed seasonal asparagus, wrapped in cheese and parma ham, followed by fresh pappardelle in a sauce of smoky aubergine, cherry tomato and porcini mushrooms. Plus six glasses of house red. All delicious. Came in at £40.

Take that Thatcher.