Practice makes perfect

The Apprentice: Cardamom Building, 31 Shad Thames, London SE1 2YR. Tel: 0171 234 0254 Open Monday to Friday from noon to 1.30pm and from 6.30 to 8.30pm. Two course set lunch, pounds 8.50. Average price per head, pounds 15. Access an d Visa cards accepted

In many a British restaurant the most important skill the staff have clearly been taught is how to look ostentatiously around the room with helpful expressions whilst cunningly avoiding the eye of anyone who needs serving. How cheering, then, to visit a restaurant where all the staff are in training, and to discover that in their virgin state, waiters and waitresses keep their eyeballs glued to those of the diners, with the eagerness of auctioneers in a cattle market full of mad cows.

The Butler's Wharf Chef school, with its attached restaurant the Apprentice, was opened last February in Terence Conran's stylish docklands food heaven close to Tower Bridge. Jointly funded by the private and public sectors (including the London Docklands Development Corporation, whose chairman founded the Happy Eater) it is the first establishment of it's kind in Britain, set up to address what it calls "the chronic shortage of skilled chefs and front of house personnel in the catering industry."

The beauty of the school is that, with a real restaurant attached, the trainees get to practice their skills on real diners. It's rather like the scheme some hairdressers run where clients get a cheap hairdo in return for letting the trainees run riot on their head: except the Apprentice is better because there's no possibility of turning up for subtle highlights and ending up with hair like Gazza.

Though we had been forewarned that the decor had been done to a tight budget, we were initially taken aback by the utilitarian atmosphere. The Apprentice is housed in a broad corridor adjoining the kitchen, with bare walls and floors, and bare Formica style tables in eau de nil. Although accustomed to minimalism in even the priciest of haunts, we did feel we'd have happily paid an extra 50p or so for a candle or a dimmer switch to add a little evening atmosphere.

The staff, though they weren't slithering along the floor as if in Tom and Jerry cartoons and hurling entire trays of soup onto one's head, had - in the nicest possible way - evidently not been at it for years. This wasn't through lack of expertise - the service and cuisine were extremely good - but there was a delicious nervousness and eagerness around. The kitchen, as is modern these days, is open to the dining room, and the young chefs were adjusting their hats as if they couldn't quite believe their luck to be wearing them.

"It's the body language which is different," said my date. "You can tell they haven't spent years grinding their way up through grimy kitchens, being whipped like curs."

We were greeted with delicious warm rosemary focaccio. The menu with a choice of six items for each course instantly allayed fears of amateur experimentation. There were no combinations of cornflakes and custard, or strawberries with eggs. There was rack of lamb with boulangere potatoes, pan-fried scallops, tarte tatin, all at impressively modest prices: starters from pounds 2.75, main courses from pounds 5.95 to pounds l0.95 and puddings at pounds 3.

The wine list was equally generous. Where else in London can you find wine by glass at pounds 1.50? From a range of good choices, all priced at under pounds 20, we plumped for a '94 St Veran at a very reasonable pounds 14.50.

The food was well up to posh restaurant standards: a little patchy, ranging from the wonderful to the not quite right - but heavens above, you can find that when you're forking out pounds 60 a head. My companion, very annoyingly, made all the best choices. He started with foie gras terrine (a bargain at pounds 5.75) which was outstanding. It looked like an up-to-the minute piece of installation art, marbled in shades of reds and orange, and lifting the flavour of the foie gras with an exquisite fruitiness. I went for duck and red onion tart which was nice but less of a success: the pastry a wee bit on the hard side and the cheese rather clumsily melted on top.

Pave of salmon was nicely cooked, though the blob of salsa verdi on top, whilst delicious looked a bit well, blobby. There was a well-stocked salad beneath, peppered with potatoes, green beans, peppers and rocket but the dressing, alas was anything but peppered, and rather on the bland side.

My friend's guinea fowl was a huge hit, already carved into fillets, thereby avoiding on-plate carnage. We could see the entrance to the upmarket Pont de La Tour from our table, and both agreed the dismembered little bird on its tasty bed of savoy cabbage and shiitaki mushrooms could have held its head up high on any of the Pont's tables, had it not been removed and put in the dustbin.

Again my companion went for the top choice with pudding : marbled chocolate marquise. This could easily have clouded my evening, were it not for the distraction of our waiter, a charming young whippersnapper, rather like a tall, lithe young Hugh Grant, who most obligingly offered to "pop out if you're desperate" when asked if they sold cigarettes.

The marquise, heavily reminiscent of the foie gras terrine in design, was equally exquisite. My summer fruit pavlova was good but, through no fault of its own, simply not the chocolate marquise. Our bill, with a bottle and a glass of wine, water and coffee came to a miraculous pounds 52 and we were more than happy to add lots of service on top.

Sir Terence Conran has probably done more to improve the quality of British life than the whole of parliament, the Liverpool football team and the invention of the cappuccino machine all put together. This latest addition to his docklands gastrodome not only offers one of the best value meals in London, but is a promising first step towards eliminating the all-looking, nothing- seeing British waiter. !