Table No.1, Shanghai

In addition to his Mayfair mothership, Pollen Street Social, Jason Atherton, Worksop-born son of a joiner and an Skegness hotelier, now operates three eateries in Asia. Keen to see how his move east started, Douglas Blyde strolls into Table No. 1, Shanghai – Atherton’s first operation following sortie from Gordon Ramsay and maze.

Located in the Waterhouse Hotel, Table No. 1 almost overlaps the pavement of the city’s ‘cool docks’ district. This area also features an artificial beach, where equivalent of £5 entry includes a soft drink. A low rise for sheer Shanghai, with labyrinthine hedged roof bar with views towards the gleaming bund, but intrusive roasting aromas from the kitchen extractor, the building, described by a customer as ‘Shoreditch in Shanghai’, is the work of local designers, Neri&Hu (realisers of Pollen Street Social’s fit).

Lit by oversized chandelier, Kafka, Calvino and neon Tracey Emin quotes, of empty meaning to reception staff, are printed on walls which are deliberately crazed, rusted, chipped and tarnished. Within mirrored shutters, windows run floor-to-ceiling. Such is the attention to detail that the hotel even features its own take on the ubiquitous luggage cart, parked by a paved lift. As is normal in China, there exists a room 13.

According to Atherton, a Korean pop star called Rain once checked in. Atherton said: “Everybody went wild! I was like, who? Is his wife called Sunshine?”

Beyond reception, where Atherton’s ‘Gourmet Food on A Budget’ (aka. ‘Gourmet Food for a Fiver’ – UK) book is propped for sale, is an alley doubling as dispense bar, opening to dining room proper. Here, long tables are mostly communal.

What the Waterhouse loses in height, it makes up for in prices, even after taxes are considered. An aperitif of Perrier Jouët Champagne costs the equivalent of £32/flute, while a bottle of ugly Jacob’s Creek (a brand that conquered far too many of the city’s bars, restaurants and convenience shops) costs £37/bottle in sparkling form (although diners may retrieve 10% off their second bottle). Atherton’s ‘Perfect’ Martini disconcertingly involves Martini Rossi and a cherry, while his Shanghai Ice Tea might be the most confected concoction possible in a tea producing country. If you stick to beer, beware the automatic feed of unasked for additional bottles.

Better value by Western standards then liquor or liqueurs is the tasting menu (£66 total for two). Head chef (and business partner) is Dundee-born, Scott Melvin. Dinner opens with tasty snacks including unsalted lotus crisps which gain salt from a whipped dip of vinegar cream. Alas, cleanly fried octopus arms and entrails are coloured with chillies so bland as to be meaningless. Although they would definitely win here in the right hand, the chopsticks my Chinese companion asks for are unavailable – a two fingered salute by Atherton to a Western-Asian alliance.

To follow, marinated hamachi fish and prawns with gazpacho is a ditz of a dish – pretty but dull, although the gazpacho sauce is authentic on its own.

Then, favourite of the Michelin menu shopping list (they already pour out Pellegrino, favourite of the 50 Best Restaurants Awards), scallops (tense, bad sex toy in finish) contrast unnecessary and uncomplimentary chicken wing joints, a dense, grainy and other-worldly white bean purée but a very, very good parsley risotto. Of the latter, excavated from the over-gilded mesh, your correspondent is heartened that Atherton and Melvin have at least managed to realise fine rice in Asia.

As lights darken, audacious music is ramped up. The final savoury is Australian sirloin and braised cheek, respectively broiled and boiled in butter, and butter yellow mash riddled with unresolved, substantial grit-like salt. The result of the dairy disguise to what your correspondent suspects is barely aged beef is heartburn and a sleepless night. Such a shame, considering London’s maze grill was a cut above for meat under Atherton’s and Melvin’s tenure…

Fellow diners include couples and quads of balding Western males with shiny-haired Chinese companions and concubines. Considering the demographic of his partner, your correspondent is no exception, although both her and he have arguably lovely locks. But beyond the venue’s studied scuff, its inflexible seating, baffling acoustics and hideous alcohol prices, make it a barely romantic destination.

An icy pre-dessert of curiously sweet raspberries sourced from goodness knows where, with what your correspondent later learns is fig jelly (but which tastes of rhubarb) and visibly overly-sugared shortbread, is best swallowed fast to get it gone. Finally, for the weakest dish, minted blackberry tea is doused over already froth-topped chocolate cake, dampening and curdling crumbs in a way as to suggest something of the negative latrine.

Two years-on from opening, it seems Mr. Atherton may be too busy with his recently-delivered Singaporean eatery in a flower-dome (his second venture in that city-state) to keep close check of his potentially very good Shanghai outpost. Considering the bill for two could feed eight in comfort in a very satisfactory Chinese restaurant, or fund 19 entries to the fake beach (including soft drinks), your correspondent left a little bored, stuffed and stiffed.

Table No.1, Maojiayuan road No.1-3, Zhongshan road south, Huangpu district