To deconstruct or not? That is the culinary question.

Fine dining has trends, just like any other industry. A couple of years ago it seemed like everything was coming out of the best kitchens in carefully stacked towers, every element of your meal improbably layered to tipsy heights. At the moment, it seems to be all about deconstruction.

Plates are coming out of the kitchen highlighting their component parts, often separating them out and then laying them on the plate as a carefully arranged work of art. This was most obvious when dining earlier in the month at Pearl, where even the menu makes the point about the basics, with bold typography offering you just one thing ... tomato. salmon. chocolate. ... with the details in the fine print.

My main course of salmon was desconstruction writ large, with even the piece of fish being pulled apart and cooked in individual, bite sized pieces. The gorgeous plate that landed before me looked like a festive explosion of confetti, with pink bits of fish, green vegetables, red lettuce, all artfully arranged so that there was actually a symmetry to the mess. (I would have taken a photo but I was at a proper business meeting and couldn't be too frivolous.) The starter was similar, in that it delivered a range of individual items that came together pleasantly: chilled heritage tomatoes in jelly, fromage frais, confit datterini tomatoes and basil sorbet. Gorgeous, but a bit odd, and I wonder if I would have been more satisfied if I'd had fewer ingredients in larger portions. Instead it was a bite of each thing, leaving your taste buds to assimilate.

I confess to being happiest at the dessert, which approached the traditional in being just one thing ... a peanut and caramel chocolate dome ... with a side of hazelnut ice cream, decorated with a basket of spun sugar. This was a magnificent contradiction of flavours and textures. Sweet and salty, sharp and rich, smooth and crunchy. This was a pudding worth crossing London for and, frankly, I'd happily return to Pearl just for this course.

A better reason to return, however, is probably that they have an excellent value for money set menu for lunch and it's a big place with very high ceilings that's not too crowded. It's rare to find a great lunch spot in London where you can actually have a decent conversation; Pearl is a fantastic option.

It being a particularly profligate day, I ate Arbutus on the same day for supper (see 30.5.09 for an earlier review) and assembling my own food again. When I ordered the warm sweet onion tart with organic salmon creme fresh and herbs, I was expecting a hearty slice of something traditional. Instead it was a wafer thin piece of pastry spread with the cream and the herbs, salmon and salad on the side. (See photo at right and tell me if you'd ever call that a tart.) Interesting. Tasted good. But not what I'd envisioned.

Continuing in my traditional mood ... and trying to go a bit light after the excessive lunch ... I went with the bouillabaisse, and was served a variety of dishes from which to build my own meal. In one pan, the fish, in another, the broth, here the croutons, there the rouille. In this case, rather fun, as you could control your own proportions and feel quite healthy if you avoided going too mad with the rouille coating on the croutons. Arbutus maintained the standards I have come to expect from past visits and, quite remarkably for a Michelin starred place, a three-course a la carte meal with shared wine came in at £50.

Clearly my drift towards tradition on the menu, and my irritation with deconstruction, was sending me a message. Which I seem to have received a few days later at The Ivy. Never one of my favourite venues (see 9.6.07), this month the old-style grandfather of London dining really hit the spot. I was at a Business Week-sponsored lunch in the private dining room, greeted with a glass of champagne and passed appetisers, perfectly bite sized and classicly English. Fish cakes and thin slivers of roast beef on miniature Yorkshire puddings, with the requisite dab of horseradish, could have been a meal in themselves. But it was on to tomato and goat cheese tart (a proper one, as expected, resting atop its bed of lettuce), and a beautifully grilled piece of cod on spring peas with mint. Replete, I just wanted to wrap myself in the flag of St. George and take a nap.

I ended that particular week at a restaurant that is perhaps the perfect blend of towers and deconstruction, tradition and modern, English and continental. Chez Bruce, on Clapham Common, is a sister restaurant to La Trompette in Chiswick (see 15.9.09) and The Glasshouse in Kew. I've had excellent outings at both of the sisters (I somehow neglected to write a review of The Glasshouse, a fault which will be addressed as we walked out of Chez Bruce with a deep discount offer to return to the Kew location), so was curious to complete the trio. A brilliant evening with excellent service and an inventive menu, beautifully prepared and with a variety of distinct and fresh flavours.

I started with salt cod tortellini nero with grilled squid, peppers, chorizo and parsley (an artfully deconstructed plate highlighting the various ingredients), followed by roast cod with olive oil mash, grilled courgette and gremolata (traditionally served atop a mound of some of the creamiest, most delectable mash to ever pass my lips). I ended with dark chocolate tart with salted caramel sauce, clotted cream and honeycomb ... very similar to the extremely memorable dessert I'd had at La Trompette on my last birthday. Now also fixed in this chocoholic's brain.

As was the view of the lingering twilight over leafy Clapham Common, and the genial company. Because, let's face it, long after the memory of what you ate fades, you can recall the atmosphere and who you were with. The company is the best part of dining out, and what makes every meal a celebration. The chocolate just enhances it all.