The Bear, Camberwell

Despite Camberwell's increasing reputation for all kinds (and all budgets) of great food, it still seemed unlikely that this bare-bones pub, just opposite the Walworth bus depot and furnished, as far as I could tell, with tables and chairs nicked from the local secondary school, could house anywhere worth eating at, never mind somewhere worthy of a special journey. Sure, the beer selection was decent (largely Brixton Brewery but also Timothy Taylor and a couple of other bits) and there was a chalkboard by-the-glass wine list that perhaps hinted at greater capabilities, but the Bear - and I'm being kind, here - does not feel like a gastropub.

And yet, just around the back of the bar, past the DJ booth (well, of course) and the *shudder* toilets (more on that later), there is, astonishingly, a 12-seater kitchen counter restaurant serving the kind of menu that wouldn't be out of place anywhere with table service and tablecloths. It's a lovely thing, the menu at the Bear, partly because in a city whose asking price for a meal out has spiraled from "how much!?" to "2nd mortgage" in the space of 6 months, it seems exceedingly reasonably priced, but mainly because, without a hint of exaggeration, you will want to eat every. damn. thing. on it.

Alongside cocktails (a very nice Negroni and a very slightly less successful Margarita which could have done with being a bit sweeter and lime-ier but still looked very pretty) we had a ham croquette each and in an instant, as we bit through the crunchy, grease-free breadcrumbs and into the soft, gooey beschamel studded with solid chunks of pig, we knew we were going to be in safe hands. There's a lot that can go wrong with a ham croquette (or jamon croquetta, depending on where you're eating it), but the Bear have got theirs absolutely right.

And from that moment on, we were putty in their hands. Even without the immediacy and flattering attention of the counter service, closer to the experience at a high-end omakase than anything so humdrum as a gastropub, the food at the Bear would have stood out on its own exceptional merits. But watching your bowl of smoked cod's roe being lovingly prepared, then brought together with bubble-crusted foccacia and super house pickles on the counter in front of you, just made the whole thing that much more magical.

Devon crab - a giant mound of it - was boosted by ribbons of delicate pickled cabbage and a zingy yuzu dressing, and then topped with roasted peanuts and (I think) powdered nori, a merging of the finest British ingredients and Japanese technique that was impossible not to love.

Even more astonishing - and believe me, that's saying something - was smoked eel, which we first spotted above the coals on a miniature yakitori grill then later served (quite brilliantly) with pickled forced rhubarb and ginger. Soft, sweet and salty, and with the smokiness a subtle extra note rather than anything too intrusive, it was another masterclass in Japanese-leaning seafood cooking and had us swooning.

Coyly described on the menu as 'XO noodles', this turned out to be a strangely familiar arrangement of thick, bouncy belt noodles soaked in a complex herby, meaty sauce and topped with a soy-cured egg yolk. I have to assume the more than passing resemblence to Bancone's handkerchief pasta presentation is more than a coincidence - influences stretch across cuisines as well as geography, of course - and alongside the witty appearance it was distressingly easy to wolf down.

Duck "Kyiv" has understandably, even at this early stage of the restaurant's life, become a bit of a signature dish. Because what's not to like about minced duck wrapped around wild garlic butter, coated in breadcrumbs and fried, and then dropped on top of a silky-smooth buttered mash and game jus? Nothing, that's what. But although this was indeed lovely, it was hardly the only reason to visit the Bear. I honestly believe you couldn't order badly here.

So, the perfect restaurant, then? Well yes... and then no. I would have been more than happy to give the Bear my top marks - stellar, original and inventive cooking, matched with magical service - until I made the unfortunate choice to visit the conveniences. What greeted me was like something from the last days of a festival - a graffitied chipboard cubicle containing a dirty single toilet with no seat, and an empty soap dispenser. And I don't care how charming and unaffected you think it is to offer a bathroom in such a state, I'm afraid if I'm paying £80 for my dinner the least I expect is not to physically gag at the thought of having to use it.

But, you know, there is a lot to love elsewhere at the Bear. And with at least the possibility they could get that disaster of a bathroom fixed - and I very much hope they do - I will give them the benefit of the doubt and just dock them just the two points. But please do bear in mind (no pun intended), that your enjoyment of a meal here may depend on your being able to hold it until you get home. Or at least to another nearby pub whose bathroom arrangements are less medieval.

I want to end on a high note though, and so I will. A final bowl of gorgeous donuts straight out of the fryer, dipped in home made lemon curd, brought the evening to a slightly more sanitary end, and actually a few days later my over-riding memory of the place isn't - fortunately - of the horrors lurking behind the gents sign but of that fantastic smoked eel, the gooey ham croquettes, and the engaging and enthusastic manner in which it was all served. The Bear will, I'm sure, do well. But I might wait for a return visit until certain assurances have been made.

8/10