Jeff, sitting nursing a pint in the Crown, was sure the new Gordon Ramsay gastropub down the road would succeed. "That's the sort of bloke he is, isn't it?" he said. "He's ..." Jeff never quite finished the sentence; we watched the 3.50 from Plumpton instead. But I think the word he would have chosen was efficient, or driven, or perhaps irrepressible. "Failure" is not a word in Ramsay's rich lexicon of F-words.

The Crown, just north of London's busy Commercial Road, is old East End: outside, it advertises bar snacks, chilled wines, premium lager, pool table, friendly atmosphere. There were, indeed, bar snacks - a free ham roll. And the atmosphere was definitely friendly. "That roll's been here since 1939," said one of the locals as I was about to take a bite. "You think I'm joking; wait till you've tried it."

The Narrow, Ramsay's first gastropub, which opened yesterday, is definitely new East End. South of Commercial Road; fab food with British roots - cock-a-leekie pie, Rye Bay plaice with Morecambe brown shrimps, braised Gloucester pig cheeks with bashed neeps; friendly young waiters; a gorgeous, sunny spot on Limehouse Reach; and an impressively varied clientele - brokers in braces, couples with kids, Japanese women reading Heat and, heavens, even a man in a baseball cap.

My mackerel and potato salad was a delight; my salted beef was both salty and beefy (apologies for the banality of this critique - the food critic was indisposed); and my baked egg custard cake was creamily magnificent. Jeff's right - the Narrow is a surefire winner. Lunch for two came to £56. The staff were nervously expecting a visit from Ramsay. "He wouldn't say when he was coming," our waitress explained. "It's probably a way of keeping us on our toes."

Singh, at the Crown, knows his days are numbered. "All the traditional pubs around here are dying," he said. "The yuppies want a different sort of pub, the Bengalis don't drink, and the old East Enders are moving to Essex."

"I walked along Cable Street the other day and there are only two pubs left," said Jeff with sadness. He used to be a publican in the West Midlands. My guess is his pub didn't serve soft herring roes or potted Cromer crab.