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I've been wanting to go to the Real Greek for years. I've had a high opinion of Greek food ever since I started visiting the islands as a student, and this restaurant, started in 1999 by Theodore Kyriakou, is renowned for serving the best souvlaki in London. One of my fellow critics was so impressed, he ended up ghost-writing Kyriakou's best-selling recipe book. By all accounts, he's the Greek Gordon Ramsay.

Admittedly, I wouldn't actually be visiting the original Real Greek, which is in Hoxton, but one of the half-dozen or so off-shoots that have sprung up since the restaurant was acquired by the Clapham House Group in 2004. My choice of destination was the Thames-side branch in Southwark, the so-called "trendy gastro-pub" that Sir Kenneth MacDonald, the Director of Public Prosecutions, is fond of popping in to for lunch with his 37-year-old mistress. Or, rather, he used to be before his face was plastered all over the tabloids.

At first glance, The Real Greek Souvlaki & Bar on Bankside, to give it its full name, didn't strike me as a particularly romantic spot. With its cheap, modular furniture and concrete floor, not to mention a strong whiff of Lysol, it reminded me of one of those all-day drinking dens in Eos, the most hedonistic of the Greek islands. A quick glance at the menu, which reminded customers that "happy hour" lasted from 3-7pm every day, seemed to confirm this, as did a trip to the toilets which were literally awash with urine. Could this really be one of the restaurants that Theodore Kyriakou claims will permanently transform the British public's perception of Greek cuisine? I've seen better-looking kebab houses on the Kentish Town Road.

The clientele didn't inspire much confidence, either. If Sir Kenneth really did take his girlfriend here -- the tabloids have been known to get these details wrong -- they would have stuck out like a couple of toffs at a Derby and Jones Club. Whatever happened to the tradition whereby members of the Establishment took their mistresses to Cliveden? Apart from me and my wife, the only customers were foreign students who were clearly on their way to the nearby Globe and groups of ladettes tottering around on high heels that would inevitably be broken by the end of the night. These were not the discerning gourmands I'd been expecting.

To be fair, it's misleading to describe this branch of the Real Greek as a "gastro-pub". It's more of an upmarket fast-food restaurant, in the same vein as the other high street chains in the Clapham House Group, namely, Tootsies, Gourmet Burger Kitchen and the Bombay Bicycle Club. And for a fast-food restaurant, the cuisine really isn't bad. My wife and I started with the "veggie meze sharer" for two, which included some decent dolmades and tiropitakias, and I followed up with chicken souvlaki while she had a Greek salad and a plate of chips. All the ingredients were fresh and, judging from the speed with which it came out of the kitchen, involved a minimum amount of preparation. It certainly wasn't the best Greek meal I've ever had in London -- that honour belongs to Halepi in Bayswater -- but it was better than a bog-standard, after-hours takeaway.

The problem lay not with Theodore Kyriakou recipes, but with the sloppy front-of-house management. The waiters and waitresses, who barely spoke English, were listless and slovenly, while the standards of hygiene left a good deal to be desired. I'm afraid it was very much what you'd expect from a cheap, Greek Taverna, rather than a bold attempt to shift the perception of Hellenic cuisine upmarket -- which is what I'd always understood the Real Greek to be.

As we were leaving, I asked one of the mangers how often they cleaned their toilets.

"Every morning," he replied, proudly.

For a restaurant that boasts a 240-minute happy hour in the middle of the day, they might want to think about cleaning them every evening, too.