Ravenous after an evening at the theatre with her son, Katherine MacAlister finds her beloved eaterie not up to its usual standard

I had been saving it up, like a family heirloom, my trump card secure in my pocket, biding my time, waiting for the right moment.

It arrived when the theatre lights went up, the curtain descended and we were thrust on to the pavement on George Street, stomachs rumbling at 9.30pm.

“There is only one place to go,” I told my son, whisking him off to Jericho, not to the kebab van, that other failsafe late-night and often inebriated food stop relied upon by so many.

Instead my feet turned towards Walton Crescent and wandered along the residential street to stop outside Al Shami, the city’s oldest and most trusted Lebanese restaurant.

It meant we didn’t have to rush because they serve their delicious fresh food until late. Instead the only urgency was trying to quell our hunger so I approached Al Shami with a swagger and pride – look what I’ve found.

I explained the concept to my son – order loads of starters and then eat them all together, mix and match, gorge on Middle-Eastern food, conscience salved. Fill your boots, I told him.

But having bigged it up more than Andy Murray at Wimbledon, it wasn’t until the platter of pickles and fresh vegetables arrived that I wondered if my bravado had been misplaced.

Because the usual kaleidoscope of colours and variety jostling for a place on the aluminium plate had been replaced by a few wilting lettuce leaves, indecipherable purple cubes, spring onions and a few green pickles, half the normal offering.

My son raised one eyebrow questioningly at me.

Not a good start and I hoped the standards hadn’t slipped further into the menu. Then our waiter announced that there was no tabbouleh. No tabbouleh?! That’s like saying there’s no bacon in your butty or toast for your baked beans. He recommended a different salad instead, but it was nothing like it, just lettuce with strips of pitta bread.

We had ordered six or seven dishes and they all arrived promptly. The usual suspects, jawaneh dajaj mashwiya – grilled chicken wings with garlic sauce; foul medammas – fava beans cooked in lemon juice, olive oil and garlic; batata harra – potatoes fried in olive oil, coriander, chilli and garlic; kellage halloum – grilled halloumi cheese in bread and Zahra maqlia – fried cauliflower topped with sesame oil, parsley, garlic and lemon juice. We had added the foul moukala – a new dish of fried broad beans in olive oil and lemon juice – and got stuck in.

So how was it? Meh. It lacked juice and zest, love, heat.

The cauliflower needed more sauce, the potatoes were cold, it wasn’t up to its usual standards. As a result my son didn’t really get it.

He ate bits and bobs, tried a bit of everything, nibbled all the chicken wings, but after my hype, Al Shami didn’t live up to expectations.

The blow was softened by the bill – £29.15 for two, exceptionally good value, but it wasn’t enough.

Come on chaps, pull your finger out, because I know how good you can be. I’m not giving up yet on one of my favourite restaurants in Oxford.

Al Shami Restaurant, 
25 Walton Crescent, Oxford, 
01865 310066 al-shami.co.uk