Barbican Food Hall, Barbican Centre, London, 21.06.12

I should start by declaring a conflict of interest. I love the Barbican. There is something alluring and safe about its pedestrianised greyness, its maze of walkways and plants dripping from the concrete in summer. Furthermore, I love the Barbican Centre. My other life as a keen muso draws me here frequently, usually to hear the LSO (my preferred London orchestra) or just to hang out in the foyers and Red Bar, and feel included.

I sometimes eat at the Barbican Food Hall, which is found on the ground floor, looking out onto the concourse with the fountains. It is relaxed and functional, but still manages to ooze a touch of class with its retro metal seats and white tiles. The cake selection is nothing short of marvellous- an enormous plinth that greets you with smile of currants and carrots as you walk in. The more substantial food selection is divided into a salad bar and a hot food counter, serving comforting lasagnes and other favourites.

Unfortunately, today was disappointing. I opted for the salad option, which includes a choice of main "thing" (cold cuts of chicken, beef, little vegetarian tarts etc) and a selection of three cold salads. I opted for what appeared to be a beetroot cured salmon, along with a selection of three of the tastiest looking accompaniments from the selection of six. The plate looked pretty, but was somewhat of a culinary haiku. I jested to the woman on the till about the curtailment of portion size, and she commenced a rant about how the managers had been getting strict recently, chastising those staff who were over generous. I nodded sympathetically, before realising that it was me who was ultimately hard done by.

The cured salmon was an attractive dark red, but was bland and lacked flavour. It was more of a lack-lustre sashimi. The brocolli was pan fried with almonds, but would have challenged those with poor dentition, and was burnt around the edges. All the sauce seemed to have fallen off the penne, but the occasional lump of melty soft aubergine made up for it. The chickpeas were dry and did not seem to have had much more treatment than a splash of vinegar. Their lack of glue set them rolling off my fork.

Perhaps I have a bigger appetite than the average Barbicanite, but I felt that for an investment of £7.50 I was provided with poor returns. Next time I will stick to the soup.