Bibigo, London, restaurant review - Telegraph Yet you have to wonder what the South Koreans are up to. After decades of comparative obscurity, sombrely building a powerhouse economy on cars and high-end electronics, Korea is on a westward cultural march. First Gangnam Style, the rapper PSY's ultra-viral YouTube video, canters across the planet like no dance craze in memory. And now this. For total clarity, let it be stated that the CJ in question is not Reggie Perrin's deranged boss at Sunshine Desserts. "CJ Group," the self-referential menu further reveals, "was established in 1953 by Mr BC Lee, the founder of Samsung. It is Korea's No 1 food and entertainment & media company that creates a healthy, happy and convenient lifestyle. Joining me to glimpse a possible future under CJ's imperium was that man of myriad parts, my friend and colleague Alexei Sayle. Apart from being the Telegraph's motoring columnist, the father of alternative comedy and the possessor of alarmingly encyclopedic knowledge about weaponry (name the rocket launcher or war plane, and he'll draw it perfectly on a napkin), Alexei is also, it transpired, an aficionado of this admirably light, sharp and clean-tasting cuisine. "Of course, if you want a really good Korean meal," he announced halfway through dinner, "you have to go to New Malden." For reasons you may research at your leisure, that Surrey town is home to a huge expat community, and so to a clutch of cheap, canteeny restaurants. Bibigo, by contrast, is not only wildly overpriced for a swanky modern café (grey brick walls and grey stone floor, slatted wooden triangles on the ceiling, kitchen trendily visible behind glass at the rear). It is also as ersatz and sanitised a venture as you could imagine. "Bloodless and clinical," Alexei observed sagely. No vibrancy or soul. If this was understandable in such a new and proudly corporate venture - the advance party, apparently, of a European invasion force soon to follow - more mystifying was the lack of Seoul. The one persuasively Korean touch, apart from some prints of country scenes, was an ambient temperature better suited to an orchid concession, while the staff included Polish waitresses, a Spanish sommelier, an elegant French manager and a lone Korean among the predominantly European cooking team. Lob in a pair of bemused Romanians, and it would have been pretty close to Harry Redknapp's infamous Tower of Babel squad at West Ham United a decade ago. If the food was by and large good, it was seldom so outstanding as to justify the cost (six quid for a green salad). Steamed prawn dumplings served beneath a latticed sheet of fried potato starch ("crispy mandoo crust") were juicy, and the dish had a nice ying-yang textural contrast, but an open seafood pancake with sliced leek ("pajeon") was dull. The highlight of the meal was "red chicken," the white meat perfectly fried and garnished with hot peppers and shredded chilli, and doused in a pleasingly pungent sweet and sour sauce. "It all comes too quickly, doesn't it?" sniffed Alexei as two national signature dishes (no canine gags, thanking you) instantaneously replaced the starter plates. Kimchi (red and white cabbage, fermented in chilli paste - though other vegetables can be used) was crunchy and properly acrid. Bibimbap, steamed, sticky white rice with assorted lightly cooked vegetables ("nahmul"), egg and smoky beef, was blander and more comforting. Less convincing was the neo-Japanese classic black cod, its glaze sharper in taste than the conventional miso, and marginally overcooked to a slightly spongy finish. But chargrilled short ribs of beef marinated in a barbecue sauce ("hot stone galbi"), and served with an edible leaf for the creation of a Korean wrap, were sweet, tender and delicious. "Some nice dishes," was the verdict from across the table, "but why would you pay three times what they charge for them in a cosy little caff?" Since there seemed no useful answer to that, I asked Alexei - reared by Scouse Stalinists, and an authority on totalitarian Communist regimes - if there is any clear distinction between the cuisines either side of the 38th parallel. "Yes," he replied with the half-withering, half-pitying glance such an imbecilic inquiry demanded, "in North Korea, it's mostly soil and grass." Duly rebuked, I turned to the dessert menu for a high note of authenticity on which to finish. The eye fell on Eton mess, and somehow this seemed less a pudding than a critical judgment. For all the slickness, a right old mess this concept of cross-pollinating tarted up fast food with Micheliny service and upper-crust prices most certainly is. Global domination Bibigo style will, I fear, be a long time coming yet.