THE phenomenon of the restaurant row is now familiar.

Streets such as Glasgow's Bath Street and Edinburgh's Antigua Street come to mind, where a plethora of eateries jockey for the public's eating-out cash. Although this raises the theoretical issue of excessive competition, there is much to be said for the cluster principle. Restaurants that are out on a limb may have the field to themselves, but their isolation makes it harder to attract diners. Locations that group together restaurants have a buzz. Their collective pulling power draws in the crowds. They appeal to people who see the reassuring presence of others as validating their own choice.

Ashton Lane in Glasgow is a case in point. Eating out there is a bit like visiting a multiplex cinema, with a score or so of films from which to choose. This strip is restaurant row writ large, albeit indie rather than corporate. I have to say that it isn't my favourite Glasgow eating out spot. There's a touch of the theme park about it, a sprinkling of Disneyesque Ratatouille and restaurateurs' group-think about the place. Has it yet featured in a Visit Scotland advert? If not, it's surely only a matter of time.

Ashton Lane would not be my first stop in the city if I were in search of a good meal, but it does undeniably deliver atmosphere, an exhilarating shared experience of eating out on the town, a reliable sense of occasion, of being part of a crowd. Drinking, as opposed to eating, is probably the primary reason that people visit Ashton Lane, and this being Glasgow, the lane has a buzz and vitality about it, a quality you won't find in Edinburgh. Outside the festival period, the capital has difficulty letting its hair down.

We visited that Ashton Lane stalwart, Brel, to check out its new menu and its new look - a garden, a cosy conservatory stove. Brel announces itself as "Ashton Lane's most magical venue". I'll let others act as arbitrators on that one, but arriving on a Friday evening, it certainly bubbled over exuberantly with "the weekend starts here" high spirits. The garden and interior were packed with an animated after-work crowd that showed no signs of moving on in a hurry. This let's-have-fun mood is as infectious as measles.

Brel's food performance is patchy, and most notably the letdown comes with the peripherals - sauces, dressings and accompaniments - so it would be easy to put right. £20 was not a lot to ask for six huge, fresh, grilled langoustines, the royalty of our west coast shellfish world, but the limp chips that snuggled up to them, with their pasty polystyrene consistency, were no aristocrats. Crispy fried squid - a helter-skelter of white rings and mauve-pink tentacles - looked peely-wally, yet was delightfully tender, and indisputably fresh. One taste of the accompanying aioli was enough. Sorry to harp on about this, but this was another case of the old, stale, stinky garlic issue I have raised repeatedly in this column. After that I stuck to the lemon, and then turned my attention to the carefully cleaned and shucked Cumbrae rock oysters, and the lemon and thyme-marinated sea bream carpaccio; its clean, mildly astringent flavour freshened the palate rather than staling it.

Since pulled pork is such a conspicuously overworked Glasgow restaurant cliché, it was surely inevitable that the fashion would move on to some other poor pulled animal. Brel's pulled lamb shoulder with "rosemary and anchovy dressing" was overcooked, and swamped in a heavy dressing. This dish wasn't terrible, but with a few critical adjustments, it could have been so much better.

I now regret choosing the chocolate fondue for dessert (I was intrigued by the homemade marshmallows), but unless you enjoy very sweet, malty, milk chocolate, and salty waffles, I'd direct you elsewhere.

Brel has first-rate front-of-house staff. It is a beer buff's paradise. Portions are huge, and its prices are restrained. Many will forgive it for being rough around the edges.