A Polynesian paradise close to home

I take my hat off to those running the PR campaign to turn the trilby into the fashion item of the year. It's been one to die for -headlines and gossip column pieces all year. A pensioner was banned from a pub for wearing his after staff told him it would obscure his face from the CCTV cameras. Zara Phillips wore hers to Cheltenham - although it was considered a bit chav for some tastes and doubtless contributed to the dress-code debate currently raging at racecourses everywhere.

The hat's name comes from a play based on George du Maurier's 1894 novel Trilby. The heroine's name is Trilby and she was hypnotised by Svengali. A soft, broad-brimmed hat was worn on stage during the play's first London production, et voila! - the trilby was born.

Al Capone, Humphrey Bogart and Jimi Hendrix were all fans of the hat. Pete Doherty wears one (although, sadly, it goes no way towards obscuring his pasty, pudgy mug), and so, too, do all the male staff at Mahiki - the cocktail-bar-cum-island-grill on Dover Street that has had a PR campaign to rival that of the trilby. Hands up who hasn't heard of this place? It's famous for the famous who frequent it and provide plenty of tabloid fodder along the way: the new breed of well-connected youths who emerge, glitteringeyed, to face the frenzy of paps waiting on either side of the ropes.

To be truthful, I was slightly terrified of going there. It's hugely popular, hugely trendy and not normally the kind of place in which I'd ever choose to socialise - probably because I'm closer to 40 than 20. And because somewhere that captures the Zeitgeist is always intimidating if you come along a generation too late. But isn't it funny how sometimes you can be completely surprised? I never thought I'd describe Mahiki as cosy - but that's exactly what it is. As comfortable as your favourite holiday destination, in fact.

It sells itself as a Polynesian paradise, with bamboo seating, bright cushions and carved figures, but the design makes you feel as if you could be absolutely anywhere that's faraway. Like instantly being on holiday.

Not only did the male staff wear trilbys, but they all looked so ordinary, just like the waitresses.

There wasn't a whiff of glamour in sight - and this isn't intended as a criticism. Frankly, it was reassuring, not least because they had fantastic personalities. What they lacked in looks, they made up for in attitude. All the staff were delightful - although if I were the owner of the club I'd offer the brilliant barman a pay rise before somebody headhunts him away. I've never met anyone who knew so much about rum.

He mixed me a mojito that was so delicious I had three (or was it four?) of them; and he invented a non-alcoholic dream of a drink for my guest.

I took a hotelier friend who was down from Wales. (If I lived in Wales, I'd be pretty down myself.) She'd swapped her usual wellies for shoes that she could barely walk in and which rarely come out to play - a bit like David Beckham in LA. We waited (and waited) by the bar for a table, but that was all part of the fun. People-watching is essential: again, surprisingly, there were all age groups and all types of people represented in Mahiki, and very little hierarchy, as far as I could make out. It's a very democratic kind of place.

The kitchen is supervised by chef Nancy Lam, who has been on telly and smiles a lot as she walks through the club (another cosy aspect). The menu is fusion. We had chicken satay, prawn wonton, prawn toast, barbecued prawns (there's a lot of prawns here) and chips. All were delicious, but we were so hungry by the time they arrived that some of the green rush from the nearby banquettes would have probably tasted as good.