Clown prince comes of age

In a city once noted for hilariously overpriced and thoroughly ordinary Italian restaurants, Cecconi's was undoubtedly the clown prince. In its heyday during the early Eighties, the defining item on the menu was the half a grapefruit, proudly priced at around £9.

One should, in the interests of fair play, bear in mind that the grapefruit was casually sprayed with caster sugar, but nevertheless, this was a bit on the steep side as mark-ups go.

The eponymous owner, a Venetian clearly proud of how his city had pioneered the most up-to-date methods of parting punters from their cash, was determined that no one should be in any doubt as to his culinary intentions: keep it simple and make them pay.

Since even the best restaurant jokes lose their savour after a while, it is hardly surprising that times have changed in swanky Burlington Gardens.

Since the bad old days of the Eighties, dining out has become a much more democratic affair, with restaurateurs now being held to account for both the quality and price of their food.

At the dawn of the new century, Cecconi's started to drag itself into a bright new culinary era. Giorgio Locatelli first appeared to revive the fortunes of what had become a jet-set pasta parlour.

Now, the site has been taken over by Nick Jones of Soho House fame, who has had the dingy interior redesigned by Ilsa Crawford, and the cooking transformed by the arrival of Andrea Cavaliere from the Neal Street Restaurant.

In obedience to the new orthodoxy inspired by the Wolseley, Cecconi's is now an around-the-clock eatery, beginning with breakfast and taking in lunch, snacks, afternoon tea and full-blown supper. In fact, the only time when Cecconi's is closed is when we should all be in bed sleeping it off.

The design of the interior reflects the available options. In the centre stands an impressively stocked bar, under a canopy of hanging meats, which doubles as the distribution area for cichetti (Venetian tapas), a positive inducement to grazing.

Taking a seat at the bar, I was offered a bellini, which I declined in favour of the house martini. My wife, on arrival, took up the bellini option, and as a hardened martini man, I urge you to follow her example rather than mine. The white peach flavour is effortlessly enhanced by the sparkling bubbles of the prosecco which, unusually, is kept on draught.