Kettner's isn't what it used to be

I'm never sure whether it's a good idea to go back, especially to places where you were young and carefree. Which is why I was dubious about revisiting Kettner's, the Soho restaurant that has been around even longer than Madonna. It is named after Auguste Kettner, who was chef to Napoleon III. Why he chose to open a restaurant in London is a mystery, and this is a mystery-loving venue, since Agatha Christie used to eat here. As did Oscar Wilde. And Bing Crosby. A starry clientele, illustrating why Kettner's is woven into Soho legend.

In recent years, the restaurant gained a more avant-garde reputation. Serving pizza at bargain prices in shabby-chic surroundings, it attracted students and struggling artists, as well as more famous clientele. Guy and I used to go there years ago, and while we adored its noisy bohemian charm, I doubt that it made much profit. And West End rents being what they are, I sympathise with the owners, who recently gave the place a complete refurbishment and radical menu change, predictably causing an outcry from local Luddites. Last month, though, Luella Bartley hosted a Fashion Week party there, with Keira Knightley as guest of honour. So I decided to revisit.

I was meeting my historian friend for lunch, and I waited for him in the first-floor bar. Some of the furniture looked as if it should have been lost during the refurbishment, but the customers seemed contented. Unfortunately, the canned music was dreadful, like the Eurovision Song Contest on a permanent loop. But here, on turquoise velvet window seats, you can gaze down on Greek Street and see into the infamous Coach & Horses pub. It's worth coming here for the view alone.

My guest arrived, full of bonhomie (he'd just been on TV, talking about Gladstone and his penchant for beautiful young women - unusual that, in a politician) and we went to our table. The room is large and the flickering candles give it a nicely theatrical feel, though the embossed ceiling is disproportionately low. Starkly white walls are broken up with distressed mirrors. A long central dining table reminded my friend of the Garrick. There are tall potted palms and softly glowing brass lamps, and we fought over who should sit on the grey velvet banquette (he won).

Good bread was brought to the table immediately, and the historian started discussing free trade versus protectionism - they were arguing about it in Gladstone's time and now Gordon Brown is in Washington talking about exactly the same thing. We reflected on the many ironies of life as we scrolled down the menus. Although the set lunch is amazing value, we both chose from the à la carte.

My fig, Fourme d'Ambert and walnut salad was fresh and zingy: succulent figs nestling in crunchy curves of chicory, along with some serious blue cheese and a well-judged dressing. My guest had the leek and potato soup, which arrived in a teeny, steaming bowl. He looked non-plussed, saying he preferred the cold version, but then agreed that perhaps the freezing weather outside wasn't really vichyssoisefriendly. My sea bass fillet was everything you'd want it to be and the accompanying green vegetables came in a rather corny heart-shaped dish (I loved it!). The historian's choice of the Kettner's fish cake was very good, he said, though it had not got nearly enough sauce.

Too full for pudding, we succumbed to a dish of homemade biscuits with our coffee, and these were unbelievably good. So good, in fact, that we took the uneaten ones home in silver paper, cleverly fashioned by a waiter to resemble a swan. The restaurant also has a pudding bar and a marble table groaning (if marble tables can do such a thing; a long low moan I guess) with sticky cakes. We saw two women eating creamy confectioneries, accompanied by delicate cups of mint tea.

The clientele is mainly young, as I guess it always has been, and Kettner's is still a place where you can enjoy a reasonably priced meal in Soho, while feeling cosseted by the sweet staff.

I liked it. Yes, it's changed - but then, so have I. We all have. Maybe the restaurant's detractors are not mourning the lost menu so much as their lost youth.

Kettners
Romilly Street, London, W1D 5HP