Local eats: Angie's, W9

The biggest thing in small talk today is the Wolseley, the grand European-style brasserie on Piccadilly opened by the people who revived the Ivy, Le Caprice and Sheekey's to the incredible social hulks they are today.

The Wolseley cannot consider being exclusive like the Ivy because it is open from breakfast till brandies. Melvyn Bragg, Hugh Grant and Dorien from Birds Of A Feather cannot be relied upon to fill the tables at elevenses. So, the intent is that the Wolseley always has a no-reservation policy on some of the tables. They aren't the only ones.

Alan Yau of Hakkasan's new dim sum and tea joint, Yauatcha, will open in the new year with a no-reservations policy and, unbelievably, Nobu - yes, Nobu - has a walk-in policy for its White Room on Fridays and Saturdays.

We just walked in last Friday at 9.30pm. It's a cooler ticket than the main dining room and I actually prefer it. You sit at one of two long communal tables, a DJ sits at one end of the room playing mellow French cafe tunes, the room is lit by hundreds of candles and it's quieter than the main room. Hoo-rah! About time. Exclusive is staid and vulgar. Who wants to book a meal three months in advance? Who is that dull?

This has nothing to do with Angie's, a Nigerian restaurant on the Westbourne Park stretch of Harrow Road. Diplomats and army generals have eaten here, mostly though it's locals (West Africans looking for a good homestyle meal) and curious foodies. Maybe even The Queen will pay a visit after her recent trip to Nigeria.

I was the only person in the dining room as I waited for two siblings to join me. A Rowan Atkinson movie was playing on a large screen at the end of the restaurant. Mid-November the Christmas tree twinkled. The restaurant smelt very strongly of cleaning products, a fact which bothered me throughout the evening - it disturbed the olfactory engagement with my food and was unpleasant. I know that statement looks pompous but it is a serious complaint, allbeit my only one.

We drank Nigeria's own and good Star beer. They also have palm wine. The waitress explained everything and checked that we would like what we ordered. We skipped giant African snails - Ben felt funny about eating things he had once kept as pets.

The waitress told us they are very clean creatures as they only feed on grass (like my siblings). We girls had fresh fish pepper soup, one with European levels of chilli, and one with African levels. The waitress said, 'I think if we give you African chilli you will run away.' It wasn't that hot, but the dish was challenging in other ways.

The waitress said it is a medicinal soup, and there were bitter flavours of mint and other herbs and ground, dried crayfish. A piece of grey-scaled freshwater fish sat blankly in a bowl of muddy broth. Overall the effect was earthy, strong and, on balance, very good. But it is not one for the fussy eater. Instead they should go for Ben's choice, fried crab claws with chilli sauce, straight from Iceland (the shop). This was clearly on the menu for Western tastes.

The main courses were all ripping and came in vast quantities. Amy had goat curry and loved it despite the multitude of fiddly bones. Ben had a jollof rice meal - spicy rice with beef cooked in the same spices as my fried fish. This fried fish - red bream - was meaty and succulent, thickly coated in a tasty paste of garlic, onion, tomato, chilli, ginger and pepper. The beans that came with them were warmly spiced. We ordered a superfluous vegetable dish (mixing beans and vegetables is a dietary no-no for Africans - vegetable dishes are cooked with meat or fish) and barely made a dent in the plantains (dodo).