Old Vic puts on a great show

The London restaurant scene changes more quickly than Jennifer Lopez changes husbands. So it is heartening when one finds an old favourite still deservedly going strong. Back in 1986, Vic Naylor opened in Clerkenwell long before the area became the trendy hangout it is today. London dining has changed massively since then.

When I visited London during the early Eighties on holiday, dining out was rarely the highlight of the trip. The food was bland, unimaginative, expensive and forgettable. You were better off sticking to pubs and eating more traditional English fare, just so long as you stayed away from the dreaded salad cream.

It was against this barren gastronomic wasteland that pioneer and founder Peter Spanton set up Vic Naylor. Visits to New York restaurants had impressed him, with their friendly service and value for money. So, he decided to open a Manhattan-style eatery with zipped-up British cooking and warm hospitality.

I first visited Vic's in the Nineties while working in advertising. Stopping in at the bar joyfully broke up the long ride from Canary Wharf to Clapham.

You would always be warmly greeted by Spanton and then settle in at the massive wooden stand-up bar beneath the giant ceiling fans. It was the kind of place where you vowed to have one drink with your mates and ended staying late for dinner.

For my recent return to Vic's, I invited my friend, Savile Row tailor Richard James. When I arrived, he was chatting animatedly with Peter at the bar while enjoying a glass of champagne.

A handshake from Peter and I'm back at the bar feeling like I am in a time warp. But, this time, I've swapped my suit and tie for an orange paisley shirt and ripped jeans. The huge room still feels

the same - eclectic and almost kooky in a convivial way. The exposed brick walls have been slickly varnished over to give the place a Gothic feel.

Richard and I move to our table, nestled in an alcove and separated by a black beaded curtain. Scanning the menu, we decide to sample the bread that's been left by our Spanish waiter.

Normally, I skip bread before a meal, but I have my reviewing obligations. The basket is crammed with three types, baked daily on the premises. "That's bloody good bread," proclaims Richard. Before I know it, I've wolfed down the entire slice.