Restaurant spy: Vingt-quatre

At first, I couldn't put my finger on what it was about Vingt-Quatre that was so odd. Situated opposite the UGC on the Fulham Road, Vingt-Quatre claims to be 'London's leading 24-hour restaurant' which is a bit like describing Nuns on the Run as the best cross-dressing comedy about nuns that was made in the Eighties.

Having to queue to get in was a little strange, but given that the only other place that was open in Central London was Bar Italia, perhaps not all that surprising.

Harder to explain was the doorman and the velvet rope. That would be understandable if Vingt-Quatre was a bar, but it's not. Indeed, you can't even get a drink after midnight. What was going on?

Then it hit me: Vingt-Quatre is a restaurant that thinks it's a club.
I suppose this is preferable to a club that thinks it's a restaurant - Sketch springs to mind - but it's still mildly irritating. I'm not the only one who finds it annoying, either.

'All the table hopping that goes on in here, it drives me nuts,' complains Shaun Robertson, the 24-year-old Australian night manager. 'The restaurant's so narrow that unless people are sitting down the waiters can't get around.'

The reason Vingt-Quatre's patrons treat it like a nightclub may well be because it's situated on that stretch of the Fulham Road known as 'The Beach'. For the local Sloane population, 'The Beach' is the area that Henry and Henrietta always wash up on after polishing off the Sambuca at Charlie and Charlotte's dinner party. By the time they get to Vingt-Quartre they're probably too 'trolleyed' to notice that the young South African man they assumed was part of a visiting rugby team has just handed them a menu. Nevertheless, provided they manage to inhale some comfort food, they can still 'park a tiger' on their way home.

I must say, I've always wondered about that name. I'm aware that Sloanes aren't very bright, but don't they know that On the Beach is the title of a classic Hollywood movie about the aftermath of a nuclear war? Then again, I haven't been to a Sloane Ranger dinner party lately. Perhaps the area was christened 'The Beach' with precisely that film in mind.

'I feel like a firefighter putting out fires all night,' says Robertson, referring to the rowdy behaviour of the local Hoorays. 'We can't have women working here after midnight because they get too much hassle.' By the standards of 24-hour restaurants, the food at Vingt-Quatre isn't too bad. There's a fairly sophisticated daytime menu that's available from noon until 10.30pm, then an after-the-pub menu that's a bit more basic. I had some pasta and a hefty slice of apple pie that reminded me of the food you'd get at an American roadside diner, while my companion, Lisa Hilton, had a 12oz VQ Hamburger. 'It's adequate,' she declared. We both agreed that it wasn't a patch on Maroush in Beauchamp Place, but then Maroush closes at 4am. Gordon Ramsay is reported to have described the breakfast as 'the best in London', but it would be more accurate to say it's the best breakfast available in South West London between 4am and 7am. We're back to Nuns on the Run territory.

The one thing that can be said in Vingt-Quatre's favour is that it's solidly democratic. The doorman, Patrick Anderson, operates a 'first-come, first-serve' policy and the atmosphere is very informal and friendly. The bloke waiting in the queue to use the Gents may own half of Shropshire, but he'll still offer you a Marlboro Light. No one stands on ceremony when the mere act of staying upright requires a superhuman effort of will. I was half-tempted to shout 'Dead Ant' to see how many of the customers would lie on the floor and wave their arms and legs in the air. Something told me Shaun Robertson wouldn't have been too pleased if I did that, though.