Bob Bob Ricard

Reads like a typo, doesn't it? Or a character from

BBR occupies a prime corner position near the gorgeous Golden Square, overlooking a house on Beak Street in which Canaletto once lived and where there's now a sandwich bar bearing his name. I wondered whether the famous Venetian might be tempted by a ham baguette or a packet of crisps, or whether he, too, might wander over to Bob Bob Ricard for something more substantial.

I was meeting Guy for dinner since it was the anniversary of our civil partnership. He was late, giving me the opportunity to order a pear Bellini, while drinking in the atmosphere. It's a huge yet cosy room - a beguiling mixture of the naive and sophisticated. The deep turquoise leather banquettes are supremely comfortable. There are faded mirror tiles on the ceiling (less Peter Stringfellow, more Palace of Versailles) and wonderful splashes of coral and gold wallpaper. Lots of marble, wood and brass everywhere, plus an interesting monochrome painting of a stern-looking woman reputed to be the owner's mother (she isn't). The whole effect is eclectic, and it works, reminding me of those elegant, enduringly fashionable restaurants you find in Mitteleuropa.

Guy arrived (eventually) and immediately used the button by our table that he was delighted to see bore the instruction: 'press for champagne'.

He suggested installing one at home, but I vetoed the idea - the last thing we need is easier access to alcohol. Despite his scepticism, I ordered him a pear Bellini. Rather predictably, he said he preferred the classic peach variety.

I started with smoked salmon which is so often lacklustre. This wasn't. It was as glossy and as fresh as a newly applied coat of lipstick, with an accompanying half a lemon dressed in an old-fashioned piece of muslin. Guy ordered lobster cocktail --great succulent chunks of the shellfish, which were as pink as our smiling waiter's waistcoat. Our Chablis was delicious, though the glasses could have been a tad more stylish.

My main course chicken Caesar salad (are you following my healthy theme?) looked so pretty --lime-green Cos and gleaming silver anchovies go together like Jimmy and Choo. The meat was properly tender and the croutons unbelievably moreish. Guy opted for one of the day's specials - pig's cheek (not following my healthy lead). This dish is an increasingly fashionable menu choice for our don't-waste-anything age, and thank goodness for that. They were the tastiest thing he'd eaten all month - melt-in-the-mouth with a flavour that packed a punch.

With my health theme in mind, we should have resisted pudding, but caved in after scanning the amazing choice. I had seasonal orange jelly, which was piquant and served with miniature homemade shortbread. Guy ordered a doughnut (they brought two). What can I say about this much-neglected food? Jampacked, light and sugary, they tasted sublime. (Guy reminded me what his heroine Elsie Tanner used to say about them: 'A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,' before adding, 'Too late in my case.')

Our only complaint was that the china was rather dull, a bit like something you'd get in a motorway café. The décor is so pleasing on the eye that BBR food really deserves something a bit more stylish.

The service was superb and the place was filled with the diverse assortment of people you always find in Soho: men in their fifties with lined faces and overlong hair (which somehow works); beautiful women in gravity-defying heels. There were people enjoying milkshakes and hamburgers, while others conducted laid-back business meetings over steak. There's an all-day menu, and the idea is that you can get what you want whenever you want it. Different strokes for different folks. As Canaletto might say.