In praise of Bellamy’s

Of all London districts, there is no more charming name than Mayfair. It makes one think of pretty shepherdesses, giggling and blushing as swains serenade them with garlands of spring flowers. But that would have been some time ago, even before the last nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. These days, the serenading would be courtesy of powerful sports cars, revving through the traffic to cock a snook at the cops.

Yet there are survivals from a gentler era. Behind Berkeley Square in Bruton Place, you will find the Guinea Grill, which sounds cheerful and lives up to its name. Virtually next door is Bellamy’s, with more gastronomic ambition, but equally traditional and wholly reliable. In recent years, an elderly lady would sometimes arrive, without fuss or fanfare. Other diners might discreetly nudge a companion and say: ‘That looks awfully like… but surely it can’t be?’ Equally discreetly, the person addressed would give a covert glance – no gawping – before replying: ‘D’you know, I think it is.’