A timeless appeal

Isn't Vince Power a great name? It sounds as though it was concocted by some slippery, Larry Parnes-esque 1960s impresario: Billy Fury, Johnny Gentle, Vince Power.

You need to live up to a moniker like that, and Power has - when it comes to entertainment, he is one of the most influential men in town.

The brains behind the Mean Fiddler group, he pocketed a shedload of loot on its sale and could quite easily have sloped off into a financial happyeverafter.

But, no. Here he is with The Pigalle Club, his take on the current trendiest of trends, the supper club.

Although other pretenders have snuck in first, Power's Piccadilly nitespot - it has to be called that - has been gestating for some time.

Now it's fully fledged, lurking behind the sort of tacky pink frontage that suggests sticky curtains and bored strippers. And, somewhat to my surprise, it's gorgeous.

Power has turned to long-time collaborator Shaun Clarkson for the design. And while Clarkson (Pop, Shaun & Joe) can tend towards the unrestrained - OK, trashy - here he has wrought something deliciously evocative.

The Pigalle name doesn't reference the venerable Parisian joint but a late 1940s Piccadilly hotspot.

Think dolled-up, would-be starlets staining cocktail Sobranies with carmined lips while brooding chaps in dickie bows loiter with lighters at the ready.

So we're whisked back in time. Expanses of old jade and gold wallpaper line the stairs down to a glitteringly glamorous scene: backlit walls and bar glow a complexionflattering fuschia; leather and brocade furniture cradles the body and waitstaff waft about in satin halterdresses split to the thigh.

At the table next to us is a Diana Dors-alike, wedged into an improbable corset, her cigarettes obediently lit by her dinner-jacketed swain.

Another major asset comes in the handsome form of matre d' Joseph McColgan, whom we recognised from Power's Berkeley Square cafe.

Despite sometimes curmudgeonly dates, he treated us like proper VIPs. Even live music - not my favourite thing over dinner - was pitched almost perfectly to provide entertainment without curtailing the chat.

Are you expecting a 'but'? I was. I thought food would be an afterthought. OK, haute cuisine it ain't - it's more like bistro cooking - but it's unchallenging, well-executed and pleasingly, appropriately retro.

Take my French onion soup: so classic, so easy - but so often so wrong.

Here, it was first-rate: made with brandy, properly caramelised onions and gooey Gruyere (not the promised 'croque-monsieur crouton', just as well).

Snails were a little too cool and ravioli of mozzarella and smoked bacon a little too salty but quality was good.

So what if the rose harissa that accompanied my tiger prawns and crab rice bore a spooky similarity to the stuff that Belazu sells in Sainsbury's?

Just shows clever buying. And if sea bass could have done with 20 seconds less cooking, so what again? I've come across worse in far more rarefied environments. It was still pretty good.

And fat, double chops of fine, pink lamb would have done justice to a joint where the manager wasn't sporting a white satin jacket and cravat.

The vanilla seeds in a red fruit creme brulee had sunk to the bottom but they were there, weren't they?

If you're detecting some uncharacteristic leniency, you might be right. The food wasn't earthshattering.

But to get as good as we got in these surroundings made me want to be a regular, for McColgan to greet me with a Grey Goose vodkatini and 'Your usual, Miss O?'.

I want to go back and catch one of the burlesque shows or promised legends such as La Bassey or Van The Man. Seems like Vince Power is still hitting mostly all the right notes.

The Pigalle Club
Piccadilly, W1

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