Small but perfectly formed

I love caviar, don't you? The first time I ever ate it was at the Savoy Grill, tempted into it by a newspaper publisher when I was director of the Press Complaints Commission.

I was 26 and became an immediate convert to the slimy, salty taste of sturgeon's roe - and I just loved the extravagance of spending all that money on a dark, glossy spoonful of fish eggs.

So I was excited at the thought of spending a weekday evening eating at Volstead - a new lounge-bar that has opened up just off Piccadilly and serves caviar. It's run by the owners of Boujis - a nightclub now famous for its wild shenanigans and the fact that Princes William and Harry are habitués.

Only in June, the royal twosome came under fire, following a six-hour drinking celebration there, the night before the Queen's 80th birthday thanksgiving service. But they turned up at St Paul's in time for the ceremony - even though they did look more than rough.

Volstead bills itself (rather expensively, as it turns out) as a speakeasy - a term used during Prohibition, when members had to 'speak easy' to avoid getting busted for drinking illegal booze.

Those familiar with American history will recognise that the club is wittily named after Andrew Volstead, the Minnesota-born architect of the Prohibition Act of 1919.

I took along my romantic novelist friend from Winchester who is about to start her latest book and was in desperate need of inspiration. Quite frankly, I was in desperate need of a glass of champagne after a frenetic week of work and play.

Volstead is roped off from the street like a boxing ring, guarded by a couple of impressive bouncers who look like they might have gone a few rounds themselves. The cool, dark interior was a welcome relief after the Tennessee Williams-type heatwave, which was sitting like a heavy blanket over Central London.

Black, embossed wallpaper (very Phantom of the Opera) lined the stairs leading to the basement bar and made the busy streets outside seem a long way off.

The room itself is all mirrors but very little smoke (even though smoking is allowed - which the libertarian in me always applauds). And it's very intimate - with room for just 150.

The look is obviously supposed to be The Great Gatsby but, with its blue-lit mirror balls, it's more Seventies disco. Never mind, the lighting is very flattering, and I sank down on to the sumptuous black leather banquette and asked for a glass of vintage Krug.

I ordered caviar and chips and my guest chose king crab. The caviar was very good, but the chips were absolutely perfect - double-fried and readysalted. Unfortunately, the crab portion was minute and the novelist alighted on my chips with a hungry moan, so that we had to order another bowl.

She wondered if the wasabi beef hamburger would have been a better choice, until we spotted one going past that looked positively Lilliputian. There were just two types of pudding on offer - a trio of sorbets, or chilled chocolates, and both were fine.

I'm one of those people who prefers a small menu anyway, as there's less to mess up. There's a huge drinks list with lots of old-fashioned cocktails and a comprehensive choice of whiskies.

We did a bit of people-watching - amused by the tiny women accompanied by big-bellied men - but then it was early and we were told by our (very sweet) waiter that the club started jumping later when the DJ arrived. And I don't think Wednesday is supposed to be a busy night anyway.

The portions are teeny - but small is beautiful and this is not a place where people go to eat. With coffee, two puds, water and two glasses of fizz, our bill came to £160, but I got the feeling that if you had to worry about the cost then you wouldn't be here. The staff were lovely.

As we left, I asked the romantic novelist whether it had given her any inspiration, but she shook her head. 'This is a place for lust, not love,' she said darkly.

And on that note, dear reader, we parted.

Volstead
Swallow Street, London, W1B 4DF

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