L’Escargot, London

Snail Reaches Century. Expect this headline next year when L'Escargot celebrates its 100th birthday. A remarkable feat anywhere, even in London. The roaring '20s also produced The Ivy and Quo Vadis.

In actual fact, today's hero predated both, but under another name. One Georges Gaudin established a French restaurant in 1896, named Le Bienvenue. His introduction of snails to an English audience seems to have been welcomed. When in 1927 he moved to the present premises in Greek Street he was entreated to change the name. The large space, an 18th century townhouse, allowed him to set up a snail farm in the basement. I didn't ask if it's still there. A more visible memory of Gaudin, among the multitudinous snail paraphernalia, is a bust of him riding a mollusc, with the motto, Slow but Sure.

It was kept on by his son until the 1980s. It had just changed hands when I first visited and was entranced. Wine lists don't usually attract comment here, but I was struck by it. Short, great value, featuring bottles slightly out of the ordinary. It was then that I discovered that the new owner was Nick Lander, AKA Mr Jancis Robinson. It's had its ups and downs since then, but has combined its double boast of being both London's Oldest French Restaurant (probably true) and also The Best (questionable).

Well, we'll be the judges of the latter, thank you very much. Enter from the bustle of Soho, and find yourself in the narrow entrance hall. It feels like a gentle welcoming hug. The place is on three storeys (excluding the mysteries of the basement.) The top floor is now a private club, founded within the last couple of years. To our surprise we are seated at a prime table on the ground floor in the window. Even fairly early of an evening there is much human life to espy in the street outside. For all I know, the late Desmond Morris may have done some of his research here.

We are looked after by the striking figure of Jaimie. Charming, but with razor sharp nails. Don't mess. I very much like the lack of the fuss and pomposity which can often be built into the bricks of old established French places. The straightforwardness of the menu is refreshing. This is particularly the case with the wine list. Just three pages long, and, fizz excepted, only a couple of bottles in three figures.

French it may be, but don't expect the bread to be shoved under your nose on entry. Nine quid for a largish basket of mixed produce. Not sure what Italian focaccia was doing there, and it hadn't been made today; the native species, as it were, were much better. But note that it will be whipped away at the end, with no offer of a carryout. (It occurs to me that the objective reader would deduce at once that this column is penned by a Scotsman.)

I've never encountered Russian Salad with Mediterranean Prawns on a menu before. They delivered precisely what it said. I suppose I had been expecting a twist. Pleasant enough, but... Could have done with a good squeeze of lemon. L's paté en croute was much better. The terrine was chicken based, dotted with fresh peas. There's a lot of seasonality on show.

You can't be more obvious about it than to feature spring risotto. That's Risotto Primavera to you. Rather soupier in texture than is normal - chef is clearly not Italian - but the initial taste was very positive. But what was it? Peas for sure, and a lot of cheese. It took us a wee while to work out that the driving flavour was truffle. That would work as a starter, but after a while the joys began to pall a little. It could have done with the other half of the lemon from my prawn starter. At the beginning, I had been tempted by the Wye Valley asparagus; however, that was served with Hollandaise sauce. As my poached seatrout was coming with tarragon beurre blanc and samphire, I reckoned that would be a bit OTT. Again, a perfectly fine dish. I prefer my samphire with a little bite, but that's a minor quibble.

As you decant yourself into the bedlam that is Shaftesbury Avenue and Theatreland, you do realise how much of an oasis L'Escargot is, and how well you have been looked after. But when you reflect on the meal? Very nice is the phrase that comes to mind.