Scott’s, London

Marriage, said Groucho Marx, is an institution, and who wants to live in an institution?

But if you were established in 1851 and have been on the go ever since, how else will you be described? Scotts was set up in 1851 by a young fishmonger by the name of... you're ahead of me here...Scott. It was an oyster bar, at that time by no means a glamorous or exceptional thing. For the first century it was in the Haymarket area, moving upmarket to Mayfair in 1967. With that length of history, legends abound.  Here, apparently, James Bond creator Ian Fleming discovered the martini shaken but not stirred. Oh yeah? Tell that to the guys at the American Bar in the Savoy. So did Charles Dickens dine here? Or Queen Victoria slip under the table?

What is certain is that it is now a regular haunt of the rich and famous, with paparazzi often to be found hiding behind the bushes of the outside terrace. For years British design has been on the understated side. That's been changing for a while now. Scotts was revamped about 20 years ago, but at least one commentator has described it as looking a little bland. Not, it must be said, if you're sitting with a view of the glorious seafood display.

A recent detractor felt that it had got a bit stuck up its a***e. On the website, on the other hand, they describe themselves as classic, refined and elegant. So there you have it. Tradition versus...well you know what. So what did L & I make of it? We had got there early, filling the time with an aperitif in the nearby The Audley, where I used to meet our legendary pal London Les for a lunchtime pint. He was Head Keys at a swish Park Lane hotel round the corner, and would have thoroughly approved of Scotts today.

When you enter out of the warm May afternoon, it's gentle and reassuring. The place is welcoming, the people relaxed and friendly. At ease at once. Such establishments are, of course, great spots for people watching and, in the case of my lynx eared companion, earwigging. At a banquette a pair of slobby looking Americans with a very young child. Well I cared not about the slobbing, but I have to give full marks to the fact that the child ate and played silently throughout their very extensive lunch. More fascination at the next table with two voluptuous eastern European ladies. Of easy virtue, thought L? I reckoned not. We then picked up snippets about very rich boyfriends. Make up your own mind.

Fish and shellfish here outsell meat by a factor of 10 to 1. Mayfair will never be cheap - the median annual rent is apparently around £85 per square foot. Fish is never cheap, and when you start adding in lobster and caviar, prices can get silly. 125g of best Beluga, best beloved? Certainly, a snip at twelve hundred quid.

So not an every day venue, but for a high day or holiday it's manageable. I forget what the high day was, but hey! I was in town with my best girl, the sun was shining, and that's reason enough.

They have their regulars who are in and out inside an hour: fish and chips is one of their most popular dishes. Surprise, surprise, I was seduced by a dressed crab yet again. Darn fine. L chose a deceptively simple sounding starter of beetroot and ruby leaf salad. With labneh, toasted hazelnuts and a good dressing, this was a great dish for a day which felt like summer. It's one of those which you might try to reproduce at home, and would almost certainly fail.

The same cannot be said about the Mangalorean Fish Curry? How so? Well, I have lately become addicted to Chat GPT (the free version, naturally). As a result, I can point to Mangalore (otherwise Mangaluru) on a map; I can tell you that the capital Bangalore (Bengaluru) is an important tech centre; and, more importantly, I have a recipe for today's dish, locally known as Meen Gassi.

I don't know where chef David McCarthy got his from, but it as a stunning version stuffed with monkfish and king prawns. Following the website advice I decided to go classic and refined. Face facts, Tom, you'll never be elegant. What harm could a Dover Sole and chips ever do? This was much more straightforward than the sole in Josephine Bistro, just simple perfection dripping in butter. Aaah!

Had we not been replete it would have taken strong will power to resist the dessert menu. Choux in the form of Paris Brest; meringues and cheesecakes; lots of seasonal fruit based stuff; and, of course, a couple of temptations for the chocaholics. There's also a selection of petits fours, so you can have a bit of sweetness from as little as £6; however, don't bother ordering coffee to go with them - it's disgusting and they did take it off the bill. A surprising black mark.

They don't seem to mind if you spill out just an hour or so before the dinner service is about to kick off, and I'm really not sure how they clear the outside terrace, given the large numbers of customers enjoying vey large cigars.

Classic, elegant, refined. I think they've called it about right. If that appeals to you, and if you have a reasonable amount of credit on your card, this is a fine place for a treat.