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.’ It was. The late Queen would occasionally use Bellamy’s for an informal dinner with old friends.

Gavin Rankin, the proprietor, is a delightful fellow, as is Luigi, the superb maître d’hôtel, and all the staff dispense good cheer. Like every really fine restaurant, it has the atmosphere of a first-rate club. The menu changes regularly, but there are staples. The mousse of smoked eel and iced lobster soufflé are both worth three rosettes, which is also true of Marina’s chocolate cake.

There is one complaint. On the verge of expiring, the Younger Pitt declared he would like one of Bellamy’s meat pies. Alas, he was too late. The final wish became a last word. So I think it is time for Bellamy’s to take up the challenge. A succulent pie is one of the glories of British cui- sine and I bet that Gavin’s Bellamy’s would produce a damn fine one.

There are other delights, and Gavin attempts to discover affordable wines: never easy in today’s market. The other evening, we went off-piste, thanks to the generosity of a friend who wanted to celebrate with his own bottles. An oenophile and a fund manager, he never lacks an excuse to celebrate. Nor do his clients. The other guest was a distinguished soldier who also believes in discretion. Like many such fellows, he would pass unnoticed in a crowd, unless and until action stations were required. We are lucky to have such characters.

That evening, however, there was a different source of luck and the nearest approach to the sound of ordnance was the popping of corks. We began with a Pol Roger Cuvée Winston Churchill ’04, everything a champagne should be. Then came a fascinating Alsace Riesling, Clos Sainte Hune ’08 from Trimbach. It had all the Riesling characteristics: petrol, lemon and herbs on the nose, delighting the palate with subtle changes in every sniff and sip. There followed an Angelus 2000. I suspect that among overwhelmingly Merlot bottles, this one would probably give precedence to Pétrus, but to nothing else. It is a great claret, fully ready but in the prime of long-lasting maturity.

One wondered what would possibly follow, but our host was up to the challenge. A 2001 Yquem defied superlatives. I have occasionally heard some jaded-sounding chap wonder whether Yquem is really worth the fuss, without ever being tempted to agree, least of all after my latest experience. Anyone who doubts Yquem’s qualities should taste the ’01. Just about ready, it will last well into the century. That was the climax of an evening whose memories were also built to last.