18 NOVEMBER 1972, Page 30

London

Good eating in night clubs

Anthony Shields

Good eating in what? The raised eyebrow is understandable. People who go to night clubs don't usually eat in them, and I don't usually blame them. On the whole you'd get better food at a dog track, and the bill for the night club food might make you think you'd been to a dog track — on one of those nights when all your fancies get left in the traps or knocked over on the bends. No, people who go to night clubs don't go for the food. They go for the floorshow, perhaps, or the late-night dancing, or the girls.

There have to be exceptions, of course, and there's just enough space here to discuss one of them, the most exceptional night club in this respect that I've come across in a dissolute adult lifetime that goes back at least as far as our present queen's coronation.

It was in the same year as that (1953, f or the dullards at the back) that the Eve Club opened in subterranean premises in Regent Street that had formerly accommodated a succession of such haunts tracing back to the bottle-party heyday of the 'thirties. You'd pass it by day and never know it was there. Only after dark does its bright puce name-sign announce that things are buzzing down below.

Not that they buzz all that much at opening-time, which is 8.30. The chefs are on hand no doubt, preparing the ingredients with which they are later to work their delectable magic, but in the 'room ' itself the waiters and cigarette girls are standing around wondering whether they're going to go snowblind from looking at the tablecloths. Rarely is there anything doing for nearly an hour — when the early-bird customers nip in under the wire to take advantage of the 'all-in terms offered to those who arrive before 9.30. The terms aren't cheap. The Eve is not, you understand, for peasants. But the night out is not going to cost you an arm and a leg. £6.95 will cover your entrance fee, an aperitif, a half-bottle of Heidsieck, a three-course dinner, brandy and coffee — plus, of course, the music, the dancing and the show. If you think that's excessive, let me shock you to your socks and tell you that there's at least one Mayfair night club where the half-bottle of champagne alone would cost you the same amount.

Mr Jimmy O'Brien, the urbane Irishman who runs the Eve with his wife, Helen (a former ballerina from Bucharest), has devoted a lot of effort to breaking down the well-founded opposition of gourmets to eating in night clubs, but it's a long haul. Most of the customers still tend to turn up around midnight or later, so he knows they've dined elsewhere. He can't help wincing a little when they mention it, though.

In fact, it's they who should be wincing at what they've missed. What they'd probably expect, on general night-club form, is smoked salmon, grilled steak and ice cream. What they could get are all the luxury ' standards ' from Beluga to Crêpes Suzette, a splendid selection of ' classics ' and some superb specialities.

I've never, I think, had anything at the Eve that was indifferently prepared, cooked or served; but there are, perhaps, some dishes on which a little more loving care is lavished than on others. The Filets de Sole en Papillote is, I suspect, one of them: grilled fillets of sole on a bed of mushrooms with asparagus tips, soft roe and scallop, sealed in oiled paper, ovencooked. The Rognons Flambees — kidneys fried in butter with chopped parsley, drenched in brandy and served alight — bring out the pyromaniac in me. And I snub all the other puddings, however tempting, in favour of another delectable bonfire — the house variation on Crêpes Suzette — which involves wrapping pancakes around sliced bananas and cooking them in butter, fruit juices and Pernod.

Diners at the Eve have another advantage over the mere drinkers: they're offered the full run of the wine list (not just the champagnes) and those in the mood for expansive and expensive oenological adventure might spread themselves on a rare chateau-bottled claret or burgundy at £8 or £9 the bottle. There are cheaper wines, of course, but no plonks.

The night-club scene in London has changed a great deal over the last two decades, with the rise in popularity of the discotheques on the one hand and the gaming clubs on the other. Great names of the past, like Ciro's, are gone, and others have fallen, after many changes of ownership, into various degrees of disrepute. And there are so many fine restaurants and restaurant clubs in London nowadays that there is little incentive for an old-style night club to keep a civilised table, but it's agreeable to be able to commend one which does.