The melody of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square drifts across the room but the leafy square we overlook is St. James Square in the heart of London’s clubland. And amid the pomp of the generals and governors adorning the walls is a brown-suited individual wryly surveying the room. When I was a youth Warren Hastings was regarded as a victim of state persecution and injustice, now we are not so sure – such is the way of these things. But here he presides over the East India Club, named after the company he championed, managing its opium monopoly and army to create enormous wealth for Britain – and himself. When Hastings was impeached by the House of Commons in 1785 – it took two days to read the charges. His 148-day trial by the House of Lords dragged on for seven years costing Hastings a £70,000 fortune before he was acquitted. The company subsequently awarded him a pension of £4,000 a year but he was stuck with the expenses.

Well, its not every day we have drug dealers looking down on us, although several of my friends have made a good living by representing them. I enjoy the facilities of the East India Club as a reciprocal member of the Royal Scots Club – no longer snooty and unwelcoming, many of the London clubs offer great value and an experience steeped in history.

My tasty smoked salmon is presented as a healthy portion, beautifully arrayed with capers, chopped shallots and half a lemon in muslin. Doreen’s mushroom veloute with tarragon and toasted pumpkin seeds is a success. We’ve chosen a half-bottle of the Club’s own champagne to go with our first course. It’s excellent – reminiscent of Bollinger but not quite so heavy and a snip at £32 a half bottle and £48 for a bottle, incredible value for Mayfair.

Its Sunday, so the main course has to be the roast beef of old England. At last, a traditional Sunday lunch and no messing about. The trolley duly arrives and our friendly waiter gets busy slicing thick tranches of pink-centred beef lightly garlanded with ribbons of dark yellow fat and bathed in a rich red wine jus. Roast potatoes, crunchy broccoli, the obligatory Yorkshire pudding and a portion of spicy horseradish sauce complete the dish. Perfection on a plate. Simple, yet so hard to find.

Its at times like this that I’m glad I’m not a vegetarian. Doreen, however, is and she is rather underwhelmed at the choices available on the menu. But she opts for another starter and supplements her warm Stilton and broccoli quiche with sautéed potatoes to produce a pleasing result.

We’re pushing boat out with the wine today and our Gevrey-Chambertin, a silky and elegant but slightly complex Burgundy proves a great choice.

It goes well too with our desserts. My pear and almond tart comes with Grand Marnier anglaise and is both light and satisfying while Doreen pronounces that her selection of Belgian chocolate and Madagascan vanilla are the best ice creams that she has tasted.

Dining in the East India Club does feel like the last days of the Raj but the club’s emphasis on tradition and quality makes it a welcome refuge from the relentless, frequently tawdry and usually expensive, commercialism of central London’s restaurants.

Verdict: 9/10
https://eastindiaclub.co.uk