For all the gossip and column inches that our celebrity culture generates, there’s precious little glamour left in modern life. That’s why Scott’s of Mayfair matters. It drips with an effortless Thirties art deco chic that nowhere else in London can match. Since it’s re-launch in 2006, Ian Fleming’s former favourite restaurant has re-emerged as  London’s pre-eminent A-list supper venue. Under the cool gaze of Ricard Caring, the best restaurateur in London, or possibly any other city, Scott’s is a discreet, richly upholstered, grown-up treat.

Such is the mastery of detail, perfected in previous establishments such as the Ivy and J. Sheekeys, that as soon as the liveried doorman wafts you inside, the impression takes hold that you have somehow travelled back in time, that the 1930s are still in their spicy prime and that Tallulah Bankhead or Noel Coward might appear at any moment. Scott’s reminds you why eating out isn’t an advantage conferred by civilisation; it is civilisation.

All the Caring tricks are here: smart, attentive staff; generously comfortable yet perfectly spaced tables; subdued rather than gloomy lighting and a menu of classical perfection. Scott’s was, and is, mostly about seafood, and that is what you should eat, however tempting the meat or game. Amazingly, it isn’t even expensive, at least not in that annoying knee-jerk way that other cool, upscale eateries like Asia de Cuba or Hakkasan are.

You want caviar? You have three choices (30g of Sevruga is £75) The oysters are as good as anywhere in London. We had a plate of succulent Fines de Claire (six for £14.75) but even better was the gloriously indulgent plateau de fruits de mer (£27.50  for two). For the less greedy, try the fiery devilled sardines on toast (£8.75) or the sautéed monkfish cheeks with broad beans, wild garlic and bacon (£10.25).

The grill is the heart of the Scott’s kitchen. It is faultless: the fish arrives not tepid, but hot, and glistening with butter. Fish of the day is served on the bone (£26.00). Whole Dover sole come on or or off at either 16oz or 22oz (£33/£40). We plumped for pan-fried slip soles with cockles and sea-purslane butter, which was sweet but full of rich, marine flavour.

Seasonal produce is the kitchen’s other claim to fame. A dish of four gull’s eggs (£5 each) were a revelation, the deep orange, briny-flavoured yolks made you wish the season was longer than three weeks. Poached sea trout from the Tweed was worth forgoing the grill for: its delicate, firm flesh a reminder of how flaccid most restaurant salmon has become.

Puddings are traditional: rhubarb and custard trifle, Bakewell pudding, Eton mess (all £7.50): you know the score. Cheese, intelligently, comes as either English or French plates (£9.75). Better still there are those English high tea favourites, Welsh rarebit (£4.25) and herring milts on toast (£5.50).

The wine list is extensive and caters for all levels of indulgence, but the £25 to £40 region is particularly well represented. We had a 2009 Picpoul de Pinet from Félines Jourdan, which, at £29, was crisper even than the folds in the table napkins.

That’s the point about Scott’s: it all comes together effortlessly. It’s what restaurants were invented for: a place to make yourself feel better about the world and your place in it. Book now, or at least put your name down on the waiting list.