'You'd need a grown-up wine buff to do justice to the list, especially the scary main one, which is the size of a paving stone'
Up a steep staircase behind a hidden doorway in London's Chinatown, past a bouncer who's likely to turn you away if you're not young, cute or hip (ideally all three), and does so in a manner that makes Putin look like Nicholas Parsons, lies Experimental Cocktail Club. I think it's purpose-designed to make anyone vaguely normal feel a bit stabby, the sort of place that confirms all the prejudices about the capital from the inhabitants of every Great Chipping On The Shoulder in the entire land.
I went once. They let me in (must have been my trusty 12-quid frock). I disliked it intensely. So when news arrives of their new baby, a place called with either immodesty or eccentricity Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels, I can't say I'm that bothered. But then items start trickling through that pique my interest: a review from the doyenne of restaurant critics; a sussed foodie pal saying they offer the best jamón she's had on these shores; an Instagram snap of a toastie, made with St John sourdough, sandwiching fine cheese and Italian prosciutto cotto fragranced with truffle, the oozy bechamel top crowned with two perfectly fried quail's eggs. Admittedly that last one was from me.
That croque madame might be my new favourite thing. I'm planning a towering hangover just so I can go back and scarf it for breakfast. It's not clever or different, a simple thing, but it's made from the most glorious constituents, evidence of clued-up buying – a theme that becomes familiar throughout my meals there.
So, yes, the jamón is beautifully nutty ibérico (I'm a bit worried it's cut by machine, though: slapped wrist for that one) or pata negra with the melting richness of pig-flavoured toffee. The hot dishes veer between earthy – small green lentils in a pungent stock for a warming soup – to frou frou – foie gras seared "à la plancha" with pink lady apples and mustard. (No point in getting bent out of shape about the liver: the place is very, very French. They even do buttermilk-fried frogs' legs.) Occasionally, it's a little mad: what's billed as "Pâté Lou Safran" is – it has to be said – somewhat dog-meaty, despite being laced with saffron from Quercy and more foie gras. Amusingly, it's served in a jar that comes, I'd guess, straight from the company's new deli next door.
You'd need a grown-up wine buff to do justice to the list, especially the scary main one, which is the size of a paving stone, but fresh-faced sommelier Julia Oudill is happy to talk us through. The "Surnaturels" led me to suppose it would focus on raw or natural wines, but that doesn't seem to be the case; still, the labels are très recherchés, from the slopes of Etna or the vineyards of Greece and Hungary, in addition to France's less-travelled roads. They could have called it The Experimental Wine Club. Super-wines – in the sense of big, rare, important – are available by the glass: a Margaux or an opulent, spice-and-leather Roccheviberti barolo from Piedmont. With this kind of number costing up to £21 a glass, you can give yourself quite the sore head.
There's a Japanese word, kawaii, that basically means cuuuuuuute, in a breathless, schoolgirly voice. CdVS, petite soeur of the original in Paris, is ultra-kawaii: it perches in one of London's most bijou squares, its outdoor tables furnished with woolly blankets for the chill. Weeny tables make it impossible to order anything more than the most Vogue-staffer of repasts (we had to commandeer two); the house look is mini boutique hotel, complete with enchanting-accented, good-looking staff. They almost stumble under the weight of the counterintuitively vast puddings: Bunterish slabs of bergamot-scented poundcake drenched in salted caramel with wodges of apple and crème fraîche. Altogether, it's as cute as a kittens' teaparty served by Amélie. Of course, you can just go and buy many of the components of the menu from the equally kawaii deli, but really, where's the fun in that?
• Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels 8-10 Neal's Yard, London WC2, 020-734 7737. Open all week, 9am-midnight (10am-11pm Sun). About £50 a head including drinks and service.
Food 6/10
Wine 8/10
Atmosphere 8/10
Value for money 6/10