Restaurant review, 10 Greek Street, London.

Ah Soho, such a shifting mixum-gatherum of grace and grot, such a protean hybrid of shabby and genteel. RL Stevenson in Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (published in 1886) described a Soho street which contained "...a gin palace, a low French eating house, a shop for the retail of penny numbers and two penny salads, many ragged children huddled in the doorways, and women of many different nationalities passing out, key in hand" – and little has changed.

The north end of Greek Street is drenched in history, what with the Gay Hussar, opened by the Hungarian impresario Victor Sassie in 1953 and a favourite haunt of left-wing politicians ever since, at No 2, and The Pillars of Hercules pub, name-checked in A Tale of Two Cities and the place where Ian Hamilton, editor of The New Review, regularly regaled his literary cronies Martin Amis, Julian Barnes and Clive James, at No 7.

The new joint at No 10 is so unprepossessing, you could pass by without noticing it. It's so plain as to suggest the proprietor must be Amish, or Shaker. The walls are cream-neutral and bare of decoration, unless you count a mirror. The menu is chalked on two blackboards. Tables are metallic and bare of napery. The chairs are plain wood, and wouldn't look out of place at a Quaker meeting. Water is served in milk bottles. This place takes minimalism and non-luxury to new heights, beaten only by Meat Liquor in Welbeck Street, where you're given jam jars to drink wine from.

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