A member of the Royal Family once told my father that eating food with a knife and fork is like making love through an interpreter. I was reminded of this when I ordered a plate of barbecue spare ribs at Joe Allen. After a few minutes, I picked them up with my fingers and started gnawing away. I eyed my luvvie neighbours nervously, fearing they might think I was the most incorrigible Caliban. Happily, they didn't give a fig. The ribs were the tastiest I've had in years and came dripping with a tangy sauce which ended up all over me and the tablecloth. Why aren't there more restaurants in London devoted to the art of sensual eating?

When we arrived, it felt as if we had walked on to the set of Cheers. 'Where's Ted Danson?' joked my wife. Joe Allen is a New York-style bar cum dining room and its walls are covered in theatrical memorabilia. Tucked away in Covent Garden, it is easy to miss. As soon as you open the door you can hear the subterranean chatter of a bibulous horde and you feel like you've stumbled on some private underground party gearing up for a rave. It is an ideal venue for homesick Yanks and offers Brits a chance to munch on some real burgers. Oddly, burgers aren't listed on the menu although they do serve them (one of the many quirky features along with the waitering staff, some of whom are resting actors). Every other dish is resolutely stuck in the past. Joe Allen is so Eighties it must be time it came back into fashion. The ambience, the menu and the out-of-order jukebox are a throwback to another era.

Theatre-goers and luvvies have been coming here since the late Seventies and it has been patronised by everyone from Liza Minnelli to Nicole Kidman.

Broadway posters are plastered all over the walls, along with theatre programmes and photographs of iconic Hollywood actors. We sat beneath Betty Grable's legs (quite a distraction when you are trying to order), a picture of Marlon Brando with bongo drums, and a poster of old regulars Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in Private Lives. As my wife observed, the genius of this restaurant is that it gives you the perfect excuse to rubberneck. You can pretend you are looking at posters when in fact all you are doing is gawping at real-life celebrities. We gawped away and spotted a Coronation Street star.

Despite our early sitting, the atmosphere was buzzing. The food is unpretentious comfort grub (Caesar salads, eggs Benedict etc) and very reasonable, but it can be hit and miss like many a West End production. The chicken liver paté was fine, but the seafood salad with calamari, prawns, scallops, anchovies and cucumber on a warm tortilla promised more than it delivered. They were the smallest scallops I'd ever eaten and the marinated anchovies overpowered every other ingredient. The braised lamb with farro, carrots, celery, potatoes and lemon approximated to an Irish stew. It was perfectly executed if a little unexciting. My ribs with rice, wilted spinach, blackeye peas and corn muffin were the culinary highlight. There was a mouthwatering spread of tasty puddings and I plumped for a rhubarb crème brulée tart washed down with a Gold Dream cocktail.

The staff couldn't have been more charming. After my wife collided with a waitress, the latter apologised to her saying, 'Sorry, treacle.' My wife was chuffed. It was a very EastEnders moment. Regrettably the service was patchy. Our hors d'oeuvre of olives only turned up after the first course. Also the management didn't seem whole-heartedly committed to the Evening Standard's Water on Tap campaign. When I asked for tap water it came in a glass rather than a jug.

During our meal we were entertained by pianist Jimmy Hardwick, who has been tickling the ivories here for 30 years. Ava Gardner once joined him at the keyboard for a duet, and he played 'As Time Goes By' for Casablanca star Ingrid Bergman.

By serendipity we saw the Evening Standard's theatre critic Nick de Jongh dining nearby and we joined him for a digestif. He reminisced about eating here with John Gielgud 30 years ago. Gielgud said he got a standing ovation when he dined at Joe Allen in New York, but at Joe Allen in London nobody knew who he was. That is its charm. It doesn't take its clientele or its nosh too seriously. You feast on the ambience rather than the food and you can't fail to have a good night out. Now that's more than can be said for a lot of West End plays.