Blue bloods and minor royalty blow the family bank at this old fashioned bastion of English fine dining on Jermyn Street (the place first opened on the Haymarket as a shellfish stall in 1742). Invariably fresh from a little snooze in their nearby St. James's gentlemen's clubs, gentleman diners are required to wear jackets at all times at this linen-covered clubby time capsule and frightfully snooty ode to all things English. Golden signet ring–wearing patrons like to take half-a-dozen of the finest Colchester oysters, followed by grilled Dover sole on the bone, or fabulous native game in season, such as grouse, woodcock, partridge, or teal. There are antidiluvian savories like anchovies or mushrooms on toast, plus desserts like sherry trifle or bread-and-butter pudding. The use of mobile phones is prohibited, the wine's weighed heavily towards Bordeaux and Burgundy, and the service, naturally, would put Jeeves to shame.