March 1967 was, according to research well up to the exhaustive standards expected of this column (27 seconds on Wikipedia), a pretty quiet month. It was a good month for Stalin's daughter, Svetlana, who defected to the US, and for affable Labour deputy leadership contender Alan Johnson, not yet 17, whose beloved QPR contrived one of Wembley's great upsets by winning the League Cup as a third division side. The club they beat, West Brom, welcomed into the world its top media cheerleader, Adrian Chiles, while across the Atlantic Jimmy Hoffa (possibly not Mr Johnson's inspiration to become a union boss) began his prison term for jury-nobbling. The first day of the month, meanwhile, saw two important arrivals in London: the Queen Elizabeth Hall opened on the South Bank, and a few miles away, former middleweight boxer Jack Talkington did the same in a dismal part of Battersea.
Forty years on, Jack's Place not only survives, but does so with a rigorous reverence for its past that captivates lovers of wistful nostalgia such as Alan Bennett, the late Cyril Fletcher and myself. To say that it hasn't changed an iota would be to exaggerate. The presence as waitress of the owner's chatty granddaughter is one addition, as are some Cape wines appended to the (absurdly cheap) list in honour, she said, of a large South African clientele.
In every important regard, however, Jack's Place is now as it was then. Its brick walls don't so much groan as scream for mercy under a barrage from the memorabilia of Jack's life. A vast collection of neck-ties, clocks and assorted oddities (three pawn shop brass balls, curiously) scrap for every last inch with the photos - black-and-white family snaps, portraits of Churchill, shots of the proprietor with showbiz visitors and acquaintances (George Burns and Vera Lynn, for example, after Jack catered a do at the Palladium), even a signed photo of Jimmy Carter, one of whose Secret Servicemen is a friend of Jack's.
And then there is Jack himself, 78 now and struggling with diabetes. He may have relinquished the cooking to his daughter, but he's still a splendid adornment, schmoozing punters with reminiscences one minute, resting beside his own small telly at the far end of the room the next, and fiercely guarding tradition all the while. "Getting sea bass on the menu," as his granddaughter put it, "now that was a hell of a fight."
Grapefruit cocktail, melon boat, avocado vinaigrette, jellied eels, the gloriously artless "egg mayonnaise with Hovis", duck à l'orange, gammon and pineapple... The menu is unmatched in London, except perhaps by that at the fabled Oslo Court, making Jack's Place as much culinary museum as restaurant.
And the food, which comes in portions as Goliathan as the prices are Lilliputian, is terrific. A trio of grilled sardines were plump and delicious, crab and prawn cocktails came in a good sauce Marie Rose, and while my mother did her best, as always, to track down flaws, the best she could do with her perfectly cooked asparagus was, "I don't like blobs of butter. I like the butter compl..." her voice trailing off sadly as the blobs completed their melting.
A woman rumoured to carry callipers in her handbag to check the density of her favourite meat dish, she liked both the density and flavour of her pan-fried strips of calves' liver. The sea bass more than justified the battle for its inclusion, and a Dover sole was "just wonderful... as good as you'd find anywhere". The king (of Tonga)-sized rib of beef, served as God and tradition dictate with mushrooms and half a tomato, was too colossal to finish, to the subsequent delight of our dogs.
Without an emergency emetic, there was no chance of a pudding, but we lingered over coffee, chatting with Jack about the secrets of his long success in this toughest of trades. "When you go out, of course the food's important," he sagely observed, "but feeling comfortable's another thing, isn't it?"
It most certainly is, and I can't imagine anywhere you'll feel more so than in this time-defying little gem.
Rating 8/10
Telephone 020-7228 1442
Address 12 York Road, London SW11
Open Dinner only, Tues-Sat, from 6pm 'until we finish'.
Price Two (enormous) courses, with wine, water and coffee, £25-35 head.
