West Thirty Six, restaurant review: 'Try this effortfully retro place just for the novelty value'

36 Golborne Road, London W10 (020 3752 0530)

Strangely cosy and appealing: West Thirty Six is a screechingly trendy new townhouse bar and restaurant in west London

I have mixed feelings about themed restaurants. I've put in the hours – eating terrible hotdogs surrounded by Rolling Stones memorabilia (Sticky Fingers), ingesting polystyrene chicken schnitzel surrounded by Alpine après-ski rugs (Bodo's Schloss), munching I'm-not-actually-sure-what in total darkness (Dans le Noir) and manfully chewing water-buffalo sausage surrounded by naked warrior statues (Shaka Zulu). But never in my born days did I imagine I'd find a restaurant whose prevailing theme is my Aunt Maud's house in Putney.

Maud was an elderly Irish immigrant my parents visited on Sunday afternoons in the 1960s. We'd sit in huge "settees" upholstered in shiny brown or grey velour, or on squat, uncomfortable flesh-coloured leatherette chairs. She had an ancient, un-whitewashed-brick fireplace and a library of old Penguin paperbacks (with the green/orange/blue covers) in a mullioned glass case.

It was a shrine to the late-1940s, down-at-heel shabbiness that I never thought I'd see again. Imagine my surprise when I climbed the stairs of West Thirty Six, a screechingly trendy new townhouse bar and restaurant in west London, and found traces of Aunt Maud all over the place.

From outside it looks gorgeous, with its cool grey frontage and striped awnings. Inside, the bar is cramped and snackers are obliged to eat inside an enclosed area with metal tables and green leather seats. The first floor is the posh dining level. A big dining-room is furnished like the lounge of a grungy stately home. A dozen people chatted animatedly around each of two tables, reinforcing the impression that we'd just interrupted someone's weekend house party. Outside on the terrace, a throng of groovy types sat in the April sunshine, the men rocking the same hairy-Edwardian look – ponytails, topknots, fancy sideburns, twirly moustaches, lumber-sexual beards, trouser suspenders, gingham shirts, dungarees. Many of the waiters had the same look. Hipsters, I believe.

Our (smaller) dining-room was like no restaurant space I've ever seen, simultaneously cute, naff and distressed: huge, opaque windows with wood shutters. Frayed carpets. Grey pouffes. There was only one lunch table, but other patrons sat on a grey velvet sofa and ate from a low coffee-table. It's the most ridiculous decor I've ever seen – but it was strangely cosy and appealing.

The menu is simple, grill-tastic, heavy on steaks (£35 for a 250g fillet!) and rotisserie chicken (£21 for a whole one), the dishes trendily accessorised with kale, quinoa, chard, mac'n'cheese. It's the joint work of Robert Newmark of Beach Blanket Babylon, and Jon Pollard, the chef at Soho House. I'm not sure which of them thought a small starter of chargrilled squid with peas and chilli should cost £12. Some of the squid was raw, so I sent it back. A second bonsai plateful was better. "Trifle of avocado and crab" featured mushy guacamole rather than avocado, and the crab struggled to survive in a gloopy soup of tomato sauce.

The house chicken was delicious, roasted with thyme, lemon and lumps of garlic, basted with its own juice, and accompanied by aioli sauce in a tiny copper saucepan. The skin was crunchy, the breast tender, the drumsticks baby-soft.

I went for the "aged rib-eye burger" because I wondered if either the ageing process or the rib-eye status could have any effect – apart from letting the management shove the price up to £16 – on what is, basically, minced beef. To my surprise, it did. This was an exceptional burger, broiled to a sexy black finish, slathered in onions, mayonnaise and cheese. It was delicious and filling.

Since we were eating in a room with an occupied sofa, we talked to the occupants. It seemed rude not to. He was Scott, a property consultant with a fondness for Mr Chow, the enduring 1960s Chinese restaurant; she was his beautiful wife Julie; their friend Graham was a flower dealer. We talked about Thomas Hardy's poetry, hospitals, fasting retreats and movie realism. By the time the Russian hipster-waiter brought the pudding – an enormous, Dickensian, apple-and-cinnamon pie, from which he cut slices for everyone, utterly scrumptious – we were old pals. Before we left, we exchanged emails and kisses.

It was an extraordinary afternoon. I can't promise that you'll find Scott and Julie and Graham there when you visit. I can't guarantee that the service will be less slapdash (it took 25 minutes to get served a Bloody Mary). But you ought to try this weirdly appealing, effortfully retro place just for the novelty value. It's open until 2am every night, with a DJ playing to a warren of rooms on the top floor, each one a sofa-filled tribute to the days when dinner meant Spam or Fray Bentos in a metal can with a key opener. Aunt Maud would feel right at home.

Food ***
Ambience ****
Service ***
Unscheduled chat *****

36 Golborne Road, London W10 (020 3752 0530). Around £38 per person, before wine and service