It's a funny thing about restaurants; only a very few survive for a long time. I'd guess the reason for this is mostly fashion. A restaurant becomes busy and fashionable for the sort of food and ambience that it offers, and when that kind of food and ambience becomes overdone and boring it goes out of fashion. Either you close and re-open every couple of years or you have to reinvent yourself constantly - either way it's hard to stay the same and prosper. Apart from the fashion element, there's another thing that's hard to overcome - what Northcote Parkinson called 'injellytitis'. It's the syndrome that comes to all enterprises that run for a long time and it's characterised by lack of enthusiasm, a general air of running down and habits that have become set in the mould of time.

I was introduced to George's Bistro a few years ago very late on a Saturday night. We were there not to eat, but to drink a bottle of champagne and listen to the music, for George's is not just a bistro, it's a piano bar. The cosy room packed with people and noise made it an enjoyable experience and I promised myself a return visit. It's taken me to now to do it. I was with Rachael Sexton, whose family are in the hotel business, so she's able to cast a professional eye on things, and knowing that it's the sort of place that's more late-night than early evening, she'd booked us in at nine and we arrived somewhat closer to nine-thirty. Another table of two sat in the far corner and she chose to sit by the window. You don't get a view, because George's is in a basement, but Rachael is a practitioner of feng shui, so when she chooses a table that's fine by me.

I have to say that first impressions are a little uninspiring. A thin paper table cloth and paper napkins were on the table and the most motley collection of cutlery I've ever seen outside of student digs. Each piece was different, and all were of the cheap pressed steel variety. Almost in unison, we remembered our last meal together in the Bangkok Café, which had similar cutlery - but not quite so varied. Now I'm not so precious that things that like bother me, they don't, but when the menus came and I found myself looking at £17 and £18 main courses with another £2.50 to add for the vegetables, I thought that for that kind of money the table could have been better set. It also brought out in me a whinge that you've heard before - if it's called a bistro why doesn't it have bistro prices? £20 for a main course is very much in the upper mid-range of restaurant prices. But then, I reasoned to myself, here you get live music - perhaps that's the added value that accounts for the prices.

The menu is a one-pager, about half a dozen starters and main courses, and there were specials on the night as well. Rachael picked the crab tian to start and the fish special, which was salmon. I chose the wild mushroom and brie salad, which was a special, and then lamb shanks to follow. The wine list follows the menu and it's also quite short, listing New World as well as French wines. It has a higher mark-up than usual, but then again I reasoned that late-night places always charge more for wine. I chose the red Faustino Reserva at £17.50.

Before the starters arrived we were given a basket of bread. I picked up a slice and found one side hard, yet the bread itself was warm. Puzzling; unless of course it had just had a quick micro-wave blast to freshen it up. When the starters arrived, I rather enjoyed mine. It was simple; a few slices of brie, some shitake and chanterelle mushrooms, and a good dressing on the salad. Rachael wasn't so lucky. Her crab meat was over-powered by vinegar and the little tian was topped with an indifferent guacamole and an intensely garlicky cream. I let her have some of my mushrooms to soften the blow.

After the starters were cleared away the music started. The pianist plays and sings rather well and can run through a variety of styles; I liked the Randy Newman songs best. A drawback of the music is that conversation becomes difficult. Rachael was telling me about an Irish dance called 'The Siege of Venice'. I was wondering why the Irish should celebrate Italian history in dance, and was mentally picturing attempts at dancing in the streets of Venice, which are mostly flooded. My face must have contorted with the effort of incomprehension, because she repeated it again carefully. 'Ah,' I said, as the clouds of unknowing parted, 'The Siege of Ennis.'

It happened again for the main courses. I had an acceptable shank of lamb in a red wine sauce on a bed of beans, while Rachael had a perfectly cooked steak of not-so-fresh salmon. She did eat it all, remarking once again on how well it had been cooked, but the unmistakable flavour of ageing fish was there. Pity. I began to think of 'injellititis' again, noticing the half-painted bars on the windows, the décor fast approaching its 'best before' date, and thought that none of this matters so much when a place is humming with humanity. But by the time we left after mid-night there had still been no other diners that I could see, so the particular buzz that comes from a crowded room had eluded us.

Rachael was not keen on trying a dessert by this stage, but our friendly waitress was insistent. 'It's good, and I'll bring it on the house.' It was rather good, and between us we finished it. The bill came to £73.40 with no service charge added.