According to Google (the font of all knowledge), the definition of exclusive is "excluding or not admitting other things".

For at least 10 minutes, I am that "thing".

I walk along the quiet Westminster side streets, doubling back several times before I give up.

Going into an office with a haughty expression on my face, I mutter: "Is someone able to point me in the direction of the Cinnamon Club please?"

It is only after a gentleman walks me to the entrance - "Happens to everyone, nobody ever seems to be able to find it" - that I realise it doesn't want to be found. It is playing subtle.

Of course by the end of the enchanting evening, I'm secretly glad that's the case.

The subtlety makes sense because this is not your ordinary restaurant in which you dine spontaneously having stumbled across it.

It is one of the most spectacular culinary experiences I've had in west London.

An evening spent at the Cinnamon Club is a little like being in a Hogwarts meets Titanic first class scenario. Except my food was prepared by the team under renowned Head Chef Rakesh Nair rather than house elves and exceeds the flavourings any elf could muster (sorry JK).

A night of appreciation

Sitting in the Library Bar, I nibble on the moreish Cinnamon Club Mix - spiced chickpea, vermicelli with puffed lotus seeds and smoked almonds - and impatiently wait for my companion's arrival.

Nothing appeases an impatient person like a cocktail, so I order an Aromatic Cream and by the time he arrives, I'm mellow from the exquisite tastes of darjeeling tea liqeur, vodka, white creme de cacio and double cream.

He opts for a gin and tonic - "I've just come from the gym" - but I quickly remind him what chef Rakesh told me in an interview: this place was one for celebrations, for special occasions and for a night of appreciation.

Now I'm not one to appreciate Indian restaurants.

Every time I get asked whether I can hack a vindaloo, I reply proudly that I don't even know what it means, purleease, that restaurant food is nothing like what my family, with all its Indian heritage, cooks.

My experience of Indian is either standing at a street-side stall, stuffing my face before throwing up precisely four hours later (in Mumbai), or devouring the aromatic home foods of my family here, which are nothing short of incredible.

But as I bite into my first dish, I take back everything I've said about restaurant food not being anything noteworthy.

The bombay style vegetables are spicy, flavoursome and bursting with the taste of fresh produce.

All with a spongy pao (a softer bread like bite) in the centre to wipe away every bit of the dish. Which I did.

Then comes the roast cauliflower with truffled achari sauce and naan bread.

Crunchy, but not too crunchy and deliciously creamy.

It's like an upgraded, Indian version of cauliflower cheese.

Jaw-dropping setting

What I can't quite believe is how little the food seems to be in large puddles of pre-made sauce.

None of that mass made oiled up heart attack on a plate.

This is about individual dishes being individually prepared for each and every person here.

And by here, I mean the glorious Old Westminster Library.

When we leave the Library Bar to be seated, my jaw drops at the sight of the room.

It's quite simply the most elegant setting for dinner, a room lined with books and old mahogany, a high ceiling with ornate decorations.

The sheer precision of the glasses in neat rows beside sparkling cultery is dazzling.

The main restaurant, in all it's glory

There's a satisfying hush to the place, but enough of a lively buzz as each table full of people eat, laugh and discuss across candlelit tables, whilst waiters in black and white smartwear serve bottles of wine.

It's Westminster alright.

Tucking into the dessert for two, banana tarte tartin with thandai ice cream, I realise I am well and truly full, the sort of happy full which only comes after a good amount of delicious food and white wine.

Not usually appreciative of the overly sweet tastes of Indian mitthai - or desserts - they've managed to fuse flavours well to create something subtle and mouth tingling.

That's Cinnamon Club's selling point.

They have managed to achieve fusion.

A somewhat Oxbridge feel, but with tastes which took me right back to India and homemade food.

Spiced food, but with a contemporary, western upgrade.

The table service for affluent, without making you feel alienated.

Bottles sitting alongside books, Bourbon beside Bronte, traditional Indian beside traditional English Westminster.

It got the balance. And I got the best food experience, which is what you'll get too. If you can find it, that is.

getwestlondon gives Cinnamon Club five out of five stars.

What we ordered

At the Bar:

Cinnamon Club Mix £3.50

Aromatic Cream £10.50

Gin and Tonic £13


Bombay style vegetables with cumin pao, mushroom chips £9

Crab risotto with truffle cappuccino, pan fried king prawn £12.50


Roast cauliflower with truffled achari sauce, naan bread £16

Kadhai spice crusted cobia fillet with kala korma sauce, coriander rice £19


Banana tarte tartin with thandai ice cream for two £20