Restaurants: Where shall we meet ... in Soho

However prim you are, the odd moment of decadence is essential. And one of the few moments that can be discussed in broad-audience print is when you're eating oysters. There's something about the little chappies, nestling in a bed of nacre, so innocent of their fate, that brings out the Sybarite in every carnivore. They promise everything that food can give in terms of ritual, pleasure and horror: that squeeze of lemon, the dash of Tabasco, the quick flick round the shell with the fork, the backwards tip of the head, the mouth-swirl, that squeamish moment as it hits your tonsils and you think for a split second about what you're doing. Then there's that gulp of repugnance turning into a sigh of sheer, protein- based joy.

Cynthia Heimel once suggested that one should eat oysters as practice for another gustatory experience; I think they deserve greater respect than that. Oysters used to be something Victorians slugged in cabs to maintain their energy levels; they have the same function today, only at greater expense. If you're building up for a night on the tiles, there's nothing like an oyster to give you that essential burst of friskiness.

For the full sleaze and sophistication experience, there are few places to compete with Randall and Aubin. You could overlook this converted butcher's shop with its tiled walls and marble counter tops - it's almost the fantasy oyster bar - not because it lacks attractions, but because of its position in the middle of peep-show land. Just around the corner from Raymond's Revue Bar, and opposite a sign bearing the words "Schoolgirls - look before you buy", you could never be bored looking out of its windows. It's also cheap considering it's a seafood restaurant and in a prime Soho location.

Four of us, perched on staggeringly uncomfortable wicker-bar stools that felt as though they might collapse at any moment - a bit of danger always adds spice to the food - shared a dozen oysters, followed by half lobsters, scallops and chips plus a couple of bottles of excellent wine for less than pounds 20 a head.

The staff run around at breakneck speed slinging plates of langoustine and giant prawns on counters; it's not restful here, and the music pumps out of the speakers at an alarming decibel rate, but for working up to a wild night out, it's perfect. And quick: we were in and out within the hour.

Randall and Aubin, 16 Brewer St, London W1 (0171-287 4447)