Caviar: If you're used to paying £1,000 a pot, you're hardly likely to panic

Internal links

Poachers' hunger for black gold may take caviar off the menu

Hundreds of nets, and ever fewer fish to fill them

Caviar: a tasteful symbol of opulence

Leading article: Roe to ruin

There are no obvious signs of panic-buying at the Caviar House on Piccadilly, but then if you're used to paying these kind of prices for fish eggs you're presumably immune to panic anyway. For the moment, caviar lovers nervous that their little luxury is going to become unaffordable because of Cites' deliberations can still snap up 30 grams of fresh Iranian sevruga (an egg or two over one ounce) complete with a half bottle of champagne, blinis, baby potatoes and sour cream for a mere £72.

Naturally oscietra and beluga is going to cost a little more ­ and if they want a substantial takeaway they might just have to check the credit limit on the Visa card. Two hundred and fifty grams of Beluga ­ and who, frankly, would have the gall to serve guests any less ­ will set you back £1,026. If it's a present you have in mind and £1,026 seems a little grudging then you can always opt for the same quantity of Almas caviar, presented in a gold-plated tin in a burled mulberry wood cigar humidor and costing a perfectly reasonable £3,840.

These prices seem unlikely to change much whatever happens in Paris since, as at Fortnum & Mason down the road (which will sell you a small tin of imperial beluga ­ "a hint of walnut and a soft creamy texture" ­ for £165), all of the caviar sold at the Caviar House comes from the Iranian side of the Caspian Sea. The quality control of theocratic tyrannies has apparently long proved more reliable than that of recently divorced former Soviet statelets. And, besides, the rising cost of caviar has already put a crimp in British consumption.

"It's dead," says John Stas, the managing director of WG White, the company that supplies caviar to Fortnums, Selfridges and British Airways, when asked about the current state of the market. Prices have doubled in the past two or three years, knocking out the more marginal markets. Airlines, which used to regard caviar as an indispensable garnish for a first-class seat, have largely stopped buying, Mr Stas says. "They're saying it's for ecological reasons," he adds ruefully, "but they've misspelt it ... it's for economic reasons."

That kind of reasoning doesn't appear to hold much sway at Wilton's restaurant on Jermyn Street ­ a clear best-buy with its offer of 2oz of royal beluga at just £99, a considerable discount on the nearest retail outlets. Wilton's explains that it doesn't make much profit on caviar ­ it's just one of the services it is expected to offer customers in search of conspicuous consumption.

Orders for the royal beluga run, on average, at five or six a week, though events such as Royal Ascot tend to produce a brief surge, and very, very occasionally the restaurant will be caught short and have to send a waiter up the road to the Caviar House to buy some more. Which is probably the closest you'll ever get to a rush on stock with this particular commodity.