There is an abiding (if unofficial) theory among those who track such things that the temperature of the economy can be taken by the opening (or lack thereof) of London steak restaurants. Spotted new branches of Hawksmoor and Blacklock popping up in your neighbourhood? The bankers are clearly feeling buoyant. Sudden dearth of tomahawks and T-bones? Well, it might be time to rein in the purse strings for the bumpy ride ahead.

And, while I don’t doubt the veracity of this indicator, what about those steakhouses that appear unaffected by the whims of City expense accounts? Those which quietly turn out reliably well-cooked cuts of meat day after day without the need for fanfare, pomp or ceremony, along the way picking up a loyal clientele that extends beyond business lunches?

And so, to Zoilo. Tucked away on a quiet cul-de-sac at the Selfridges end of Oxford Street, despite its proximity to the capital’s main shopping thoroughfare, Zoilo is decidedly not courting tourists or passing trade. In fact, if you didn’t already know it was there, you’d probably never find it.

It seems, however, there are plenty of people who do know it’s there. When we arrive for our 7.30pm reservation on a balmy spring evening the place is practically deserted, save for a corner table occupied by a trio of men with rolled shirt sleeves and loosened ties who, judging by the detritus of their table, may well have been there some time. You can take the steakhouse of The City, etc.

By 7.45pm, however, every table is full. To our right is a couple I determine (by way of some subtle eavesdropping) to be on a third, possibly fourth, date. To our left, a multi-generational family is gathering over a shared feast. Behind us, four women in their early thirties are gossiping over cocktails. The mood is convivial, celebratory, buzzy, relaxed.

This is, in large part, I suspect, because Zoilo takes pride in doing things properly. Argentinian chef patron Diego Jacquet worked under Ferran Adria at El Bulli and Marcus Samuelsson at Aquavit before opening Zoilo in 2012. The wider team have stints at Galvin at Windows, Bacchanalia, and the much-missed Clerkenwell Dining Room under their belts.

Accordingly, this is not a wipe-clean-wooden-tables, the-food-comes-when-it’s-ready type of place. Instead, crisp white tablecloths are crumbed between courses, the menu is offered not as a vast array of sharing plates but as clearly defined starters, mains and desserts (revolutionary), wine glasses are razor thin and sparkling, and every meal starts with the presentation of that day’s cuts, the vast majority of which are sourced from Argentina.

And, while the team at Zoilo would never deign to do anything so undignified as rush you out once your 90-minute reservation is over, the menu is also one that doesn’t demand you set aside multiple hours and wear your stretchiest trousers. Go at lunchtime to sit at the bar and take advantage of the remarkably well-priced prix fixe; three courses will give you change from £30 and feel like far more of an occasion than a similarly priced meal at the nearby branch of Bone Daddies.

And while it would be remiss not to try one of the exemplary steaks at dinner – my rib-eye was deliciously charred on the outside and velvety soft inside – my companion’s monkfish with mussels, prawns and saffron proved to be a lighter but no less indulgent offering.

Having said that, you may well decide it’s worth digging out the aforementioned elasticated waistband. Among the best things we ate was an outrageously decadent cauliflower cheese made with Comte and peanut butter. Served in a deceptively dainty earthenware dish, the vegetable came practically swimming in a thick, creamy sauce that would test even a Tudor king’s capacity for richness.

Is there anything particularly revolutionary on Zoilo’s menu? No – but to come here looking for that would be to completely miss the point. This is not the place you come to have your tastebuds tested or to let a ‘pioneering’ chef try out his conceptual menu of 21 entirely foraged courses on you.

Come to Zoilo for dates, dinners with friends, and when you need a place just fancy enough to impress your parents. Come for food delicious enough that it that won’t pass without comment, but also doesn’t demand to be the star of the show. Come for an atmosphere so cosy and inviting that it practically demands that extra espresso martini after dinner.

After all, isn’t that really the restaurant we all want to go to?

Visit zoilo.co.uk

Read more: London’s best omakase restaurants