When I decided to return recently to a restaurant that was the talk of the town some years ago, I was holding to the conviction that the food and service would be as good as its reputation.

Narva was well known then. For its clientele, it was an entrepreneurial symbol of the birth of a new Russia through perestroika and the dawn of the Soviet reforms. It was the restaurant for the then-emerging Russian financial heavyweights. But now, with so many new restaurants in town, they seem to have abandoned the place.

First I thought I had lost my way and ended up in the wrong restaurant. Narva seemed to have changed so much that on entering I was faced with the kind of cafeteria you'd imagine in a Third World ghetto.

With summer temperatures soaring up to a sizzling 30 degrees Celsius outside, the flies were having a field day inside. They seemed to be buzzing around everywhere -- on the dusty floor, on the tables, cutlery and even on the plates on which my food would subsequently be served.

But I decided to sit bravely like the two diners sitting across from me, so I could say that I dined at the once-famous Narva without getting ill.

My companion and I took the risk, and seated ourselves in the restaurants familiar red chairs, which used to be a good bit cleaner and newer, as I recall.

A man in his thirties approached us and introduced himself as our waiter for the evening. He warned us that we had to pay an entry fee of 3,000 roubles, and I found myself wondering whether I really wanted to pay for the pleasure of taking in the restaurant's faded glory.

We were pleased to discover that most items on the menu were reasonably priced and a lot cheaper than other places I have visited. The lobster in mayonnaise was the most expensive dish, costing only 17,000 roubles.

There was also chicken with garnish at 15,000 roubles, and Tallinn omelette at 14,000 roubles, which I chose out of curiosity, since I had never tried it before. It was supposed to be an omelette mixed with stewed beef, but turned out to be something which smelled like beef, but with a taste not worth describing. If Tallinn chefs could only see how one of their national dishes had been butchered, they'd be horrified.

My companion chose lobster in mayonnaise. I can imagine that she was attracted by its price, but she noticed that its was no different than the kind of food she could purchase in any number of cheap food stores.

We both decided to go for simple buttered bread smeared with a layer of black fish liver oil, at 4,500 roubles. Then we ordered the tomato salad, which at 5,000 roubles was a tasteless letdown. The portion wasn't large enough to satisfy a child.

To salt your food here you have to plunge your hand into a grubby-looking jug. Sadly, it did not seem to have occurred to the proprietors to provide a spoon.

While trying hard not to imagine the number of dirty hands which were thrust into the jug that day, we decided against ordering a bliny (pancake) with fish liver oil at 11,000 roubles.

The cheapest items on the menu were tea at 500 roubles and coffee at 1,000 roubles. But we decided to order the only cold drink available -- pineapple juice at 7,500 roubles a liter.

Looking around the room, we were faced with an embarrassing collective of customers in varying degrees of sobriety. One was so drunk that he could hardly stand on his feet. He swayed around singing loudly and out of tune to attract the attention of the public passing by outside.

He staggered to his feet and paid 25,000 roubles for the music. He paid again and again while the restaurant owners seemed to kowtow to him. They didn't seem to care that the man had sat by us, removed his stinking shoes and parked them under my chair, and then had the cheek to say "enjoy the meal."

I had good reason to suspect that this man had drunk a cocktail containing at least seven spirits from the restaurant bar. He might have drunk a liter of Nevskoye beer at 8,000 roubles, half a liter of Smirnoff vodka at 31,000 roubles, 70 grams of Cinzano at 3,000 roubles and a whole bottle of champagne at 30,000 roubles and shared this with his mate.

We decided to leave, but as sober as we were, my companion suggested that should we ever decide to return, we should at least get tanked up with booze so as not to feel quite so out of place.

I would still recommend you drop by if only to become a hero who dined at Narva simply for the hell of it and left with a sense of having tasted adventure.

One good thing, though -- you'll at least feel secure since shady mafia types in crew cuts and sunglasses don't seem to come here anymore.