The building’s interior is an odd mix of embassy and suburban house; we catch some old Czech guys watching TV on the way in and feel like we’re entering a rather grand home.

The club’s restaurant does appear to cater primarily to ex-pat members missing a taste of home. Our lack of Czech proved quite an impediment, both to explanation of the menu and comprehension of our order, leading to a few mistakes. The food is comforting rather than fancy, and lacks some of the flair of eastern European restaurants we’ve tried elsewhere in London. That said, the club is one of the few places in London where you can try Czech specialities, and resulted in an interesting meal.

(The Czech Republic and Slovakia were of course still a joint entity for much of the club’s life, as its name reflects. Its founder was a Czech, however, and its website humbly admits that “if you are after a classic Slovak restaurant in London we may not fully satisfy you”. So we’ll be seeking Slovakian food another time.)

A few of us picked starters, something of a brave move considering the usual size of eastern European portions. Pickled herring, one of my favourites, has just the firmness and pep I demand from it. Potato pancakes in the Czech style prove delicious, large, dark and topped with smoky bacon, but Alex’s brie salad, while interesting (it was served in a vinegary dressing) didn’t quite leave him crying out for seconds.

Whether by accident or design our main courses turned out very similar. On each plate a big hunk of roast meat swam in a generous but rather sickly soup of sauerkraut, more the consistency of apple sauce than the shredded German variety I’ve tried before. Czech dumplings (knedlíky) on the side were not quite what we expected either, consisting of large, bready slices of boiled dough. (Apparently smaller potato dumplings are also served, but knedlíky are the classic Czech variety.)

Meat and game are quite central to Czech cuisine—we tried goose, duck, boar, beef and chicken and all proved well-prepared, rich and tasty. My main course, stuffed breaded wild boar (plněný kančí řízek & příloha), was the subject of particular curiosity. Wobbling on the plate like a morbidly obese schnitzel, the wild boar fillet is breaded and fried after stuffing with onions, ham and smoked bacon. (More conventional schnitzel has a strong presence on the menu too, alongside other eastern European standards like goulash).

All this left us with little room for desert—just as well as we were turfed out rather summarily at the club’s 10pm closing time. All in all I’d say it’s worth visiting for the authentic Czech experience and the history of the place, but the service left a little to be desired and I’m not sure I’d recommend it as a first place to try eastern European food.

In summary

Czechoslovak National House
74 West End Lane, West Hampstead, London, NW6 2LX
0207 372 1193
Open Tuesday to Friday 5pm to 10pm, and weekends noon to 10pm.