Category Archives: Eating Out

You can’t get a table at Dabbous during the week until August. If you want to go over the weekend, you’ll have to wait until October. There hasn’t been a phenomenon like it since the Fat Duck spread its 3 … Continue reading →

It was a slip sole, just a slip sole, slim and elegant, glistening with seaweed butter. No sauce, no veg, no micro-herbs, nothing to distract from the individual beauty of the fish. The flesh was taut and dense, almost muscular. … Continue reading →

The night was wet and Pitt Cue was full. Full as in crowded, heaving, bulging at the seams. People were being turned away from the door. I only just squeaked in because I am very small and I was on … Continue reading →

Smart, laid back, egalitarian, cheerful, cool. Copita is the model of modern metropolitan eating. It has a no booking policy. It draws in people who are smart, laid back, meritocratic, and cool, even if they aren’t necessarily egalitarian and cheerful. … Continue reading →

Well, stone me. All is changed, changed utterly. Tom Aikens. The restaurant, not the man. Gone the suave polish of a French-inspired restaurant, the rich carpeting and heavy linen tablecloths, the weighty cutlery and waiters uniformed in black and white. … Continue reading →

‘Lead, kindly light, amidst the encircling gloom, lead thou me on,’ goes the hymn. If ever there were a kindly culinary light, it’s Jeremy Lee, tall, genial, eyes beaming and sparkling behind gig-lamps, generous in mood and manner and on … Continue reading →

It’s the same as it has been since I’ve known it, just across the street from the Gare to Nord, the Brasserie Terminus Nord. It’s all there, the art deco posters, wall decorations and lights; the tiled floor in flower … Continue reading →

When Dr Nathan Myhrvold, co-author of Modernist Cuisine, started making cooing noises at The Ledbury, I realised that the ceviche of scallops with seaweed and herb oil, kohlrabi and frozen horseradish had hit the spot. It was the first course … Continue reading →

The sun was bright. The day was warm. I sat in the shade of an umbrella outside the Hand & Flowers in Marlow, that pretty Thanes-side town where the air is perfumed with money and conservative values, reading the newspaper … Continue reading →

Nasturtium, meadowsweet, millet, orache, lovage, wood sorrel, chenopodiums (eh?), sweet cicely, verbena, hyssop, buckthorn – is there a hedgerow or coppice that hasn’t been picked over by Simon Rogan and his assiduous foragers? Over the last 8 years Rogan has … Continue reading →