You’re spoilt for choice at Victoria Park these days. The area has always had its attractions- Cardamom on the corner used to knock up a hefty chicken tikka in lamb kofte masala murgh batwar-alike, and the Clark’s Pie That Can’t Be Called A Clark’s Pie For Legal Reasons is always worth a go. Now though- Read More
Some things swell in the memory, fed by imagination or by sheer force of will. In 1543 (no, really, stay with me on this) Protestant theologian John Calvin remarked- in a snide dig at the credulity of his Roman Catholic counterparts- that there were so many pieces of wood scattered throughout Europe which purported to Read More
It would be easy, I suppose, to mistake Brixton Market’s Tiger and Pig with another outpost of the higher-profile Bao group. It’s a huge success story, from streetfood stall to prestigious real estate. I first came across them at KERB South bank in 2014, moving them up The List after hearing from friends just how Read More
‘You try and make it sound really disgusting so by the time they eat it they’re like, “F***ing hell that was amazing!” ‘I’m too busy to be serious about Great British Menu, putting stuff on record players and stuffing them in CD cases and all the gimmicky f***ing nonsense so I just turned up and Read More
Naming your debut event ‘Q’ is a canny move. It’s redolent with possibilities, with just the right amount of inscrutability: try as you might, you’ll struggle to scrute it. For years, ‘Q’ meant the monthly music magazine, and especially the eager wait to see which hapless soul had wandered into Tom Hibbert’s ‘Who The Hell..?’ Read More
Ah. ‘Chain’. The ‘c’ word. After my unenthusiastic review of The Coconut Tree, a few took issue with my description of them as ‘a chain’ and all the dilution of aims and standards that often involves. They’re not materially different from our own Bar 44, they reasoned: a similar number of branches from small beginnings, Read More
This blog is a very simple thing.
I won’t try to sell you any hand lotion, exercise programmes, coffee syrups or Patagonian nose flutes. You won’t find tips on dating, ‘wellness’ or yoga mats.
I write because I love it (and food, as indicated by my increasing girth). Greed happens to be my Deadly Sin of choice, but at least it is never shy of providing me with subject matter.
A simple thing, then: all you get is me wittering on semi-coherently about places I’ve eaten at; hence a ‘restaurant blog’ rather than a ‘food blog’, although there are a few recipes scattered throughout.
From mezze to Michelin ‘fine dining’ and all points in between.