Punctuation counts, kids. For example: ‘At Squeezed, my wife had legs akimbo’. reads differently to: ‘At Squeezed, my wife had ‘Legs Akimbo’.’ This is why we pay attention in English class. There’s a lot of detail in the Squeezed menu, a lot that needs your attention. Down here at Cargo on Wapping Wharf it’s predictably Read More
You could easily walk past Great Chongqing without giving it much of a glance. It looks like many other Chinese restaurants with its laminated picture menus stuck to the window and its functional furniture. “Great Chongqing just may be one of Bristol’s best-kept secrets at the moment,” wrote Mark Taylor in the Bristol Post earlier Read More
Last year, a Cardiff restaurant on Fathers’ Day: the staff overhear us talking about my daughter’s birthday just the day before, and a complimentary plate of mini desserts suddenly appears, a congratulatory message piped across the plate. That same night, as we make our way through an impressive tasting menu, we are told, ‘Just ask Read More
Go and book your table at Littlefrench now. Look, here’s the link- I’ll make it easy for you. Book here or call 01179706276 You can always come back to this later. I’ll try to make it worth your while. But really- book. Now. All done? Lovely. Let’s continue. ………………… I left Littlefrench frustrated. Not because Read More
For many, Bleecker is the burger. A tiny stall tucked away in the furthest corner of Street Feast on a muggy Saturday evening, not long after they started up: but sometimes you just know, don’t you? From that first bite. You know. Dalston was no fluke: I loved them on the South Bank too, and Read More
‘Beautiful’. The Humble Onion’s salted focaccia, the taut, fragile bronze breaking apart for its airy crumb to be dredged through herby, grassy oil and its thick, sweet plug of balsamic. ‘Just…beautiful.’ A rolled lamb breast which combines a light crust with the wanton wobble of rich fat, a scattering of little cubes of pickled cucumber, 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.