Far be it from me to suggest you’re the type to resort to petty chicanery and pass another’s work off as your own. But you could do a lot worse than bring a K + K lamprais or two to the table, unwrapping it and soaking up the praise. We’ll come back to that. Recently, Read More
Chronic is fried chicken for grown ups. Literally- their usual home at Kongs just up the street is 18s and over only- but also in marked contrast to the drab disappointment of a nearby big-money franchise with prime footfall. There, tenders arrived so limp I half expected Pelé to pop up with a reassuring word Read More
If there’s a thread running through the orders I’ve made for national delivery, it’s this: less an attempt to keep up with what’s ‘hot’, more a calculated attempt to recapture happy memories. Food as lockdown panacea. And by extension- because I scrawl my ideas on the back of this virtual fag packet- to suggest meals Read More
Is there any other dish where the chasm between between the poor and the exceptional is so stark? Perhaps. Over there, buckets of limp, disconcertingly cheap meat produced to minimum welfare standards. And over here, but going by the same name, memories of those scrawny, claggy disappointments are banished by the truly good stuff- that Read More
“Characterised by free indulgence in sensual pleasures” they say. An enviable epitaph one day, hopefully, but more immediately the manifesto of Rugby and Hemel Hempstead burger specialists Libertine. Just banish all appetite-tainting thoughts of walking petri dish Pete Doherty. Libertine have been on my radar for a while thanks to the infectious enthusiasm of one Read More
As I started cooking this Wadadli menu, it started to snow: and if that sounds like the sort of achingly clumsy device the worst sort of arsehole might contrive in this context, you’ll have to indulge me as we press on together. Because if you’re finding yourself kicking against the pricks of chill winds and 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.