A secret in Southwark: sunshine food at Lupins
A review of Lupins, London Bridge, or, ‘How I Learned To Stop Thinking Of Spring Onions As Garnish & Realised Their True Potential With A Deep Fat Fryer’.
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Flurries of flavour at Foley’s, Fitzrovia
A client once told me in a Paris bar that if you order an Old Fashioned, you’ll always have the respect of the barman. “Sod the barman,” I said, inwardly, because they were a client after all. “If I’m paying a tenner for a drink it’s going to be something I actually like.”
Basement beats, bubbles and brunch at Hanger SW6
Once upon a time steak was the thing you ordered on your birthday and/or when someone else was paying, because a big hunk ‘o beef was – and still is, in many places – the most expensive thing on the menu.
Fine dining on a shoestring: Ormer with Bookatable
I’ll eat my socks if Ormer Mayfair doesn’t win a Michelin star this year. The sister restaurant to Shaun Rankin’s highly-decorated original in Jersey launched only nine months ago, but it’s enjoyed runaway popularity with almost everyone, from professional critics to armchair foodies.
Evasion: get quick or spy trying
Fire Hazard Games’ new Evasion game will have you solving puzzles, defusing bombs and evading the clutches of undercover agents. (Basically, it’s one of those escape-the-room games but outside and on drugs. Bring your fake moustache.)
It’s all good and right at Goode & Wright, Notting Hill
Despite a disastrous trip a couple of years ago, Goode & Wright is under new management and now offers
A new kind of ‘cue at Smokestak, Shoreditch
Shoreditch’s Smokestak rejuvenates the clapped-out old American barbecue trend.
Fast, good and cheap: L’Atelier de Joel Rubuchon’s new Michelin-starred L’unch menu
The Squash. The Beef. The Tart. It read like a haiku from a Post-Modernist remake of Beauty and the Beast, but it was, in fact, my lunch.
All style and no substance at Jikoni, Marylebone
I arrived early to meet Lou and Rosie for dinner at Jikoni, ravenously hungry and riddled with the saddle sores I’d acquired from my new cycling regime.
Pie in the sky at Bokan, Canary Wharf
I’ve always thought that if Leicester Square is London’s bumhole and Victoria its armpit – albeit a recently groomed, freshly deodorised one, in light of its recent reno – then Canary Wharf is its prosthetic thumb. Grey, functional and conspicuously lacking in anything that resembles a personality, it is populated by besuited unsmiling types who, without […]
