restaurant

Restaurants

I know what you're thinking: "Disgusting".  Don't worry however, I've shaved off my beard.
I know what you’re thinking: “Disgusting”. Don’t worry however, I’ve shaved off my beard.

If I was offered the opportunity to eat out five days a week on the condition that I had to write a cogent review of each meal, I would bite your hand off (and then possibly comment that your hand was a little undercooked, the sauce a little thin and the taste was unfamiliar).  Where did this love of restaurants come from?  A combination of a love of food, parents who encouraged me to try different things and episodes such as this below:

It’s 1988, aged 10 I’m out for lunch with my parents at a French restaurant.  The waiter who looks like he is straight out of Central Casting turns and asks: “And what weeel sir av?”

“The escargot please and the steak cooked medium”.

“But sir, do you know what escargot is?”

“Yes, snails”.

“Very good sir”

With that, he allowed a smile to creep across his face.  I can’t recall the name of the French restaurant above, but I do remember the Good Earth in Mill Hill, Mr Chan’s in Knightsbridge, The Bombay Brasserie, countless Italian and French restaurants, a very good Thai place that has been everything from a dry cleaners to a betting shop in the last 20 years and the Chicago Rib Shack in it’s previous incarnation.  Somewhere over the years, as I have tried new food and eaten at some of the best restaurants in the capital and elsewhere, the way in which I enjoy eating out has changed.  I grade the service in my head against an ever changing yardstick of what I want.  The décor and ambience are scrutinised and of course the food and wine deconstructed to the n’th level.  It was as I began to write reviews for fun that (in part) the idea for this website was born.

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