I love giving advice. Advice on which novel to read when you want to mentally be in 1960s London, despite physically being in what’s best described as windowless, soulless Zone 3 hell. Advice on finding flattering flared trousers (they’re real, I’ve seen them). Advice on how to erase the memory of the latest musician-cum-architect destroying your mate’s self-esteem. Advice on which £7 bottle of supermarket wine will give you the least abominable hangover. Advice on how to make a pair of shoes fit when they’re too small, but hello, you have access to a freezer and a vague knowledge of like, science. But that’s a tip for a different day. Because this column is about giving my all-time favourite advice, which restaurant to go to.
As we all steadily peak our anxious little heads above the parapet of pandemic freedom, a whole lot of dining out questions have arisen. How do you get a table when The Organised People have booked everything from now until whenever the inevitable Holby City coronavirus ménage à trois story arc appears on our TV screens? Who decided we should use cutlery in public anyway? And, where do you go for a date when the most action you’ve got in the last year is watching episode six of Bridgerton? Hmm? Well, the Duke can’t help you now, but I can. Think of me as your knock-off Rennie-packing Carrie Bradshaw or Dolly Alderton, eternally hungry and at your service. Because yes, my shoes are shit, but my London restaurant knowledge is good to go. Onwards for all the advice you need for getting back out there.
If you have a London restaurant question that you want me to carefully but lovingly dissect, email firstname.lastname@example.org. You might appear in our next dining advice column.
Reader questions may be edited for length and clarity.