The Foodie

I don’t know how the name of this restaurant is pronounced. Is it ‘to-zy’, to rhyme with ‘cosy’? Or is…

You’d never really know it until you’re up there, high above everything, but London sprawls in a way that shocks you, there is a shapeless morbidity to our capital.

Squally showers and insistent rain beat down a tattoo on the pavement beneath our feet. The glistening slabs, uniform in their grey municipality, are punctuated only by a discarded fried chicken wing here, a sad single shoe there.

Squally showers and insistent rain beat down a tattoo on the pavement beneath our feet. The glistening slabs, uniform in their grey municipality, are punctuated only by a discarded fried chicken wing here, a sad single shoe there.

It’s not every night one goes to dinner at a stately home. But then pop-up banquets in novel, historic settings…