“I’ve gone down the rabbit hole and there’s no telling when, or if, I’ll come out. In front of me is a dish that smells of freshly cut grass. Truffles and toadstools float in a thick pond of green, their tops covered with what looks like dried basil.”
“Hendrick’s Gin was creaking open the doors to its fabled gin palace in Girvan, Ayrshire, and I was one of the lucky few invited in.” Miss York is let loose inside a gin distillery…what were they thinking!?
“Kimchee is a mysterious dish that lies at the very heart of Korean cuisine. Korean cuisine itself is a bit of a mystery to most Londoners and indeed the English in general – unless you happen to live in New Malden.”
“There have been several Russian restaurants opening in the capital over the past few years, the latest and most elaborate of which is Mari Vanna, named after a legendary wise woman…” Larman, Larry and Jonesy seek wisdom from a corner of Mother Russia now residing in Knightsbridge…
It could be considered discourteous of a lady to turn down an invitation for afternoon tea. Especially on a Sunday. A day on which indulgence is overlooked and all is forgiven until 9am the following Monday morning…
I’ve eaten a piece of peach, wearing a blindfold, while a jazz band jammed in…
“It’s when I’m sat at the top of Carn Daimh, looking out onto the sweeping green, amber and bronze hills with a glass of Glenlivet in my hand, that I realise how much I love both Scotland and whisky.”
Hundreds of alien-like crustaceans were crawling around in the trays in front of me, pincers waving in the air, tiny legs clicking all over each other’s backs and bodies…
“The Hill Bar & Brasserie has the unfortunate status of being on the busy path one likely travels down to get to somewhere else…” So what made Gabrielle call in? Lucky for us she did, though…
Afternoon tea in hotels conjures up images of floral china cups, delicate cake stands and doilies. Well, not any more. The cake is about to meet the catwalk. One could call it a cakewalk…
“Ah, the 1970s. When an avocado pear was the height of exoticism, when cheese was meant to be cubed, pronged on a cocktail stick and paired with a chunk of tinned pineapple.”
As I hover outside 66 Portland Place, the home of the Royal Institute of British…