Pigs’ trotters, calves’ brains and tripe – sounds offal doesn’t it?

Okay, so it’s still not going to be a long one, or indeed a fresh one. But, for those of you who haven’t read it on the Telegraph – well this is the link here.

I went to review an offal night at the Drapers Arms in Highbury and Islington for work, and though I love pâté, it turns out I’m not a fan of the rest…


Drapers Arms


Burger & Lobster

On February 1st 1996, an episode of Friends aired on NBC entitled The One with the Prom Video. Please find synopsis (courtesy of Wikipedia) below:

After getting his big break with Days of Our Lives, Joey pays Chandler back with $812 and an extremely tacky engraved gold bracelet. Also, an unemployed Monica is hard up for money. A home video from Monica and Rachel’s prom night reveals that Monica was previously overweight, and that Rachel had a large nose. Rachel seemed to have been stood up by her prom date, so Ross puts on his father’s tuxedo to take her to prom himself, but Rachel’s date shows up and they leave before she learns of Ross’s plans. The video then shows a speechless and devastated Ross standing at the top of the stairs. The candor of Ross’s heartbreak compels Rachel to kiss Ross.

A well-rounded overview, yes, but it fails to mention that this is also the episode in which Phoebe has some of her most famous lines. You know the ones? They’ve been quoted time and time again. No? These ones:

Phoebe: Hang in there, it’s gonna happen.
Ross: What? Okay, now how do you know that?
Phoebe: Because she’s your lobster.
Chandler: Oh, she’s goin’ somewhere.
Phoebe: Come on, you guys. It’s a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You know what? You can actually see old lobster couples walkin’ around their tank, you know, holding claws like…

How is this relevant you ask? How is this related to a restaurant review? It’s three-fold. Firstly, like Phoebe advises, I have hung in there when it comes to dining at Burger & Lobster. Not once, not twice, but three times have I been turned away from the non-book restaurant due to over-booking on the night (ironic, I know), but I kept returning, knowing that at some point there would be a break in the crowd. This has felt like a ‘life-time’ (point two), and finally, well Phoebe is talking about Lobsters, and that – as the restaurants name suggests – is what we’d be eating. Tah da! Tenuous, I think not.

At 9.45pm on Tuesday, two companions and I voyaged from Victoria into the heart of Soho. Even at this hour we faced a 40-minute wait, but already fuelled by a bottle of Balls Brothers’s wine this passed by without complaint. Indeed, spent at the restaurant’s bar drinking a thick green Thai cocktail, and two beers for the boys, it positively flew by.


Before I knew it, we were led around a series of bustling tables to our own. This was situated just by the serving area of the kitchen, which though was great for perving on the food, was not so great for maintaining a pleasant body temperature. At points the heat from the have-to-squint-it’s-so-bright kitchen lamp verged on uncomfortable. And there’s really only so much food perving one can do on three dishes:

1) Burger – served in a bun, add bacon and/or cheese.

2) Lobster – Half a lobster served with butter and choose either steamed or finished off on the charcoal grill.

3) Lobster Roll – Lobster meat served in a soft brioche roll with a Japanese mayonnaise.

Each are sold at £20, which though makes it easy for splitting a bill, does seem a bit skewed in terms of value. I mean we all know that Lobster is expensive; for me it was always the item on the menu that my frugal father urged me to steer clear of while growing up. The costly crustacean was to be avoided at all, well…costs. I’d never come across one of these decadent sea-dwellers for under 40 smackers, so at 20, it was an absolute steal. On the other side, in the blue corner (lobster must be red), was the burger and polar opposite; from a bargain and a steal came an extortionate meal – £20 for a burger, are you being for real?

Needless to say, none of us went for the burger. My companions tucked into the lobster, and I opted for the lobster roll. A friendly waitress speedily delivered our dishes (benefits of being so close to the kitchen – they didn’t have far to travel) and handed over three bibs. Almost always a spiller, this was decidedly useful, not to mention the perfect accessory to a series of token photos.


As the boys battled with nut-cracker-eque devices and sturdy claws, I happily used a fork to remove chunks of lobster from inside my roll.


Fleshy yet tender, and delightfully swaddled in a thick layer of wasabi-laced mayonnaise, I realised that it was probably a good job for my father’s bank balance that he’d banned this crustacean from my childhood. Wow it’s good. Sadly, however, its plate fellows weren’t up to scratch. The brioche was under-toasted, the chips not fried quite long enough and the salad a bit too balsamic vinegared.


In terms of photos, atmosphere and arthropods, Burger & Lobster excelled and is worth hanging in for, but the meal of a ‘life-time?’ I think not.


NB: In researching this piece, I sadly discovered that the concept of lobsters mating for life is a myth. According to scientist G Anderton: “Lobsters have a very tender mating ritual, in which the female is very vulnerable after shedding her exoskeleton, but after the deed is done she leaves and they never see each other again, and in fact, the male (usually being the alpha and dominant male in the area) will go on to mate with almost every other female in the area.”

Bone Daddies

Throw me a bone fellow bloggers…don’t rant and rave in superlatives about restaurants when there is absolutely no way that they are, or ever could be, ‘the best’. Don’t allure me with edited snaps, don’t tease my palate with delectable turns of phrase, stop duping me.

These internet gobbets, these fantastical notions of culinary expertise, did just this last night; they duped me. A red herring of a bone if ever there was one, in fact, a multitude of red herrings masquerading as bones, led me, ironically, to Bone Daddies.

Leaving work at the pinnacle of rush hour – which in Victoria translates as a ferocious battle to get to the tube (we fight to clamber into sweaty carriages underground, while the sun shines above), a commuters’ mosh-pit – I shoved myself into the crowd of irritated workers, surrendered my freshly applied face of make-up to sweat and made my way north to Soho.


Now before I take you through the swishy black drapes and into the heart of the restaurant, I should make it clear that despite my vehement annoyance at being duped into expecting Bone Daddies to be ‘the best’, this doesn’t mean that I think it is ‘the worst’.

So now that’s clarified, welcome in. Bone Daddies is a self-professed ‘Rock n Roll Ramen Bar,’ which is ‘headed up’ by ex-Zuma and ex-Nobu head chef Ross Shonhan.

If you’re wondering what Ramen is, of which I confess I wasn’t 100% sure, here is the ever trustworthy Wikipedia definition: “Ramen is a Japanese noodle dish” which “consists of Chinese-style wheat noodles served in a meat- or (occasionally) fish-based broth, often flavoured with soy sauce.” Considering I was served this (see below), I assume it to be spot on.


Before I was served this, however, I had to get a seat. This was pleasantly easier than anticipated; the restaurant’s (which was all the rage a couple of months ago) popularity seems to have dwindled. Good news for me, I thought. Yes, I was behind the curve, yes I wasn’t going to unveil a new restaurant, nor tell you all about one that you haven’t heard of before, but I would get a seat. I wouldn’t have to deal with a Bubbledogs incident.

Indeed, after a mere 10 minutes my companion and I were seated. Five minutes after that we’d had drinks – and two visits from a petite waitress to inquire what we’d like. I say inquiries, but they were more like clutches…she wasn’t really interested in what we wanted, but how quickly we would be wanting it. Alas, the inevitability of the non-book restaurant, another in and out job where we’re treated as cash cows rather than diners.

“Which is the most popular ramen?” I asked.

“This one,” she replied and tapped the clipboard.

“The Tonkotsu Ramen?”


“Okay, I’ll go for that one then.”

She turned to my dining companion.

“I’ll have the soft-shelled crab and then a side of pulled chicken with the…”

“What wait,” I interjected. “I didn’t realise there were sides.”

The whole thing had been so rushed that I hadn’t scoured the bottom part of the menu, and I most certainly hadn’t been asked if I’d want any by this harlot.

“Oooh, I’ll have the (always a sucker for a douse of crude humour)…cock scratchings.”

She didn’t smile, or even give so much as a happy twinge of facial muscle. She wrote it down, got the remainder of my dinner date’s order and sauntered off.

She and the food returned, predictably, uber fast. The starter of soft-shelled crab accompanied the mains.



The food wasn’t horrendous, it wasn’t bad, to call it mediocre would probably verge on harsh; it was somewhere on the scale between satisfactory and good. Indeed, bits of it were good (the soft boiled egg), and bits of it were satisfactory (cock scratchings). It is also, I found, quite difficult, nay impossible to eat ramen elegantly…bending down so low a head rush is on the cards while chop-sticking cock into your mouth, well it’s not very lady-like.

To conclude, it’s not ‘the best’, it’s not ‘the worst’; I wouldn’t go for supper, or on a date. I’d consider it for a quick lunch with the ladies…if pushed – that’s the bone I’ll throw to you.

31 Peter St  London, Greater London W1F 0AR
020 7287 8581


Considering its length, it’s no wonder that people spend so much time talking about the King’s Road. There’s a lot to talk about.

On Wednesday night, nestled on a number 22 bus, my mother, sisters and I got to see a lot of it – for it turned out, that the restaurant we were dining at, number 571, was at the opposite end than Sloane Square tube. In fact, in terms of TFL guide lines, we probably would have been better off getting off at Fulham Broadway. Our bus voyage, however, was actually rather pleasant.

Perched on the top deck, we picked out the restaurants we wanted to dine – and had dined – at, and peered at copious window displays, which were filled with beautifully dressed skeletal plastic mannequins –  clothes which, visiting the aforementioned restaurants would mean, we’d never fit into. One pair of hot pants and strapless bikini later and we found ourselves outside number 571, Megan’s.

We were shown to our table, sadly the quaintly decorated terrace was fully booked, but our cubicle upstairs was, nonetheless, decidedly agreeable. A level up to the rest of the restaurant, it gave us a great panoramic and seated seven comfortably. Seven? Yes, in addition to the four Audley girls, there would be three Mintos – and both of these families descended from the Shores. In simplified terms, we were out to supper with our cousins. Some of you may remember my post on Made in Italy. Well after the success of our shindig at this King’s Road pizzeria, we decided that another sister/cousin, female family, extravaganza was a must. So, three months and a dozen emails later, we finally made the rendevous, and I’m happy to report that it was just as great as the first. Company was first-rate, food was – though overwhelming in portion size – very agreeable and service came with a smile – if a little slow. Here are some snaps of the evening.

female familyThe female family


IMG_2305Coarse chicken liver pâté

Fish soup (soupe de poisson)
Fish soup (soupe de poisson)
Chargrilled Salmon, chips, salad and a parsley & butter sauce
Chargrilled salmon, chips, salad and a parsley & butter sauce
Côte de boeuf, salad and béarnaise sauce
Côte de boeuf, salad and béarnaise sauce
571 King’s Rd  London SW6 2EB 020 7371 7837

Siam Central


Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but, as I found out last night, not fond enough to warrant a goosing. Well, an attempted goosing. (Don’t even go there.)

My friend Jamie (see Erotic Book Club) has returned for a week from his energy plant in France. To celebrate the homecoming of this most missed ami, we (myself and two friends Ben and Robert) treated ourselves to a supper out on the town – at Siam Central.

A small Thai restaurant hugging the corner of Windmill and Charlotte St, Siam Central is certainly popular with Goodge St workers. Even with a reservation, we had to wait 15 minutes before being led to our table. Set over two floors, for square metre space they’ve managed to squeeze in a hell of an amount of tables. But though crowded, as we followed the waiter downstairs and to our little spot, I decided that it wasn’t claustrophobic.

Two laminated menus were handed to each of us, one listing an array of starters and sharing combos, the other the mains and the wine. Ravenous from a hard day’s proofing travel articles, I ordered some prawn crackers, and then we also decided to share vegetable spring rolls, chicken satay and prawn toast. The boys had beers and I had a glass of white wine.

Despite two reminders, the prawn crackers never arrived (and were put on the bill), but fortunately the starters, and a sensational peanut butter sauce, forgave this blip. Piping hot but not dry, the chicken satay was wonderfully tender and the cocktail sticks on which it was served were gnawed at like bbq ribs –  any remnants of meat were ripped off carnivorously.

siam - prawn toastPrawn toast (not the elusive crackers)

Stomachs appeased but not content, we moved onto mains. I chose the chicken drunken noodles, Jamie its beef sibling, Ben – chicken drunken rice, and Robert – Thai red chicken curry.

Glutenous, thick and heart-cloggingly delicious with a chilli kick to boot, there was no chance of me getting drunk after a plateful of drunken noodles. Oh the carbs, the wonderful, wonderful carbs. Jamie too, seemed to be a fan and polished off his mountain rapidly – after which – so enthused was he – he debated on ordering the dish again!

siam - drunken noodlesChicken drunken noodles

Ben and Robert were equally pleased with their orders which, though I didn’t try, looked stomach-grumbling good. More beers and another glass of wine, tales of the continent, tales of our lost friend Flash (the one that left for Singapore, see Almond Croissants) and a lot of laughter ensued.

All was going smoothly; we’d had a great evening and when the bill arrived we were delighted to see it was a modest £70. Very smooth indeed. But then, I tried to pay. I suppose being sent to review restaurants all the time, I’d forgotten that normally this is the form, and that to pay requires money. Money which (see below) apparently I didn’t have.

siam - card declined

It was embarrassing yes, but luckily I found a £20 at the bottom of my bag and all was well again. Except that I now have just £4.29 to get home with…

But I’d had a great meal, was drunk on carbs and laughter, and as they say- memories are priceless.

siam - alice and simmo

Alice and Ben


Jamie and Robert

siam - jamie and rob

Food: *** Drink: ** Service: *** Price: ££

14 Charlotte St  London, Greater London W1T 2LX
020 7436 7460

Review: Fish Market

A javelin’s throw from Liverpool St Station, new city restaurant Fish Market was the plaice to be last night. Amid the gleam of spring sunshine, the eatery celebrated the launch of its new terrace with an informal cocktail and canapé party.

Fish Market Underneath clusters of lantern lights, cheery waiters danced around the restaurant floor handing out seaside-inspired snacks. Miniature fish and chips lathered in tartare sauce were wrapped neatly in newspaper cones; scallops, placed in shells, paddled in olive oil; full-flavoured crabs were pushed into pasties.

The food worked with poetic smoothness and unequivocally floated the epicurean boat. Causing notable grabbing from the guests were the crisp coated Scotch eggs. Perfectly battered, the bantam-sized eggs boasted bold coloured orange yolks, which were equally powerful in flavour. Further richness docked at tables in the form of broad bean and pea risotto, awash with an oil slick of cheese – delicious.

Sinking the dregs of the dairy-laden dish, guests took aboard rum cocktails and flutes of prosecco, before turning their attention to pudding. Served in crunchy wafer turrets, the creamiest of vanilla ice cream delightfully topped slices of strawberry. This fantastic dessert was then rounded off with a goody-bag filled with chocolate treasures.

Fish Market knows how to throw a party, has a team of great waiters and waitresses, serves a cleverly crafted menu and – with the sun finally out of hibernation – will undoubtedly be a hit this summer. Whether you’re a commuter, a Londoner, or just an avid Kooks fan, this restaurant is definitely worth a visit.

Alice Audley

Food: 16/20
Drinks: 16/20
Service: 17/20
Fish Market: 49/60                                                                                                   

To book a table at Fish Market, 16B New Street, London EC2M 4TR, call 020 3503 0790 or visit here.


Fish Market

At last I was back in my own territory, back in the comfort zone – reviewing a restaurant! Or, at least, I thought I was reviewing a restaurant, but on arrival to EC2 last night with younger sister in tow, I discovered that I was in actual fact reviewing a party. A restaurant’s party. More specifically, Fish Market‘s ‘we’ve opened a terrace’ party.

The review of the shindig is written, but it’s currently in the claws of one of The Upcoming‘s sub-editors, so until it is published there, I can’t publish it here. But what I can do, is to give you a sneak peek at some of the seaside snacks we munched upon.

Feast your eyes on these:

fish market - scotch eggScotch Egg

fish market - goujonsMini Fish & Chips

scallops fish marketScallops


IMG_2210Crab Pasty

IMG_2218Pea & Broad Bean Risotto

claudYounger sis tucking into some red

Make sure to get down to:

Fish Market Photo

16 New St, London, EC2M 4TR

020 3503 0790



Since starting at The Telegraph my eatery outings have rather dwindled. Pre-occupied with interviewing Eva Schloss, Barnes Wallis’s daughter, Caroline Quentin and Lord Carrington, my evenings have been spent with Dictaphone and laptop, not munching on the town’s latest gourmet offerings.

Hours and hours of transcribing sadly require remaining at the office, or at the make-shift office. Huddled over my PC, back aching, hands cramping, eyes straining, whacking out thousands and thousands of words – ah the bottom of the journalistic ladder! To think, I dreamed of this!

No, forgive the hyperbole. Even though the work is long, the clock never-ending, the words never finished, I love it. Every bit of transcription teaches something new, shines a little light on the lives of the extraordinary (bar Caroline Quentin) and leaves you feeling slightly more knowledgeable.

As for the food, well with Deliverance, the withdrawal from restaurants is appeased – almost. Deliverance is – shockingly – a delivery service that brings restaurant quality food (** restaurant quality food) to your door. One call to 0844 875 0400 (or a visit to their site) and 30 – 40 minutes later you can have anything from Thai Chicken Green Curry to a Hamburger on your plate.

Whatever you feel like, Deliverance caters for. And the brilliance of it is, if your friend feels like pizza and you feel like salad (or the other way around J), you don’t have to compromise. He can have a salad and you can have a pizza, I mean he can have the pizza and you can have the salad.

It’s not fine dining, but it does take the bitterness out of tucking into another bloomin’ cup a soup. There’s just no fun in cooking for yourself, who’s there to compliment it? £15 minimum order and you have a reasonable, at times good (Veg Spring Rolls), meal couriered to you – brilliant!

My order tonight? I said Deliverance appeases, not cures. I’ve finished my transcription early and am off to review Fish Market – a restaurant in Bishopsgate. A leopard can’t change its spots!

Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons

While leafing through the proofs for the Telegraph last week, I came across a gardening supplement about Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons – Raymond Blanc’s flagship restaurant; the jewel in his culinary crown.

Gardening isn’t a foremost interest of mine – don’t get me wrong, I like a good garden – I’m just not likely to be found shovelling soil, or laying down turf. But the article got me thinking, or rather reminiscing about my time spent in the chef’s backyard.

It was three years ago. My family (well four out of the six of us – mother conveniently forgot to invite the other two; to avoid denting the bank balance too much) journeyed down to Oxfordshire for lunch at the double Michelin-starred restaurant to celebrate my 21st Birthday. And what a way to celebrate it was.


Dressed in all my finery, determined to look like I belonged and frequented similar establishments regularly, I entered the mansion of a maison at approximately 12.30 pm. We were shown through to a sitting room, offered some canapés and given both the menu and the wine list to peruse at our leisure.

It didn’t take us long to decide upon the ‘tasting menu’, and then to my delight the father passed me the wine list and said, “Now Alice, as it’s your birthday you can pick the wine, but please, be sensible.”

Figures of £200, £750, £1,750 met my eyes and, contrary to the lyrics of Jessie J, I could not ‘forget about the price tag’. I flicked through some more and landed on a more reasonable £40 bottle. ‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘that’ll do.’ I turned and smiled at the sommelier, who came over immediately and bowed ready for the order.

“Yes, please may I have a bottle of the…(something French)?”

He looked at me, almost embarrassed on my behalf, and said: “Ummmn zeeees is a pudding wine.”

I flushed bright red and, let’s be honest, after that there was no point keeping up my pretentious pretence; I was out of my depth – an outsider, a visitor – I didn’t belong. But this, in actual fact, worked out for the best, for as a tourist I had no problem whipping out my trusty canon and photographically documenting the incredible meal. So here, better late than never, is the tasting menu from Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons on the 8th of February 2010:


Confit of ‘Landais’ duck liver with rhubarb compote; sour dough toast


Plancha-seared hand-dived ‘Loch Levern’ Scottish scallop, sea kale, cauliflower puree, curry oil


Wytham farm free-range hen’s egg, garden Jerusalem artichoke, pickled mushrooms, winter truffle


Wild Cornish gill-netted red mullet, chorizo; coriander ravioli, saffron tapioca; bouillabaisse consomme


Boned quail filled with liver pate; pink grapefruit zests, turnip gratin and Pineau des Charentes sauce


‘Coeur de Guanaja’ chocolate cremeux, cocoa ‘grue’ nougatine and coffee foam…(with gold leaf)

Food: ***** Wine: (post ‘pudding’ faux pas) ***** Price: £££££

Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, Church Rd, Great Milton, Oxford

01844 278881

Pescheria Mattiucci

There are restaurants that don’t stand out, there are restaurants that you have to look for, but there are also completely indistinguishable restaurants, when – even though your taxi has dropped you outside the exact number on the road – if you take just the tinsiest look away, you’ve lost it. Pescheria Mattiucci is one of these restaurants.

Situated a short walk away from Ladbroke Grove Underground (8 Blenheim Crescent), though it has a thick white frame above its door screaming to be painted upon, Pescheria Mattiucci only advertises itself with a thin, fluorescent-blue-lighted script which reads ‘Fish Boutique.’ Perfect to attract the fly, or insects in general, but rather less captivating for the homosapien. Once, however, you have managed to locate Pescheria Mattiucci, it’s worth the wait.


With Italian foundations, this family rooted restaurant prides itself on the locality and sustainability of its produce. Line-caught fish are sent fresh from Naples, Sicily and their small hometown (the name of which now escapes me), every other day, so menus are always changing and the meal that I tell you about, may very well not exist when you go to test it out. For your sake though, I hope it does.

I was out with Blackhouse man again; our second supper together in just four days. This meal was also courtesy of his website, which after losing £20 on the Grand National just hours before, was all the more agreeable. Welcomed by the front of house; a petite, dark-haired beauty, we were given a history of the restaurant, before being brought over a booklet filled with brown paper print-outs of the latest dishes. For the size of the restaurant, there was a surprising amount on the menu. Rather than choosing ourselves, we opted to ask the waitress/owner/front of house for her advice. “What would you recommend?”

And under this guidance, over the next three hours we tested eight courses. And here they are:

1IMG_2134Crudo Mediterraneo (Raw Fish Platter: prawns, sword fish, squid & tuna)

Told to start with the white fish, I tucked into the squid and the sword fish. Raw squid is a texture too far for me and its flavour was nothing special. The sword fish was better, but if it was a dish by itself, not worth ordering. The tuna was brilliant; sprinkled with black salt and dabbed in lemon, it was fresh, smooth and moreish. The prawns, better still; a brilliant bite to the body, followed by a good, long, hard suck on the head – what more could you ask for?  If they did a Crudo purely of the darker fish, it would be an absolute winner.


IMG_2136Calamaro stuffed with prawns, provola cheese and zucchini

Rather like a healthier version of a potato tot, the Calamaro was nicely familiar in texture. It would work well as a side, rather than purely as a course.


IMG_2137Tartare of Red Head prawns from Marina di camerota

We’d already sucked on its contemporaries’ heads, but this prawn matched up in taste. However, by this point in our dining proceedings, I’d rather reached my limit with raw shellfish.


IMG_2138Mix of telline and Sardinian veraci clams cooked with lemon, chilli and parsley

‘Cooked’ – hurrah. After being told we were going to have clams, I had a flash back to a story that one of my best friends told me last year. She was on a trip to Mexico and was taken out to supper at a fish restaurant by her hosts. They ordered her clams. A plateful came to the table and were served with slices of lemon. My friend was told to pick up a clam, sprinkle it with lemon and then eat it. She picked up her clam, sprinkled it with lemon…and, to her horror, the little creature started wriggling and writhing. She said it was like it was wailing: “Please, please don’t eat me!”

Fortunately ours didn’t put up such protestations and, though were a hassle to eat (a lot of effort for not a lot of food), were good.


IMG_2140Crunchy scallops served with potatoes puree and spicy cabbage

They were back in their element with this dish. Crunchy scallops were crisp on the outside, moist on the inside, and worked beautifully with the puree and cabbage. A must have.


IMG_2142Sfogliatella Riccia (puff pastry, ricotta cream with candied peel)

Flaked perfectly and had just the right amount of filling. Would be nice for breakfast with a cappuccino.


IMG_2143Pastiera, wheat grain cooked with milk and ricotta with add of orange blossom and rose water, a sublime mix baked Naples.

Oh my! Oh my! This is something special. Aromas of roses and oranges hit your nasal passage and taste-buds simultaneously in one of the most pleasurable ‘put it in your mouth’ experiences out there. YUM.


IMG_2145Cassata (Traditional cake from Trapani, Sicily)

Sweet, really, really, really sweet. Too much of this number and even the non-diabetic will be reaching for the insulin. One bite’s enough; this is a pudding to share.

A hidden gem, though outshone physically by its neighbours, once you’ve made it in to Pescheria Mattiucci there’s no going back. Fresh and affordable, an evening in this fish boutique, is an evening well spent.

Food: *** Wine: *** Experience: **** Price: ££

 8 Blenheim Crescent, Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, W11 1NN