Little Portland Café works. Why go to a chain to be served in a listless manner by someone who was trained (and instructed) to Smile Brightly and squeeze extras out of you?
Fish & Chips in Shoeburyness with a splash of The Cure as an intro.
Bombay Spice in Marylebone delivers underwhelming food in a repetitive sound-world. Philip Glass inevitably comes to mind.
In a shabbed room I ate creatures of the deep. And drank warm wine.
Bibigo makes for a very civilised evening out that won't break the bank.
Francis West's thrilling paintings at Megan Piper are well worth the trip.
In anticipation of the RA's colossal Abstract Expressionism down the road I'd recommend getting along to Vigo to see work which seems to have direct inspiration from some of those artists in its energy and its stripped down rawness.
An excellent revival of a neglected JB Priestley play leads to thoughts of another possible JBP revival.
In the very bowels of Somerset House it's Spring all year round. Possibly the prettiest room in London with food to match.
Formica tables, functional flatware and a paper napkin slimmer than graphene are the way the IC rolls. You're not in Dishoom now, this is the real thing. Or at least a mid-twentieth century Anglo-Indian reality.