After the seeing the excellent Spilliaerts exhibition at the RA I'd booked Zédel to see how one of the more up-market groups was handling the Covid thing. And eat some good grub too, natch.
The first post-lockdown restaurant and it was back to an old favourite after a day of sweating over the books in the library.
Flaming the salmon involved a geezer nailing a whole side of salmon to a plank before donning a fire-retardant suit and helmet and holding said plank to a charcoal-fed furnace.
If you want to learn to eat classic French food in style there are few places better to start than Le Train Bleu.
A jolly, squiffy and ultimately pooped evening in the company of a friend greatly missed.
Possibly the most terrifying meal of my life took place in Paris.
Those of you who under the age of 40 who have seen Murder on the Orient Express would imagine that any travel to Paris in pre-Eurostar days involved personalised leather suitcases, glamorous travelling companions and silver service dining on a sleek machine-missile headed straight to the heart of lovetown. And murder.
It's often the case that it's only when you move away from a place that you appreciate the finest things about it, which until then you'd either been ignorant of, or had taken for granted. Such was the case with Romanas in Ferryhill.
There being no opportunities to practice being a lounge lizard or a Roman Emperor in 1990s County Durham (or that's what Miss Roddam said anyway) I put in for sixth form work experience in a bookshop.
The Thinford Inn. The earliest restaurant I can remember. As a small child in Southend the closest I got to going to a restaurant was getting a takeaway from Pang's or eating a bag of crisps in a pub car park. Until I went on holiday to County Durham.