Good Italian food at Osteria.
An incompetent waiter prompts a trip down memory lane.
Good food followed by an hour of Trotskyite propaganda delivered with all the charm of a carriage full of soccer hooligans beating up your grandma.
The room is beautifully light, even on a crappy November day. It's got to be one of the most elegant dining rooms in London at mid-price.
The service was good - charmingly wonky, I like that. Other people paying these kinds of prices might prefer to cross the road to the Delaunay to seek the kind of standard they're used to paying for. For myself, I'm not sure I'd walk past Spring, which is just across the courtyard and in my experience does this kind of thing better.
Mass, taste, juice. A good burger.
Every athlete knows that the way to prepare for a ten mile race is to drink 6 pints and eat like a Belgian. Which is why I found myself in Huis the evening before the Great South Run.