FOUR : Four O Nine

She says...

Everything is revolving around our trip to Peru. Being a thoroughly urban type these days I don't possess such things as hiking boots and a rain jacket, so, after a Facebook shout out, kind friends offered to lend me theirs. A trip South of the River was organised last weekend to gather the goods, and whilst we're there, coz like it doesn't happen often, we decided to go to the Clapham restaurant recommended after another FB post, by old acquaintance Claire. I haven't actually spoken to her for about 7 years. Funny what things people respond to on Facebook.

Getting out at Clapham North tube station bought back memories of the time I did used to speak to Claire regularly, when we were part of the same posse that revolved around my then boyfriend, Dave. I think one of this group of ex-High Wiycombers actually lived at the other end of Landor Road where the restaurant is located.

It's handily right opposite the tube - an inconspicuous doorway with an intercom. Once buzzed in, like spies, we were welcomed at the top of the stairs by friendly and professional staff, and seated in the warm and stylish half full dining room. This being Sunday there was an offer of 2 courses for £20, 3 for £24. It all looked delicious, and the same dishes are available on the al a carte at considerably more expense.


I started with the crispy baby artichoke with marinated black olives and parsley & pine nut puree. My only gripe was that it was a very small portion and I was starving, having waived breakfast! Lovely contrast of textures, and perfectly judged combinations of sweet and slightly sour. Matt was equally impressed with his fois gras and chicken liver parfait and tomato chutney. His slab of smooth and creamy parfait was enormous though, so of course I had to help him finish it.

 

For the main course I veered away from the Sunday lunch tradition and ordered hake with gnocchi. The light, perfectly cooked fish was a bit of a strange contrast to the gluttonous stuffed gnocchi and perhaps a bit over salted, but still bloody lovely. Matt again lucked out in the portion size department. But then he is a big boy. The proper Sunday roast option was a huge slice of medium rare sirloin steak, veg and Yorkshire pudding.

I was the only one with a dessert-shaped hole to fill so ordered poached apple with ginger semifreddo mousse. Not sure which of us ate more of it.

A nice selection of wines by the glass meant I could pretend to be restrained for once with one glass of a lovely rounded Sauvingon Blanc (Domaine Vauvy, Torraine, France 2010) whilst Matt could experiment with 2 different Argentinian reds: Malbec, La Chamiza ‘Polo Amateur’ Mendoza 2010, and Vinedos de la Posada Merlot Fair-Trade, La Rioja, Argentina 2010. All at £7.

The cocktails also sounded enticing, and the two seperate groups of six lads of a certain age (early thirties probably, maybe rugger buggers) were taking full advantage of the cocktail of the day - a Pornstar Martini. An intriguingly incongruous choice I thought, and clearly as close to seedy sex shenangigins as those boys were going to be allowed to get on a Sunday lunchtime in Clapham.

As I wrote on their feedback card in the hope of winning a return visit - it's not cheap, but it is absolutely value for money. Enough of a treat to make it a destination restaurant, but casual enough that we felt comfortable reading the papers over lunch. I wish I lived closer and could call it my local. Thanks Claire; if we get as far as needing a restaurant for number four hundred and nine we'll definitely be back.

Restaurant #4: 9/10


He says...

Loitering on the litter-strewn Clapham North street corner waiting for them to buzz us through the locked door, I felt as though we were about to make an illicit backstreet deal rather than eat a pleasant Sunday lunch.

But this is the way they do things at the exclusive-feeling Four O Nine, which appropriately won the 2010 ‘Hidden Gem’ restaurant award. Climbing the stairs to find elegant décor and welcoming staff rather than a damp bedsit was a relief, despite the curious locally-themed wallpaper featuring images of road signs directing us to Stockwell.

Kat noted with interest that the place was mainly filled with groups of men, which did give it a confusing air of blokey boozer meets mildly romantic eaterie.

After nibbles topped with taramosalata, I have the best (and probably cruellest) thing I’ve eaten this year, beating even the Peruvian chocolate that Kat brought home a few weeks ago: a foie gras and chicken liver parfait with tomato chutney and toast, which tasted so good with Argentinian Malbec that my brain shuddered orgasmically with every mouthful.

After eating about half of the soft block and finding that its subtle yet strangely overpowering flavours just tasted better and better, I entered into a period of giddy enthusiasm, buoyed by mouthfuls of good wine. Like all the best food it had me considering the arrangement of taste buds on my tongue.

As I stuffed slices of parfait on toast into Kat’s mouth whilst praising its velvety smoothness, I wondered whether I was being annoying, and perhaps even showing naiveté by being so excited about what is probably a fairly ordinary parfait.

Almost overcome already, my main course arrives, and once again I feel like the victor in this two-halved game of food:  roast sirloin with roast potatoes, carrot fondue, greens, Yorkshire pudding and red wine jus. The beef comes in enormous juicy slabs, edged with yellow chunks of fat and sat on the creamy carrot fondue - the perfect accompaniment. The meal was a rare combination of quantity and quality on a plate.

Kat’s hake with gnocchi looked very sorry by comparison. As did Kat, whose last-minute addition of poached apple did little to redress the balance. Matt 2 – Kat 0.

Restaurant #4: 9/10

At fours and fives.. and nines...

She says...

No, no you're wrong! I heard about Le Manoir positively years ago! *gets off high horse*

Anyway we've now roped in one lot of parents, setting them the task of finding a restaurant somewhere in Cheshire with five in the title for when we come up bearing gifts, Santa-stylee, before our trip to South America. Which means number four has to be between now and then... Decisions need to be made!

Another option for four that's come up in my google searches is this place - a Greek restaurant in central London called The Four Lanterns. Too similar to the Turkish belly dancing place in location and cuisine (what! cry all our Greek and Turkish followers in outrage - our food is as different as our debt crisises!) I think for us this time. Claiming to be near Madame Tussauds I'm more interested in its proximity to Urban Outfitters on Oxford Street, and am definitely going to bear it in mind for a cheap and cheerful after-shopping eatery.

Looking further down the timeline, I've come across this inviting looking place for future number nine. I could eat the herb crusted whatever-meat-it-is pictured on the home page right now in fact.


A good excuse for a jaunt to Stratford Upon Avon; it's been a, wrinkle-forming, long time since I numbed my bum watching Romeo & Juliet there whilst on a school trip. Be nice to refresh the progressively patchy memory.

The sinister side of organic food

He says...

Kat seems to have forgotten that it was I who told her about Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons, after a PR-type person (not for the restaurant, I hasten to add) informed me that they make amazing Sunday roasts entirely out of locally-sourced meat and vegetables.

However, I have recently discovered a more sinister side to organic food. On Sunday we went for lunch at our friends' house, where we sampled the vegetables that had been brought back from a parental garden in Wales. This included a disturbing conjoined carrot, with five twisted carrot-fingers growing from a sort of carrot-palm. It was similar to the gnarled right hand of The Elephant Man Joseph Merrick, and has haunted me a little ever since.

One benefit of the Chinese restaurant The Four Seasons is that at least the vegetables would be chopped into thin strips, utterly disimilar to the horrifically-deformed claw of a Victorian side show freak. But on the down side, I've already eaten there.

However, I'm intrigued by the Four O Nine in Clapham North. Apparently diners are required to buzz the doorbell then give their name before they are granted access, which is just how I imagine it works at the swingers' club up the road from our flat.

Finding four...

She says...

Hummm looking back at my review of Les Trois Garcons I feel I might have been a little unfair. Two weeks later I now know that I was just at the start of a long horrible cold, which could have dulled my taste buds, and obviously it was only a 'special' tasting menu we enjoyed, so the a la carte could still be incredible.


I remember thinking it was all very yummy last time I went, although the memory of the food on that visit is over-shadowed by the fact I spent most of the meal debating with my fellow diner whether we had the balls to complain about the wine, which tasted rank. Turns out it WAS corked, or in some way wrong. The waiter was horrified how much we'd drunk of it, whisked it away and gave a us a whole replacement bottle. However, I immediately thought I had stomach ache from the odd chemicals I imagined swimming around my glass of wine. Moi et Les Trois Gracons, then... a difficult relationship it has to be said.


Anyway, onwards and upwards. How far? Well, how about this little place? It definitely fulfills my desire to venture further afield, being just off the M40 near Oxford. It was opened in 1984 and, according to the website - 'a year later it was awarded two Michelin stars, which it has now held for a remarkable 28 years'.

Wouldn't it be nice to be able to afford the six course tasting menu at Raymond Blanc's Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons.





Back to reality and this Chinese could be a good option. A nice change from fancy French food anyway. I think one of my previous bosses might have raved about this place as both of them lived in the Bayswater/Queensway area of London. It was also suggested more recently by one of our co-diners at Les Trois Garcons, whose impeccable taste I'd always follow if having a gastronomic dilemma. Looks a little shabby though to be honest, Clara.

More suggestions please!

THREE: Les Trois Garcons

She says...

As with many popular high-end restaurants Les Trois Garcons has two distinct sittings - the 'panic dash from work' early one, and the 'I'm not hungry now, because I had to have a snack to keep me going' late one. We went for 6:45pm, and I was keenly reminded that they would need the table back by 8:45pm sharp. I was 15 minutes late. Arghh! We've now only got one hour 45 minutes to complete six courses! Quick, where's the starter?

The first thing to arrive was the ubiquitous amuse bouche - a warm swirl of pasta with a mushroomy froth. I (in stark contrast to what Matt says below) found it fresh and full of flavour. A good start; the conversation and the yummy Argentinian Malbec (a reasonable £28 find from a long and varied wine list) started flowing.

The following dishes though, failed to break through our chatter. The starter proper, two styles of fois gras, lacked imagination. I couldn't help comparing it unfavourably to a meal we'd enjoyed with the same couple, at Odettes, in Primrose Hill. There the fois gras was teamed with roasted wood pigeon, pickled cherries, chocolate and vanilla salt - a sensational concoction that bounced around the mouth.

Back to The Three Frenchmen and the razor clam with melted cheese raised an approving ooooo from me, but the accompanying monkfish and strangely crunchy lump of potato had no zing. The venison course that came afterwards was tastless and lukewarm, with no tongue-pleasing combination of flavours. Perhaps foodie burglars had stolen the seasoning from the kitchen?

Oh no, clearly all the salt had been wasted on the square potato croquet nestling under the meat. Blurghh, so saline I had to immediately gulp some water. Even the chocolate dessert failed to live up to its decadent promise. The sweet red wine (a Maury from the Pyrenees) the waitress suggested as an accompaniment was intriguing, but underwhelming as well.

Despite the alert service, always on hand with refills of tap water, there's something a bit lacklustre about the restaurant and its food. The room is still beautifully quirky, with more handbags hanging from the ceiling than chandeliers, and one of the owners actually walked through the restaurant early on with the real life dalmatians that are immortalised in the giant portrait on the wall  (interview with Les Trois Garcons).

But it now feels like a dusty antique shop in need of a spring clean. I guess we should have been wary of the hint of desperation that putting offers on a voucher site gives off, and I left feeling mighty glad we hadn't paid the normal £60 for the tasting menu. However, we hadn't in actual fact had the normal tasting menu, and we hadn't really had six courses! One of the three fish/meat courses advertised on the website was missing. In its place we'd had a slim plate of petit fours.

Bit of a swizz really, rescued only by great company. The fact we discussed everything else - from holidays in Nicaragua and copyright law to the recent rise in the motorway speed limit - rather than the food, is telling I think! On the plus side, after all the emphasis on clock-watching, we never felt rushed, and were still at the table at 9:10pm being asked if we wanted coffee. The room was more than half empty by now, clearly not over-subscribed; but then it was a Monday night.

So not quite the dining outing I'd hoped for, and, as an experience is always judged against expectations, I'm not sure it justified the final bill of £56 each (wine, coffee and service were added to the prepaid £30 food offer).

Restaurant #3 = 5/10

He says...

As we were taken to our table, I noticed a tiger wearing a crown towering over a dining couple, while nearby a monkey was sat happily displaying his genitalia to the well-heeled guests of Hassan, Michel and Stefan - les trois garcons themselves.

The three restaurateurs have been bringing their brand of quirky dishevelled glamour to diners for over ten years, having built a loyal fanbase with signature French-influenced dishes and Alice in Wonderland decor.

But it could have been that Monday evening vibe (or that the redirected Heathrow flights had woken Kat and I too early that morning), but there was a tiredness to the proceedings.

The first discovery was that our grubby little vouchers proffered to the maitre d’ bought us a special tasting menu – not the one I eagerly noted on the website that featured Gressingham duck breast and Nori crusted Scottish scallops. No, this was a tasting menu that sadly lacked taste.

The pasta amuse bouche was vaguely mushroomy. Very vaguely. The Venison with red fruity sauce and two pretty girolle mushrooms was also surprisingly flavourless.

Even the slab of milk and white chocolate smeared with melted chocolate sauce – which should have elicited wild pronouncements of adoration – only got a mention at our table because the accompanying biscuit contained the popping candy that the kids at my school used to throw on the floor and then jump on to create loud crackling noises.

But the fois gras - both as pate and smokily pan-fried in Sauternes - collided well with the Argentinian Malbec. And the cube of monkfish fillet was meatily satisfying, although its accompanying razor clam with cheese let the side down.

A tasting menu should be something that surprises, delights and sparks discussion, but sadly my bouche was not amused.

Apparently either Hassan, Michel or Stefan passed by our table at one point, but I failed to notice, perhaps still mesmerised by the flashing monkey. Either that, or these trois garcons have become part of the furniture.

Time to follow the monkey, and show some bollocks?

Restaurant #3 = 7/10

Tasting menus

He says...

As one of our guests has said, six courses in under two hours is going to be like an extreme sport. Although to deem the by-now-ubiquitous amuse bouche an actual 'course' is pushing it a little. I'll be surprised if it surpasses the amuse bouche we received in the restaurant attached to our hotel in Italy the other week: a whole cup of caviar.

But this does all look rather good - especially the 'Seared Gressingham Duck Breast and slow cooked cabbage wrapped leg served with girolles, sugarsnaps and orange jus' - or Duck a l'orange as it was once known.

Unlike Kat, I've never eaten here, although I did once go to the Lounge Lover bar next door, which, unusually for a bar, doesn't have a bar. You just kind of casually hang around until a waiter asks you if you want a drink. Bit disconcerting really, but that's Shoreditch for you.

Number three is decided...

She says...

We've decided! With a little help from voucher people Groupon.

Having contemplated our less than perfect short list for a few weeks, I then got an email from Groupon advertising the 6 course tasting menu at Les Trois Garcons (see his previous post) for half price - £60 for 2 people instead of £120. Well one couldn't refuse, could one? After a hasty email inviting other friends to join us, our partners in gastronomic adventure, Joe & Clara, also got their voucher just before the deadline.

Les Trois Garcons fails on 2 of my accounts; I've already been there (albeit about 5 years ago) and it's inside Zone 2. But the thought of eating mini portions of posh French food overseen by a stuffed tiger, at HALF PRICE, more than outweighed these minor concerns. Although I hope I don't get corked wine this time.



Now, just need to get a booking before the 999 other voucher holders get in there before us.

Three's a crowd

She says...

Ok Ok here I am with my delayed missive, thoroughly chastised. Although it's hard to be enthusiastic about food when you're hungover and nauseous.

I'm pushing for the next restaurant we try to be a bit further from Zone One. I want to go exploring the outer reaches of the tube system, get off at stops I've never get off at before, and probably won't ever again. 

Therefore the 3 Oceans Bar & Restaurant (http://www.3-oceans.co.uk/index.html) would certainly seem to fit the bill. It's located near Woodside Park tube station, which after careful inspection of the tube map I found, 2 stops from the end of the High Barnet section of the Northern line. Brilliantly described as 'exquisite, trendy, tasty' on their home page, they have 3 different menus to chose from. In a quirky move the 'Continental' one features Thai fish cakes and chicken satay. Is it just me, or when someone mentions continental food do you think of things a bit closer to home?

Anyway, in another corner of the tube map, at the end of the Piccadilly Line somewhere very near Heathrow, is the Three Magpies pub. http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g186338-d1436578-Reviews-The_Three_Magpies-London_England.html. Maybe a good place to go on a date with a plane spotter, but, as we're tormented by the sound of low flying aircraft enough as it is at home, I don't think this is going to get either of our votes for a visit.

Handily bridging the gap between our second and third restauarnts though could be this place - a restaurant inside the H10 hotel in Waterloo called Three O Two. http://www.hotelh10londonwaterloo.com/en/index.html. Smart, slick and entirely souless by the look of it.

And talking of bridges this restaurant, called the Three Bridges, popped up. But on closer investigation it appears it's already collasped. http://www.london-eating.co.uk/30067-2.htm.

Choices choices...

Three suggestions for three

He says...

As Kat seems to have gone strangely quiet, I’ll take it upon myself to suggest a few options for our third restaurant. The obvious one is the tres expensive Les Trois Garcons in Shoreditch. The menu does look pretty fucking good, and there’s a tasting menu which features the now-ubiquitous glass of snot – sorry - Amuse Bouche… And Les Trois Garcons’ website reveals that their limited edition scented candle won the FIFI Fragrance award for the new home fragrance in erm… 2007.

From the great to the erm, not so great is the pub at the end of our road called The Famous Three Kings (or F3K for short), in which rugby fans smash each other over the heads with chairs as the landlord barks aggressively over the PA system, like a minority sports-appreciating despot. They probably do a mean egg in a bap.

Finally, at random, I’ve discovered Asta 3, a Japanese Restaurant in Aldgate which serves Bento Boxes. These are a good neat way of eating food if you don’t like the different things on your plate to mingle with each other too much.

TWO: Efes 2

He says...

I must admit I was having some slight misgivings about inviting urbane London friends to a restaurant that at best could be described as quirky, and whose main selling point was that it was once visited by Simon Bates.

My concerns were not abated when we arrived to the sound of a circular saw whining away in the upper part of the restaurant. Half of the place was under renovation, probably a wise move on the part of the management when we saw the parts that weren't. We were led downstairs to a large room with a small stage ominously littered with musical intruments. It would have had a party atmosphere if it wasn't quite so empty, and we were dealt with by some over-attentive waiters in matching red waistcoats.

The feeling that I was in a scene from Carry On Abroad continued when I walked into the gents' toilets to find that there weren't any toilets in there, or anything else for that matter. Walking out with a perplexed look on my face, a waiter pointed to the ladies next door with a look that suggested I should have known that already. With any luck, I thought, we'll all be pissed enough to see the funny side of this soon.

We were in the mood for cocktails, but there was only one cocktail on offer - a Turkish variant of Sex on the Beach, which arrived in varying tones of oranginess. Kat ordered the wine, which tasted pretty winey.

We started with the mixed meze, which arrived arranged on a silver platter with a magificant prawn cocktail centrepiece.

For the main course I ordered the Special Mixed Kebab - the word 'special' seeming to suggest all manner of unspoken delights. The Special Mixed Kebab is in fact a British-style mixed grill, but with the added factor of a small strip of pitta bread placed underneath it all. It was certainly hearty and well-cooked, although I could have done without the donner meat. My Venezualan friend looked disconcerted as I explained the term 'Elephant Leg'.

The room was starting to fill by now, including a wizened old man in a black suit who arrived with a girl far younger than him. Their proximity suggested that she was neither his daughter nor granddaughter.

The fun arrived right behind the booze, and the conversation led to a recent stag do, in which the stag was forced to wear a beard made of the other attendees' pubic hair. The hair, it seems, was plucked rather than shaven, and gathered over the weeks preceding the event.

But such fascinating insights were soon drowned out by the rising volume of the band over whose traditional music we were having to shout. A young girl came on and did a warbly vocal turn, then there was a jazz-funk interlude that seemed to betray the band's real passion. However, the promise of a Herbie Hancock-style workout was denied by the arrival of a lady in full belly-dancing gear. She was quite late, and Kat suggested that, much like Courtney Love, they had to wait for her drugs to arrive before she went on.

Within moments I was dragged up onto the dancefloor and the belly dancer waggled her breasts at me as I tried not to look like Jarvis Cocker. She then unceremoniously shooed me away. The room still being fairly sparsely populated, almost everyone in the room was dragged up - including Kat, who threw some surprisingly good shapes considering the dancer's decolletage was at her eye level. The old man and his young companion politely declined the dancer's advances.

My childed friends ran off to relieve the babysitter, and I was left hoping they had a good time. I think he did, at least - within moments I received a text message: 'The belly dancer is FIT'.

Restaurant #2 = 3/10


She says...

So my distress at being faced with a restaurant under construction on Friday has been somewhat put in context by the fact London is currently being deconstructed by rioters burning down buildings and looting as many trainers, iphones and HD TVs as they can get their hands on.

Dragging myself away from the turmoil on Twitter is hard, but I suppose I should give my thoughts on restaurant number 2.

Having made the mistake of actually reading a few, distinctly unenthusiastic, reviews in the hours leading up to our jaunt to Efes, my expectations were pretty low. Which proved useful on being presented with the building site on the ground floor level of our chosen restaurant and my early-arriving friends sitting at the outside, street level, tables looking unimpressed. They'd already ventured into the downstairs restaurant area but seeing it deserted came back up for air. Things could only get better.

So we persevered and let ourselves be ushered down to the large spacious basement dining room once again, where by this time a few other tables were already seated and there was a band set up for later entertainment. Quite understated decor, clean and tidy.

The waiters had a helpful, if slightly cheeky chappy, manner whilst explaining the intricacies of the menu. Basically a large array of 'set menus' consisting of a starter + main + coffee & fruit for £24, which you could alter at will with any of the other mains on the a la carte version. Kinda makes the whole set menu thing pointless, no? Anyway, we ignored the advice and opted for a couple of mixed hot & cold mezze starters to share, plus a main meal each. And some very drinkable white wine and impressive goblets of (the only available) cocktail - a house concoction involving a variety of spirits and something red. Yum.

The kitsch presentation of the cold mezze won praise, the bread seemed fresh and the grilled halloumi cheese was delicious. Our meaty mains were substantial and well cooked if lacking any finesse whatsoever, but the veggie mousaka was a bit under par by comparison. Overall, nowhere as near as bad an experience as I'd anticipated, and, for a round £35 each inc drink, on the edge of being good value for money.

Despite the reviews I'd previously read saying service was poor, rude and slow, our plates were cleared too speedily and we had to loiter with an empty table to catch the star attraction. She appeared, and gamely got most of our party of 7 to do some dancing with her. The boy came back to the table slightly flustered, but not entirely unhappy, stating with some admiration and somewhat unnecessarily, that she had ' waggled her tits in my face'.

Sophisticated this place is not, but it's also not a dive and the food is very tasty. If you want a jolly, ideally booze fueled and loud (the band did bang on a bit), Friday night out in very central London - job done :-)

Restaurant #2 = 6.5/10


NB - the ground floor alterations are due to be finished in 'oo a couple of weeks Madam, probably not more than 10 days'.

Tonight's the night for dancing...

She says...
Tonight we venture out again to play our numbers game. Efes 2, the Turkish restaurant with belly dancing EVERY night of the week, won out. We opted for a Friday as somehow indulging in Monday or midweek midrift seemed a bit wrong.

We've also extended an invitation to friends this time, safety in numbers after all (boom booom). Accompanying us is a selection of sophisticated taste buds from London and Cheshire, including the couple responsible for starting this shenanigans in the first place. So hoping the evening lives up to the expectation of silly fun and doesn't fall flat on its face in a deserted basement in the no man's land just South of Great Portland Street.


Having noticed another building brandishing the name Efes recently in Dalston, (http://thedalstonhowl.wordpress.com/photoblog/efes/) thought I'd do well to actually look up the meaning... Lo it's the Turkish name for the ancient Greek city Ephesus, as well as an established Turkish beer brewer who sponsor a (the?) basketball team in Istanbul. It is also, somewhat ironically, the Hebrew numeral for 'zero'. I think this information could prove important in future crossword completions.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Efes


Fashion NB - Am wearing harem pants today in honour of the occasion.

Our Tune

He says...
I'm on board for Belly Dancing! And the possibility of rubbing shoulders with 70s Radio 1 DJs Tony Blackburn and the mighty Simon 'Our Tune' Bates is too overwhelming to refuse. The tender and melancholy tones of the Our Tune backing music still haunt me to this day.

Hopefully they won't be expressing their post-fame nervous breakdowns over the stuffed vine leaves.

It also reminds me of this, Alan's own take on Our Tune...

If we make it to 40

She says...
Have just read about Jay Z apparently opening a restaurant in London with Ashley Cole, probably called 40/40 after his company, which is backing the venture. If we do one number a month we'll be at 40 by, er... October 2014. Loads of time for him to get it shipshape!

2 too many?

She says...
I didn't realise fonts had such an effect on food??

Well if the previous suggestions didn't titillate the taste buds enough, I've found another couple of  #2s...

A Turkish restaurant, Efes2, loitering on Great Portland Street, in central London, not a million miles away from the first 2 suggestions. It has an extensive menu of kebabs and other meze dishes, and if you book downstairs there's live music and BELLY DANCING! Oh my. AND, and this could tip the balance, it has been frequented by many a celebrity, as celebrated in a picture gallery on the site. There's no Princess Di unfortunately, but a prize to anyone who can actually name them all...

However, if we wanted to travel a bit further afield I've found a large glossy blue place near Finchley Central tube station - Two Brothers Fish restaurant. Now I think of myself as a bit of a chip connoisseur so this place (plaice?) appealed, until I read some pretty dire reviews on London Eating (one of my favourite and well used restaurant review sites). Small portions of dry chips would ruin our night out for sure. And in case you're interested, the best chips, in my experience, can be had at The Lock Tavern, Camden.

The menus...

He says...

The deep-fried courgette flower is intriguing, and I like the idea of a specifically Venetian restaurant, but there's one thing on that menu I DON'T like: the font. Piling italics onto already over-ornate lettering leaves me deeply suspicious that the place will have plastic flowers on the tables and a toilet seat that won't stay in the up position in the bog.

Meanwhile, Two Twenty Two's effort has that eighties squiggly-hand writing style that suggests that Princess Di might once have dined there before attending a Spandau Ballet concert. AND they serve apple crumble. No contest?

Ideas For TWO

He says...
As dicussions continue for the second resturant it strikes me that I might have to pay this time around. Suddenly a nice trip to the very reasonably priced boozer the Crown and Two Chairmen in London's hip and happening Soho seems appropriate... only kidding...

Other options include The Two Brewers in Clapham, which has been 'proudly serving the gay community for 29 years'.... I couldn't find a menu on the website, but presumably there would be plenty of sausage on it...

Also intriguing is the Two Rivers restaurant in Hull... which - get this - is actually underwater. 'Diners are treated to a Mediterranean menu whilst being surrounded by some of Europe's best aquatic displays' reads the website. For a vision of dining in a post-global warming future, it's a must.

She says...
Hummmm Clapham sounds tempting, I do love a bit of sausage. However, bearing in mind I think he's just offered to pay, I'm now planning somewhere more sophisticated. With a bit of help from a Facebook shout out I've come up with 2 possibilities for restaurant number two.

http://www.twotwentytwo-london.com/ in Marylebone was recommended by festival friend Ruby, and looks prefectly presentable and could feasibly be combined with a trip to Selfridges. Which means I might finally get round to spending those vouchers from a birthday years ago!

However, http://www.2veneti.com/, which is by bizarre co-incidence just round the corner from Twotwentytwo, was suggested by Northern amateur restaurant critic Emily, and wins my vote so far for the 'stuffed courgette flower' on the menu. I heard about this Italian speciality for the first time just recently, from our Italian connections at the boy's birthday drinks. Gigi had gone as far as importing some from her hometown just ouside Rome on her latest trip, surreptitiously passing it over in a brown paper bag to her friend at the back of the pub, with lots of secret mutterings. Well, that's what they told me it was anyway...

ONE: 1 Lombard Street, London

she says...
Stuck in a restaunt rut? Always going to the nice little Italian down the road? The one with the fairly priced menu, the one you're so familiar with you've stopped even powdering your nose or squirting on deoderant before heading there? Or equally, are you fed up with reading about the same trendy new recommendations in Time Out and the weekend papers? Yeah me too.

So, how to randomly expand the taste bud horizons when there's so many restaurants to chose from, and so many people telling you about them?

Basically I wanted to rival our friends culinary journey through the alphabet... the obvious (to me anyway!) solution being changing to numbers, numbers in the name. Easily swayed, after a few drinks and some gentle leg rubbing, the boy agreed. "This will be FUN!" I announced, to a packed carriage.

he says...
The plan was devised about a month ago on a tube journey back from a birthday party where the birthday girl's husband revealed that for some time they had been undertaking a strange and futile culinary project. They'd been visiting restaurants around London whose cuisine goes through each letter of the alphabet in order. Beginning with 'A' with something like an Armenian eatery, followed by Bangladeshi, Cuban, Democratic Republic of the Congo, etc...

Intrigued, Kat decided we should visit restaurants that have numbers in their name, in order: 1, 2, 3 etc etc. Initially sceptical, I was swayed by the thought of eating out at random establishments... and I was also a bit drunk.

Friends I've told about this plan have generally responded with a befuddled 'Why?' - not an easy question to answer. Why indeed?

And so our number 1 was booked by Kat to celebrate my birthday: 1 Lombard Street, in the City, a restaurant that portentously describes itself as the Square Mile's 'most established resturant'. How do you go about being more established than someone else? How do you reach the pinnacle of establishment? We are about to find out....


She says...
So, starting in the immediate vacinity of London, it was a toss up between One Lombard Street and One Aldwych... the former won for its yummy sounding 5 course degustation menu for a measly £25.

The boy's birthday, Monday 4th July, arrived and I nervously contemplated being the only ones, or the only ones not on a city expense account at the very least, in the restaurant. But it wasn't nearly as stuffy as it could have been, seeing as it's situated in an old bank in the heart of snooty suit land. Our waiting lady did border on smarmy, but encouraged us to try a very appley and pleasent English, (if the French would let us it would be called Champagne), sparkling wine for an apperative... but after pondering our napkins for another 10 minutes we did have to specifically ask for the set dinner menu with an awkward "honestly we're not cheapo gypos" cringe.

A mini minty pea soup amuse bouche and 5 small but really very lovely dishes of mushroom & artichoke salad, tuna sashimi, scallops, roast lamb and strawberries later, I was giddy and 'just' about full enough. Do not try this if you're a starving giant, or someone who rates a restaurant on quantity over quality! I possibly ingested twice as much wine as food in fact, as we opted for 3 different (175ml) glasses of wine rather than a bottle. Not the sensible way to start the week - but fuck it.

We enjoyed being part of the establishment for the night, and wondered what deals we would have overheard being brokered by the Japanese businessmen on the table next door, had we been interested enough to listen. Smug smiles on faces as we fell asleep on each on the tube home, our weekend festival fatigue setting in. Well worth the final £145 (including service) bill.

she says... restaurant #1 = 9/10
he says... restaurant #1 = 9/10

Where next for number '2'?? Suggestions welcome!

Wine we tasted...
Ridgeview English sparkling wine
Gruner Austrian white
Verdejo Spanish white
Nero d'Avola Sicillian red