The Devonshire Arms: Wobbly But Nice

126 Devonshire Road, W4 2JJ

tel: +44 (0)20 8742 2302

About an hour and a half into my first visit to Chiswick's newest gastropub, I asked if I could speak to the manager. A nice chap called Joe promptly came over and pulled up a chair. "Joe" I said, "I so want to love this pub. We live just down the road and I was so happy to hear you took over from that ghastly Gordon Ramsay venture that came before you." He looked at me with genuine concern as I continued. "I know you've just opened so I've gotta grant you some slack, but the service has been pretty disastrous and the main you just put down in front of my friend is a joke." Joe bowed his head and said, "I know, today has been total chaos. We're completely overrun. I am so, so sorry. Let me talk to the chef and get back to you." So here's what happened.

Our table for four was right in the middle of the main room of the pub. With wood floors and high ceilings, it's a lovely space and has all the trademarks of a gastropub. Unfortunately on the the Sunday we visited, we immediately felt like we'd been dropped into the middle of a creche. A gaggle of posh children were running wild, their parents obliviously downing bottles of rose. Of course, that's not the pub's fault, but it made it nearly impossible to have any kind of conversation without our chairs being bumped by a screeching kid with a helium balloon in tow every two minutes. We tried our best not to stick out our legs and trip the children for fun and ordered a half pint of prawns with marie rose sauce (£6.50) to start. The prawns were delicious but TINY. And I'm afraid I compare every pint of prawns with the EXCELLENT ones they have down the road at the excellent Anglesea Arms in Ravenscourt Park. There - they are huge, delicious and come with the most incredible garlic aioli. These ones just don't compare I'm afraid.

Half an hour after we finished our starter, no one had come to clear away the dishes. Our wine glasses were empty. Our bellies were growling. One of the other-people's-children started howling. I flagged down our waitress and asked if she would mind clearing the table and getting us some more drinks. She fumbled around for her notepad furiously and I said we'd all just have the same as we'd first ordered. She looked perplexed. "What did you order?" she asked. I told her and she wrote it down and then walked away without clearing any of the empties. Fifteen minutes later she returned with the wine. And then she did something curious. Even though we hadn't touched our cutlery with the prawns starter, she started taking it away and replacing it with brand new stuff. My friend said, "oh don't worry about that, we didn't use these." She said it was her job to change it anyhow. So she did. But by now we had about ten empty wine glasses on our table. She walked away without clearing any of them. It was almost comical. When the mains finally did arrive (they took an hour) she had no choice but to put the plates down on another table to clear the collection of wine glass carnage away. Friend number one dug into her slow roasted pork belly with roast potatoes, borlotti beans and cherry tomatoes (£12.50) and sighed. "This was actually worth the wait," she said purring with pleasure.

I'm afraid patience isn't one of my strong suits, so I wasn't prepared to be as forgiving. But when I tasted my grilled bavette with peppercorn sauce, chips and roasted bulb of garlic (£14.50) I too lost my edge. It was red, rare, chewy and melted in my mouth. The peppercorn sauce was deliciously rich and tasted just as good on the chips as poured over the meat. I loved the final touch of the roasted garlic which was soft, sweet and succulent. My husband had the same and gave it his approval by mopping up every bit of sauce with his last remaining chip.

Where the mains ventured off course was with friend number two's order of girolle & samphire risotto (£13.75). The portion size truly was a joke. It came in a layer so thin that there was surely only three small spoonfuls worth. It was hardly even starter size let alone a main course. Friend number one simply said, "they're taking the piss." And so that's when Joe was hailed. With his gracious apology, the dish was left at the table and 30 minutes later a new, huge portion arrived. Friend two admitted that it was delicious. It was just a shame she had to eat it on her own as the rest of us had finished ages ago. After her plate was finally cleared, Joe came over and said he'd had a word with a chef and agreed that the portion size was unacceptable. So was the wait. As compensation, he offered to take the price of ALL the mains off our bill. We accepted. And after he left the table we all agreed how much we liked him. Not just because our bill came to £30 for four but because it was the right thing to do. While my friends celebrated the deal with coffee, I ordered the oddest sounding dessert on the menu.

Hendricks gin and tonic jelly with blueberry compote and cream (£6.00). Man alive it was boozy. But great fun. And though the service was just as wobbly as the pudding, I feel compelled to return. The Devonshire Arms is experiencing some growing pains, but maybe that's to be expected. As we left, Joe apologised again and said he sincerely hoped he'd see us soon. Because of his gracious gesture and the undeniably good food - he will. 

Foodie Getaway: Weekend in Whitstable

I was so looking forward to Christmas this year. Newly married, my husband and I decided to spend the holidays alone - away from the madness of in-laws. I booked a cosy cottage in the Lake District and made reservations at the excellent Jumble Room in Grasmere, and the superb Drunken Duck in Ambleside. But as sod's law would have it, two disasters struck. First: Snowmageddon hit Britain (or to this haughty Canadian - a sprinkle of snow). Second: a nasty flu bug hit me. Holiday cancelled, we spend our first Christmas as a married couple on the sofa in our flat watching DVDs as I shivered under blankets with a hot water bottle. Two weeks later when I recovered, I booked a weekend in Whitstable to make up for the flu-that-stole-Christmas. I had a few friends who had visited in recent months and they all came back raving about the restaurants. First on my weekend hitlist was The Sportsman.

This gastropub earned itself a Michelin star in 2008 and foodies have been scrambling to get a table ever since. It's about two miles down the road from Whitstable. We walked along the sea, which took us about an hour and a half. The chef, Stephen Harris is self-taught and started cooking professionally at 33.  We began with three poached rock oysters with pickled cucumber and caviar (£7.95). They were unbelievably creamy with a nice splash of vinegar and the rich aftertaste of caviar. I liked them very much, but my oyster-loving husband said the cream overtook the freshness and raw taste of the oysters. So after polishing off the poached ones, we ordered two Whitstable oysters (£2.95 each) - on the rocks.

"Much better," cooed my husband. He was even happier when the waitress pointed outside the window and told him they had been caught that very morning just a few feet from the front door of the pub.

For my after-oyster starter, I opted for the crab risotto (£9.95). It was intensely rich, cooked in a crabby broth, but remarkably light for a risotto. The grains of rice were much thinner than typical risottos and the portion size just right for a starter. The shaved crab on top was so fresh, I imagined it was happily crawling across the shore that very morning (sorry crab). It was easily my favourite course.

If I had one regret, it's that I didn't stick with seafood for my main course. Instead I was swayed by the waitress who said the local lamb with homemade mint sauce (£16.95) was by far her favourite dish on the menu. Don't get me wrong, it was lovely. But it did taste like every gastropub Sunday lunch I've had in London recently. Being a Michelin-starred pub, I suppose I was expecting something a little more extraordinary. My fella did slightly better with a succulent rich roast breast and confit leg of Aylesbury duck with red wine sauce (£16.95). Both our mains were washed down with the best wine I've had this year:  a spicy 2008 number called Caliterra Tributo Carmenere from Chile (£19.95).

For desert, I chose the cream cheese ice cream and pear puree. The ice cream was delicious, but the pear puree with bits of meringue made it a bit too sweet for my liking. All in all, The Sportsman was very good and the service, some of the friendliest we had encountered. It was a wee bit pricey, so I might not rush back immediately, but would definitely recommend it for a special meal or a celebration.

We had planned to eat dinner at the Whitstable institution that is Wheeler's Oyster Bar. Located on the High Street, Wheeler's has been around for over 150 years and critics say it has the best seafood in town. But, bad news for us - it was closed for a winter break. Instead, the owner of our wonderful B&B suggested a place right next door called Samphire. Not having any expectations, we were pleasantly surprised and loved the pork belly starter with roasted apple chutney (£5.95). Hubby had a gorgeous vegetarian pie with roasted butternut squash and twineham cheese, which we were told was like an English parmesan (£13.50). The food and atmosphere were very homey. 

But the best meal of the weekend was had at JoJo's, a 15 minute walk from Whitstable. I had read a glowing review by Jay Rayner. But things had changed significantly since he wrote that article. JoJo's is no longer a "stripped out bedsit" - but rather a full-fledged restaurant that's now six times the size it once was. It's a buzzy, fun restaurant which specialises in Mediterranean mezze, like the chargrilled squid with chorizo, red pepper, cherry tomatoes and shallots (£9.95) pictured above.

Nikki Billington (middle) is the entertaining, frenetic chef. Her partner Paul Watson is front of house. When I called to make a booking, he told me JoJo's was BYOB. "Corkage is £2 a bottle - unless you buy your wine from Tesco - then it's £5 a bottle," he said seriously. We were lucky enough to secure one of the last spots in the restaurant - at the bar overlooking the kitchen. We got to witness Nikki's wit and the fast-pace of a busy kitchen in action.

We loved the golden, crispy deep fried courgettes with parmesan and garlic mayo (£5.30). Nikki swore at her sous-chef when they didn't come out perfectly the first time and asked them to make them over again. He mouthed something silently back at her, but did as he was told - and they came out perfectly battered.

The Monkshill mutton and feta koftas with spicy tomato sauce and tsatziki (£9.50) were tasty and gave me memories of traveling round the Greek islands. The sauce was absolutely gorgeous, with just the right amount of kick. I told Nikki so and she offered to email me the recipe if I wanted it.

The chargrilled sardines with lemon and black pepper (£6.95) were blackened on the outside, but perfectly tender on the inside.

I chose the plum crumble with ice cream (£5.25) over the chocolate torte for desert. Paul warned me it would take about 15 minutes to cook, but I was happy to digest the flavours of the mezze and watch the bustling kitchen while I waited. When it came, the crumble was a delicious blend of sour plum and browned sugar. It was the perfect end to the perfect foodie weekend. Since raving about these three spots on Twitter, a Whitstable local (@SimonPoole) got in touch to say I should add the Three Mariners at Oare to my list, as well as Salt Marsh and the Dove at Dartgate. Being just an hour and a half from London, I most certainly will return and am already licking my lips in anticipation.


The Sportsman
Faversham Road, Seasalter, Whitstable, Kent CT5 4BP
tel: +44 (0)1227 273 370


Samphire
4 High Street, Whitstable CT5 1BQ
tel: +44 (0)1227 770 075


JoJo's
2 Herne Bay Road, Whitstable, CT5 2LQ
tel: +44 (0)1227 274 591

The White Horse: Richmond's Sloaney Poney

14-16 Worple Way, Richmond, TW10 6DF

tel: +44 (0)20 8940 2418

When I first moved to London in 2001, I was living with a very posh, 50-something female flatmate who was keen to show me all things British. She started me off with a few top tips. 1) You mustn't buy your bed linens anywhere expect John Lewis. 2) You must never say, "I'm full" after a meal - one says, "I'm replete". 3) If you want to meet nice men, go to the White Horse in Parsons Green. Famously dubbed the Sloaney Pony because of its posh clientele, a single girlfriend and I gave it a go one Friday night. It was disastrous. The "nice men" were all pretentious tossers, most of them smashed off their faces bragging about their latest sailing trip to Croatia. We lasted one beer before running for cover.

Fast forward ten years. A girlfriend of mine with a new bloke in her life texts me to ask if me and my fella would like to meet them for Sunday lunch. She suggests the White Horse. I gulp. But then I notice she's said, "the White Horse in Richmond." I sigh with relief. Thank heavens for the plethora of pubs in London, many with the same name. So I check out the website. It dubs itself as a "lovely local gastropub" and says it's famous for two things: its great food and fantastic staff. When we arrive on the first Sunday of 2011, the place is packed with reserved signs on every table. The first thing we notice is the high proportion of children. And dogs. Together, they almost outnumber adults. As we try to squeeze through a narrow pathway to our table, no one gets out of the way. "Pardon me," I say politely to a table of well-groomed men and women wearing wool jumpers and wellies. No response. "Excuse me," I say again, this time with a little more edge. "Could I just sneak through?" A man with horn-rimmed glasses snorts something posh and incomprehensible at me and grudgingly moves his chair in 1mm. "Thanks," I say out loud. "For nothing," I mumble under my breath. And then it dawns on me. This White Horse is the adult equivalent of the Sloaney Pony. This is where those same bragging, pretentious tossers come when they have perfect children and golden retrievers. Oh lord, I think. This is going to be a long lunch.

Luckily, the food is fantastic. The White Horse offers a choice of Sunday roasts - beef, pork, lamb, chicken or turkey.  Two of us choose the beef (£15.95). While the Yorkshire pudding was a little burnt, the meat was rare, juicy and coated in a gorgeous gravy. It was perfectly matched with a plummy Argentinean Malbec advertised on the "bin ends" chalkboard. We tried to order another bottle, but a charming waitress informed us we had drunk them dry of Malbec. She brought over an impressive wine list, featuring over 55 bottles and we managed to find an apt replacement with the house red. 

My husband, still feeling a little delicate from a boozy dinner party the previous evening, ordered the wild boar sausages with mashed potatoes and red wine gravy (£10.95). He had nothing but praise for the sausages and mopped up every last drop of the rich, thyme-filled red wine gravy.

Across the table, our girlfriend's new bloke went for the burger with melted cheddar, mustard mayo and chips (£10.95). He gave it the nod of approval and complimented the chargrilled flavour adding, "for a pub burger, this is pretty damn good." He comments that he'd order it again, but would ask for the bun to be grilled too. "The buns in this country always let the burgers down," he concluded. All in all, I'd give the White Horse a 8.5/10. The service was cheery; the food super tasty; the clientele - a bit wanky. That's not the fault of the pub. Where there's a White Horse, sloanes will follow. 

The Prince Albert: Too Posh to Rush

85 Albert Bridge Road, SW11 4PF

tel: +44 (0)20 7228 0923

Reading up on the Prince Albert pub before my first visit, many of the reviews weren't exactly glowing. Slow service and snotty staff were the most cited complaints. Others lamented that it was impossible to get a table at weekends. So, with low expectations - me, the hubby and two friends decided to pay it a visit on a recent Sunday at lunchtime. Despite the poor reviews, the pub is perfectly located overlooking the beautiful Battersea Park. Walking in the door, we were met with warming and spicy smells of mulled wine. Sure enough, there weren't any tables to be found, but there were four free stools at the bar. We hunkered down and ordered a couple pints of the Wandle - brewed just down the road. We spoke to a friendly young server who put our names on a waiting list for a table. "It should be about half an hour," she smiled. 

Famous last words. An hour later, we still didn't have a table. The lady was apologetic but said there was nothing she could do. It seemed the rugby had started, and legions of well-built men with their collars upturned were there to stay. We ordered a couple starters at the bar. A prawn cocktail (£7) came on a bed of limp lettuce which rather dampened their appeal. They certainly were no match for the pint of prawns you can get at the excellent Anglesea Arms. Better though was the country pate with apple chutney (£6.95). The chutney was a lovely balance of onions and nutmeg and we all agreed that it outshone the pate. 

By the time we finally did get a table an hour and a half later, the sun was beginning to set. And the table wasn't quite what we expected. We were taken away from the pub area and upstairs to the private room. While it was a stunning space with its own bar and a great view of Battersea Park, it was also filled with a table of 50 people having a Christmas party. Children running wild, grandmothers wearing paper crowns. Luckily, they were all fairly inoffensive. I ordered a Sunday roast with all the trimmings for £16.50. It was delicious. Rare, tender and in a delicious gravy. The roast potatoes were a little burnt and the Yorkshire pudding nothing to write home about, but the beef was well and truly beautifully cooked.

My friend ordered the seabass with baby clams on a bed of mashed potatoes (£15). It was even better than the beef. The buttered clams, slid easily out of their shells and into a lovely pesto sauce. 

My husband opted for the fish curry (£11) which was fairly unexciting in my opinion, but he seemed happy. We washed things down with a lovely red called Chateau Lescalles (£6.20 per glass).

Pudding came in the form of a dark chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream. As far as brownies go, I'd give this one a 7/10. As far as pubs go, I'd give The Prince Albert a 6.5. It gets points for the beers on tap, the lovely view and the tasty roasts and seabass. The deductions come from the wait, the price (fairly expensive) and the rugby toffs hogging all the tables.

The Cow: Guinness Gracious

89 Westbourne Park Road

W2 5QH

tel: +44 (0)20 7221 0021

The Cow is a damn fine pub. The best I've visited in the past two months. Tom Conran of the Conran family dynasty owns the joint. In fact, he's got two other restaurants on the same road: Lucky 7 (an American-style diner) and Crazy Homies (Mexican food with wonky decor). For The Cow, he's also chosen a theme: Guinness and oysters. It works. The pub itself has a retro kind of feel to it. Lots of 1950s signage and general knicknackorage inside. But it gives the place a warm, homey feeling. That was only enhanced by the hearty welcome we received  from the trendy young barman when we walked through the front doors.

At weekends, this small pub heaves with people seeking respite from Portobello Road market. But during the week, the locals frequent and it's much less packed. It's a nice friendly, neighbourhood pub kind of vibe. Upstairs, there's a dining room you can book. But I say, sod the stuffiness and stay downstairs where the real atmosphere is. The Cow has an excellent range of beers and ciders on tap. There's Guinness, ESB, London Pride and the mega-tasty Tribute Cornish ale. We took the lead from the locals sitting at the bar and began with 12 oysters - six Irish rocks (£9.50) and six Frence fines de claires (£9.95) - and two pints of Guinness.

The Irish rocks were bigger, saltier and tasted like they had been pulled straight from the sea that very morning. The French ones were smaller, smoother and much creamier. Both were divine on their own but not being an oyster purist, I thought they were even better with a scoop of red wine and shallot sauce. Total perfection. I have only ever tasted oysters this good at the oyster bar in Grand Central Station, NYC. Instead of stuffing ourselves silly, we decided to skip the mains and opt for a couple more starters. First up, pork rillettes on toast (£7). Rich, porky badness in such a good way. Very moorish. Top tip: one plate is certainly enough for two.

The second starter was a plate of big mama tiger prawns with leeks and saffron (£8). These were scrumptuous. Super fresh, buttery, with nice hit of saffron. I get the feeling seafood is what they do best at The Cow. A steaming bowl of fish stew, rouille and croutons (£13.25) passed by our table and we nearly left our seats and followed it. Another handsome dish that I'd like to try on a return visit (there will be many) is the handmade tagliolini with crab and tomato chilli (£9.50). The Cow does do meat - with such a name it would be strange if it didn't - including sausages and mash (£13.25) and a fine sounding aberdeen angus fore rib with green peppercorn butter (for a fairly pricey £19.50). Sadly we were too stuffed to sample either. Saying that however...there did seem to be room for pudding.

And oh what it a pud it was. Simply described as a chocolate pot (£6.50) - it really was so much more. I know this is going to sound over-the-top, but the raspberries it came with actually transported me back to my youth. They were so sweet and right-out-of-the-garden-fresh-tasting. It reminded me of picking raspberries by the bucket-load on our family farm as a young whippersnapper. I swear to you - I haven't tasted raspberries this good since. Then there was the whipped cream. Perhaps it's named The Cow because they have one out back. That's how fresh IT tasted. The chocolate pot itself was thick, dark and rich. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from having a When-Harry-Met-Sally moment. The whole meal was an absolute pleasure. The prices are higher than your average pub, but then again so is the quality of the food. The Cow is udderly fantastic. 

The Brown Dog: Pooches rule, people drool

28 Cross Street, Barnes, SW13 0AP

tel: +44 (0)20 8392 2200

"Sometimes there are more dogs than people in here," laughs the soft-spoken Canadian landlord of the Brown Dog. This was proven correct by Exhibit A: a gigantic poodle sitting under the table beside us gnawing noisily on a big bone. Its owners were oblivious, too busy tucking away into their Sunday roasts with intense concentration. Exhibit B: a devilish little terrier running around the front of the bar, like he owned the place. "Yeah, and if you haven't seen it yet, come and check out our dog wall of fame," the landlord adds. "It's an ode to all the local dogs that hang here."

LOVE IT. On the other hand, if you don't like the idea of pups in pubs, then the Brown Dog is not for you. Indeed as the landlord tells me: "one lady got in such a state about having dogs in the pub that we had to ask her to leave." So there you have it. Dogs definitely rule here. But luckily for humans, the food is also top notch.

My friend G and I ventured in on a sunny Sunday.  While there were plenty of appealing starters on the menu (plum & parma ham salad with sesame dressing for £6.50 or six Irish rock oysters with chili & lemon vinegar for £9) we had neighboring table envy and went straight for the roast beef of the day (£16.50). It was the giant, golden Yorkshire puddings that swayed us, I think. There were plenty of ales to choose from (a light Wandle ale, brewed in Battersea and a bitter from Kent) but I was in a wine mood. The waitress suggested a large glass of rioja, which turned it into the perfect Sunday lunch. Well, almost...

For dessert, I chose the English Cox apple crumble with vanilla ice cream (£5.50). If I had been a dog, my tail would have been wagging with delight. G went for a sticky toffee bread and butter pudding concoction which she gazed at lustfully. 

The bill came to just over £60, which is a tad on the pricey side for a pub. Still, the food is very good and the atmosphere is delightful. In the summer there is a pretty garden out back where they sometimes put on moorish seafood BBQs. Oh, what torture that would be for a pooch. As we paid up, the lovely landlord let us in on a juicy little secret. G had been flipping through the Sunday Telegraph magazine and pictured on the front was Robert Pattinson, the heart-throb British actor from the Twilight movie. "He comes in here. His parents live just around the corner." If G and I were 15 years younger, we might have barked with excitement. But no, it's the food, not the celebrity spotting that will have us bounding back.

The Pig's Ear: Attack of the Sloanes

35 Old Church Street, Chelsea, SW3 5BS

tel: +44 (0)20 7352 2908

Whenever I'm headed to Chelsea, I always suggest to friends that we meet at the Pig's Ear. Three reasons: the award-winning gastropub food has never let me down; they brew their own eponymous ale which is a crowd-pleaser; and - it sits on one of the prettiest streets in London, just off the King's Road and two doors down from the mecca that is...Manolo Blahnik. On a recent visit though, I was aghast to see a sign at the bar saying: "We are no longer serving Pig's Ear Ale. The brewery has shut down." Boo, hiss. Also, we were shoulder-to-shoulder with a bunch of spoiled Sloanes (I know, I know, we were in their territory) who kept flicking their pink shirt collars up and giving each other high fives. At first we treated them as an anthropological study in dipshits, but after ten minutes, they were bloody annoying. So, on that particular visit, I'm afraid to say the only thing we did enjoy was the food. Oooh, and the company of our favourite Spanish friend.

Starters included roast veal bone marrow with bitter leaves and toast (£6.50), smoked haddock rillettes with roast spring onions, golden beetroots and cress salad (£6.75) and arancini stuffed with three cheeses, red pepper, avocado puree, lamb lettuce and tomato sauce (£6.75). It was tough to choose, but we went for a charcuterie sharing plate with three meats: cecina de leon, salchichon and jamon. It also came dressed with olives, almonds and spiced picked cucumber. We also ordered a side of French fries with garlic mayonnaise, because for my money, they are the best in London. The Spaniard went straight to a main course of lamb neck fillet with cannellini beans, chorizo, almonds, radicchio and pea shoots (£15). He loved every mouthful. Also on the menu: macaroni with Mayfield cheese and roasted button onions (£12.50); whole baked trout with warm salad of caramelised apple, soused leek and fennel and shiso cress gremolata (£14); or grilled vintage dried aged Scottish rump steak, french fries, mixed leaves and green peppercorn sauce.

If the Sloanes hadn't been prancing around the pub like they owned the place, we might have stayed for the white chocolate parfait with brownie, dark chocolate sorbet and griottine cherries. Or the kaffir lime and stem ginger creme brulee with passion fruit sorbet. Or the sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream. But we wanted to get the hell outta dodge. Until they bring back an ale as delicious as the old one and put a sign on the door saying: "No tossers" I'm not sure even the food will lure me back anytime soon.  

Anglesea Arms: Will you marry me?

35 Wingate Road, Ravenscourt Park, W6 0UR

tel: +44 (0)872 261 0000

"We could get married here," I said to my (now) fiancé on a previous trip to the Anglesea Arms. While I admit, I was slightly tipsy at the time (putting the blame quite firmly on the delicious - and cheap - house red) there is something about this glorious pub which inspires romance and revolution. In my eyes, this is truly a perfect pub. And my bloke, who has been set on getting hitched in our home and native land of Canada - didn't immediately dismiss it. Maybe it had to do with the moose antlers on the wall, evoking the spirit of the wild north true and free. Or maybe he was also feeling the love, after consuming some of the excellent ales on tap (Doom Bar from Cornwall, being the most notable). On my most recent visit to the Anglesea Arms however, I brought one of my bridesmaids Eli (it was Valentine's Day lunch - both our blokes were at home cooking us dinner - SCORE!) and I was gutted to find out that they were out of my favourite starter - a pint of prawns, served with lemon and garlic aioli. But we persevered with pork with crackling, braised cabbage and apples (for Eli)...

And roast mutton with parsnips, kale and roast potatoes for the bride-to-be...

Both meals were mouth-watering and cooked to perfection. My ONLY complaint was that the mutton didn't have heaps of meat. Sorry vegetarians out there - but I wanted more. Alas, we satisfied the teency weency disappointment with two delicious puddings. For moi: chocolate mousse with pistachio creme - and for Eli - bread and butter pudding with fresh custard (and clotted cream, which she didn't ask for, but I was happy to devour). 

My verdict: run, don't walk to this pub. As an added bonus: (or not if you think he's a wanker) it is apparently one of the favourite places of BBC Radio 4's John Humphries. I can see why. And even if I'm not getting married here, I can image many post-wedding post-mordems to be held on the sofas, right next to the roaring fire, under the moose antlers. 

The Narrow: Factory of food

44 Narrow Street, E14 8DP

tel: +44 (0)20 7592 7950

Ever been to a place where the food is really good, but you don't ever want to go back? That's kind of what I feel about The Narrow. It's Gordon Ramsey's first pub in London. The location, right on the Thames, is fantastic - especially in summer. But both times I've eaten here, I've sworn never to return. Which is strange, because the food is actually good. The Sunday roast, with the usual sides of veg, roast potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding was super swell. Better than I could cook myself, which is always a good barometer. But the place itself reeks of a tourist trap. In fact, shen I got a bit lost outside of Limehouse station, I asked the first couple I saw for directions. In a Texas twang, they pointed, "oh we just came from Gordon Ramsey's place - it's thaddaway." Walking through the door, the place was heaving. Granted, I didn't have reservations, but it took the young and disheveled staff a good 10 minutes to decide whether they had a table for me and my lovely friend Caroline. As they hunched over a clipboard, we decided to get a glass of champagne at the bar. The bubbly was divine - but oddly - the tap water was not. It tasted rotten - like it was straight out of the Thames. We received a swift apology from the barman and a bottle of water on the house. When we finally did get a table, things improved. We had a charming waitress who sold me on the roast (beef) of the day and Caroline on the pork belly. 

Honestly, both our meals were delicious. Caro's crackling was perfect. My roast beef was succulent - and the Yorkshire pud was a golden work of art. But there is still something I can't put my finger on about the place. It's almost like the food was TOO perfect. Sounds picky, but I almost felt like I was eating in a factory. As sexy as swearing Gordon Ramsey may be, he's become a victim of his own success and The Narrow feels less like a pub than a tourist trap. So, would I go back? Maybe. But only in the summer, for a pint only, on one of the nicest pieces of real estate in London.