Hotel du Vin, Cambridge. Shmokin’

Shmokin' (and Freezin'!)

There are a few lessons I need to learn in life. One of them is that I don’t like cigars, a fact that I seem to forget EVERY time I drink single malt whisky. I get carried away by the peaty booziness and convince myself I am really in a dusty Havana club, then light up a bad boy. Then I cough up a lung and the illusion dissipates faster than a fart in a wind tunnel.

Hotel du Vin in Cambridge is so damn comfortable, cosy and indulgent we barely actually saw any of Cambridge at all, remaining ensconced within the hotel walls. A cigar bothy in the back garden proved a haven of such deliciousness that I once again fell prey to Cohiba-shaped crime. I could have swum laps in the bathtub, moulded into the bed and I finally learnt to use a Nespresso!

ROME: “Al Bric” – A bric-à-brac of random food.

Cheesy Wonderfulness!

Al Bric just off of Campo dei Fiori in Rome is an enoteca I have walked past for four years of my life longing to go in, lured perhaps by the fantabulous selection of ultra-mature oozy French cheeses, crumbly Italian “stagionati”, the dusty collection of prize vintage wines vying for position in the window from Pétrus and  Mouton Rothschild to some Amarone that would knock your socks and feet off… I had never actually set foot in the place though until this week when I finally convinced Francesco that spending €15 for a glass of wine was just plain intelligent.

Poodles and Pudding at Café du Marché

Back from a brief jaunt in Paris, A. – E’s partner in dining crime – was feeling a definite nostalgie for the beloved cuisine of his motherland, and E is never one to turn down French food so a booking was promptly made for Café du Marché in Farringdon where a good friend works as a chef and which has been recommded to me on several occasions. We took our place at an uber romantic table, with a piano pleasantly plinkyplonking in the background and a lady with a “Dallas”-style coiffe to my left who took home half her dinner for her poodle.

Rather Fondue of Walluc Bistro

Walluc Bistro is an unassuming little place sitting on a not so attractive corner off of Shoreditch High Street with a front room barely big enough to accomodate its central rustic wooden dining table. A kitsch mix of alpine ski memorabilia, boxing gloves, random french vintage posters and mismatched furniture seemingly haemmorraged from a Tyrolean car boot sale make this one of the more random fondue places I’ve been to, but perhaps the most charming.

Jedi Nights at Gordon’s Wine Bar

Continuing my foray into the world of internet dating… its amazing how fast two humans can arrange a second “date” once they’ve discovered a mutual affection for lightsabers (note: this is not an innuendo – I really am talking about Jedi techy stuff here).

So, not quite the Mos Eisley cantina, but dark, stuffy and sufficiently cavernous to pass for a distant Tatooine cousin, the Gordon’s Wine Bar near Embankment station was the setting for an evening of too much (good) wine, too much (good, smelly) cheese but just the right amount of good conversation.

Cracking Good time at Prix Fixe Brasserie

Meandering through the wierd and not so wonderful world of the post-break up, heart still a touch battered and appetite on a whirlwind of ups and downs, I decided to amuse myself by exploring a little light-hearted internet dating.

Call it part social experiment, part desperate attempt to move on, part insanity.

Polpo – A Slice of Venice in London

Polpo touts itself as a Venetian bacaro in London. I’ve never been to Venice, so far be it for me to say how authentic it may or may not be, but frankly it looks just like an enoteca to me… It serves the Italian equivalent of tapas, “cicheti” the kind of small, taster dishes you’d find in any good wine bar in the major Italian cities.

The place is always buzzing and you can’t book, just bowl up and don’t expect to find a quiet table. The one really authentic Italian element to this place is the noise level, and that’s without the massive family christening parties with screaming babies.

Gusto Restaurant and Wine Bar – ROME

Residing in a fascist-era former government building behind the sleek, minimalist Ara Pacis exhibition space Gusto occupies several buildings on various floors, more of a brand concept than just a restaurant, combining chic Italian style with a laid-back dining atmosphere, intimacy and good modern Italian cuisine. What’s the catch? The expensive prices. The food is good, but not deserving of a price-list more akin to a high-end eatery or set-lunch michelin star menu. Plus the wines by the glass in the restaurant start at 8 euros, despite the fact that many bottles on the menu are affordable and you can get a very good glass of wine almost anywhere in Italy for half of that.

Le Bouchon Bordelais – Un Vrai Bordel

Le Bouchon Bordelais in Clapham boasts a great location, comes equipped with young, athletic, tanned, study-abroad-type waiters in crisp aprons, the requisit 10 irritating Parisians sat at the table at the back and the most ridiculously over-priced bar-snack menu this side of the Thames.

Yes, they show all the rugby you could possibly hope for. Yes, Ricard afficionados and expat Frenchies will lap it up and yes, it’s probably the highest concentration of good-looking people you can get in Clapham, but this does not justify £9.50 for a plate of cheese consisting effectively of 5 shavings the size of a 1/4 Babybel and a single fig, quartered to give the illusion of abundance.

Gastrogrub at The Compass, Islington

Those that know me know that little piggies, and any possible edible derivative of them, are things that I like very much. Possibly a bit too much in fact as I regularly dream of the day when a prosciutto Spa opens in London where I can be wrapped in slices of Parma and be fed tidbits of Coppa by some semi-naked Lothario dressed in a loincloth made… of pork loin…