Kitchen Table, Fitzrovia

Hidden behind a curtain at the back of a buzzing hotdog and champagne bar, you'll find Kitchen Table. An open kitchen flanked by just 19 high seats and proud owners of a Michelin star. It's been on my list forever and so I was extremely excited to head down last Wednesday as a sort of pre-birthday adventure (hello 27 this Wednesday!). As early birthdays go, this one was pretty special.

James and the team at Kitchen Table like to do things a little differently. There's no menu to choose from - just a list of 14 or so daily changing dishes chalked onto a wall on one side of the room. No lengthy descriptions here either, just single words of the main ingredient, adding a tangible layer of mystery. There's no waiting staff either - the six or so brilliant chefs who work diligently in front of you serve you the dishes themselves, taking time to explain each element and then checking in later with you to answer any questions you may have. And there's Ben, the restaurant manager, who's happy to dish out extra bread, persuade your dubious boyfriend that the 2013 Chateauneuf du Pape is actually pretty good, and give you a last glass of Kummel at the end.

But first, we cracked open a bottle of champagne. Smooth, light and crisp, it was the perfect accompaniment for the first few of the dishes. Shall we begin?

The opening plate was a hand-dived scallop from Orkney. First shown to us before it was shucked, we then watched as the chefs whirled around each other in a dance of pure fluidity, each knowing exactly what to do and when. (We later asked James how they each knew what to do given the menu changes every day and he said it was a combination of rehearsal and common sense). Diced and raw, it was accompanied by an elderflower and cucumber vinegar, elderflower tea and topped with the elderflowers themselves. Light, fresh and the perfect balance of sharp and sweet.

Next came this delightful little crisp. Potatoes are juiced, dehydrated and the fried. The Scottish salmon is salted and smoked on the Norfolk coast, and then added to the crisp with sour cream, brown sugar and chives. This is one smart little snack and chomped in three or so bites. Eagerly.

The third course was chicken. Crispy chicken skin was lightly spread with rosemary mascarpone and then topped with a rich, flavoursome bacon jam. The saltiness of the main elements was lifted by the creaminess of the cheese and the rosemary brought everything together.

The fourth dish was Parkerhouse. Everyone was clueless until chef Rich explained that it's a type of bread, invented in Boston, made with milk so that the inside is soft and sweet and the crust crispy. It was grilled over charcoal and served with duck liver parfait, drizzled with pickled plum syrup and cherry. P and I took two rolls each, as did the girls next to us. At one point, a Kitchen Table first apparently, our sitting had demolished the entire set.

Then came mackerel. Line caught in Cornwall and whisked to the city that morning, it was diced and  served raw, seasoned with oil and salt. It sat on an oyster emulsion and was surrounded by Isle of Wight tomatoes: some dehydrated, some fresh and some as a thin jelly, with oyster basil herbs. The fish, as to be expected, was light and the tomatoes done three ways were an interesting addition. Having never had jellied tomatoes, the clear layer lent an interesting texture to the plate.

At this stage, we moved onto the red wine. Having a boyfriend who loves wine as much as me but is infinitely more knowledgeable can be both a blessing and a curse. We spotted a pretty special Chateauneuf de Pape on the menu but with a 2013 vintage (a year known for bad weather and bad wine in France), and so P was reluctant. Ben, the restaurant manager, insisted it was up to par and that we should try it and so, after some back and forth, we did. And of course, it was divine. Chosen by Sandia Chang, wife of chef James, it was smooth and light and everything we could have asked for for the next set of dishes.

Dish six was monkfish. Like most people, I was expecting a normal cut but instead we were served the liver. A large organ that grows near the fish's head, it was pan fried and served with white asparagus from the Wye Valley, champagne butter and green strawberries and it was delicious. With a melt in the mouth texture, it's been likened to the foie gras of the sea, all meaty and rich.

Next up was duck. Using the hearts and gizzards of the birds slaughtered that day (whose livers we'd eaten with the Parkerhouse bread), they were roasted in brown butter over charcoal and served with cabbage with pickled Japanese rose petals. For sweetness, there was yoghurt and raspberries. As someone who doesn't eat much duck, I wasn't expecting to love this as much as I did. The rounded flavours of each element worked together so seamlessly, I could have eaten whole plates of this.

Then came another duck dish. This time, the breast. Cooked in the pan and roasted over charcoal again with a meaty sauce made from the bones. Drizzled with sesame seed puree - which I'm not usually a fan of but, of course, went hand in hand - and carrots. You know what? I think I'm starting to come around to duck.

It was at this point that we were segueing towards the sweet end of the menu. Eight dishes down, we weren't full but pleasantly sated, thanks to the change in flavours and textures. And so I was ready and waiting for the Gloucester. The cheese was melted into a dish similar to risotto with sprouted greens and barley, pipped with redcurrants for a brilliantly sharp bite. This was delectable comfort food at its best and something I could eat with a large spoon from a large pot for hours on end.

And here's where my photography taking went a little awry. I continued to diligently take notes (always one for documentation) but I seem to have skipped on the photos and dived straight into some of the dishes. Which is why I have no proof of beetroot. It was made into a marmalade, infused with woodruff for a herby, garden flavour and then served on a sour cream ice cream which was just simply divine. The smooth-but-not-sweet was thick but not cloying and a great balancer for the tart beet.

I didn't get a picture of elderflower either which was fried in tempura batter and served with elderflower cordial and sorbet. The perfect palate cleanser, of course, with the added activity of snapping the elderflower into bitesize chunks and feeling the crisp batter flake off in your mouth.

I did get a snap of the strawberry with liquorice yoghurt ice cream. For someone that is definitely not a liquorice fan (too many childhood memories of Bassett's Allsorts), it was never going to be my favourite but I did like it. There was tuile, too, to snap and crumble into the bowl and the granita added icy freshness without being too saccharine. I just wish I could remember quite what was in it.

And then there was caramel. A tiny cup of caramel ice cream, in a chocolate mould with a cookie base. This was sheer childhood indulgence at its best and unfortunately something that we all snaffled far too quickly to photograph.

And finally, came vanilla. Delicious squares of homemade vanilla fudge served on a ubiquitous slate and with a final thank you to and from the chefs. Fourteen wonderful courses now at an end.

This has been a particularly gushing write up, I know, but I honestly feel that Kitchen Table was one of the best dining experiences I've had. From the sheer brilliance of the menu, the great wine, the interaction of the chefs, the whole package is one I'm dying to complete. There was a guy who'd been 30 times - perhaps I could try and beat his record?

Foxlow, Stoke Newington

It was the morning after the night before. I had mainlined espresso martinis at my colleague's wedding and it was safe to say I was not feeling my best. But! It was finally a sunny Sunday and there was no way I was going to let the hangover get the better of me.

So P and I tottered to everyone's favourite neighbourhood spot, Foxlow in Stoke Newington. It was almost warm enough to sit outside but instead we ensconced ourselves in a corner table right at the back of the restaurant, perfect for people watching.

Straight up, we ordered Bottomless Bloody Marys at £14 a pop. Served long, tall and spicy (like all the best ones are), they came thick and fast and did wonders at soothing my fragile head. And kept us going until the burrata with homemade sorrel salsa verde arrived. I liked the different dimension that the addition of sorrel brought to the plate and we practically fought over the last bits until the Cobble Lane charcuterie arrived (coppa, saucisson and chilli salami) along with the sauteed portobello mushrooms that were juicy, citrusy and scattered with plenty of tarragon. We also ordered the pablano macaroni cheese because nothing is better than carbs on a hangover. Juice diet? What juice diet? Plus, any place that puts a million types of cheese into their giant dish is my kinda place.

A small but perfectly formed brunch that banished the post-espresso martini blues. Bingo.

Senor Ceviche

'Do you remember the time we all locked ourselves in the bathroom and gave each other hickeys?!' A memory we'd all forgotten resurfaced this week when table talk turned to when we all first lived together. A flat with far too many stairs above an East end corner shop, a sticky lino kitchen floor and a box bedroom with the boiler that flooded. London: a baptism by fire for Sophie.

That was five years ago. Final years of university and Masters for some and first years of proper jobs and growing up for others. Ash and I still live together but Soph is West which means a bit more planning has to take place and when boyfriends and long days get thrown into the mix, it's easier said than done. But now we're all (whisper it) single, we keep finding reasons to order yet another cocktail.

Just like we did on Wednesday at Senor Ceviche. Part of the hugely successful Kingly Court development off Carnaby Street, a shining piazza of some seriously good restaurants, it's a  'Peruvian casa full of fun, food and cocktails'. Bustling and busy at 8pm, we were shown to our (booked!) table within 10 minutes and took up prime position next to the open kitchen.

First on the agenda were the cocktails. We each started with something different (because reasons) despite the photograph. Ash's Mancora Surfclub (Machu Pisco, elderflower, cucumber and apple) was fresh and light, Soph's Pisco Punch (Machu Pisco, lemon juice, rosemary and pineapple juice) was sweet and fragrant whilst my Mamacita! (El Jimador, Cointreau, lime juice, agave and fresh jalapeno) was tart with a perfect bite and a delicious salted, chilli rim.

Then onto the food. The menu here is divided into four sections but essentially it's about small plates and sharing dishes which, as I've mentioned countless times before, is perfect for me because I get serious food envy and it means you can try a thousand more things on the menu. Our friendly waitress recommended three dishes per person and between the three of us that meant we'd cover about half the menu. Dream.

Before we get into the specific dishes, I have to say that we ordered perfectly. Practically everything that arrived at the table was mouthwateringly brilliant and so consistent in quality that Senor Ceviche has shot to the top of my list.

First to arrive were the aubergine picarones - bites of eggplant in sweet potato tempura with a barbecue sauce and coriander yoghurt. Crisp and juicy, these were seriously moreish and we fought over the last one.

Then there was the jalea mixto - tempura baby squid, prawns and cod with a jalapeno mayo. I didn't manage to try any of the prawn but the squid and cod were firm and well cooked in the light batter and tossed with spring onion.

And the pork belly. Oh, the pork belly. Crisp, fatty pieces of melt-in-the-mouth slow cooked pork belly with a sweet soy jam, just the way I like it.

The two ceviches we chose were excellent. The house ceviche comprises of sea bass and octopus in the usual tiger's milk and topped with cubed avocado, tempura squid and sharp red onion, while The Spaniard added king prawn to the mix, tomato tiger's milk, chorizo and plantain. Generous portions of fish, freshly marinated and citrusy with plenty of sauce to mop up. I could eat this for days.

Next came the baby back ribs (which I didn't eat because I'm a heathen who doesn't like ribs) and the flat iron with uchucuta sauce (the Peruvian version of chimichurri). The rarest they'll serve it is medium rare but ours came on the more well done side of the medium scale; despite this, the meat was to die for and the parsley and mint salsa brought a sharp tang to the protein.

And for a bit of variation, the sweet potato fritas were nice enough (for someone who doesn't like sweet potato) and the quinoa saltero fresh and light. A generous mound of beetroot and feta sat atop the grain and, whilst underseasoned, acted as a nice little palate cleanser.

Somewhere in the middle two more rounds of cocktails were ordered, desserts were passed up on and setting the world to rights took place. You'll be pleased to hear we've grown out of our drunken hickey-giving antics but our taste in good venues hasn't waned in the slightest. Senor Ceviche, you were an utter delight and a five out of five.

Pachamama

The two biggest things on the London foodie scene have finally come together under the skilled eye of chef Adam Rawson: enter a British brunch Peruvian style. I'll admit, I wasn't sure how ceviche and cornbread could compete with firm favourites such as avocado toast and eggs Benny but Pachamama is really turning things on its head.

A beautiful basement bar tucked a few streets behind Oxford Street, Pachamama is a real beauty to stumble into on a Saturday morning. Combining rustic tables, rambling plants and even a full-size horse light fitting with a welcoming wooden and tiled bar, the attention to detail here is reassuringly good and it continues through to the food and drink.

Of course, we kicked off with the mostly pisco based cocktails, reassuring ourselves it was midday somewhere in the world. I was drawn to the Rosa del Inca (pisco with pink peppercorns, coffee beans, vermouth, campari and orange bitters) and had to order a second, it was so good. A South American twist on the negroni, this had real warmth and depth and the obligatory kick of booze to start the day. Sophie had something floral with flavours of raspberry running through it that was simply divine.

Then came the food. We were presented with a few of the chef's favourites which led to a bit of guessing as the smiley waiter sort of mumbled the dish then left us to it. First up were the bacon and cheese tacachos - a sort of combination of a croquette and an arancini with roasted banana all up in the mix, these were brilliant. Oozing cheese paired with smoked meat and a fresh mango salsa is now the key to my heart.

Then came towering sliders of pork belly with a lightly pickled slaw and a spiked mayo, and a large skillet of baked eggs with avocado, samphire and 'farmers cheese' in a rich tomato sauce. This was quite similar to shakshuka, a definite brunch favourite, and while Soph wasn't convinced by the cheese ('it's like paneer') I was too busy spooning it on to my plate.

The last two dishes were even better than the ones that came before - the salmon ceviche with beetroot and avocado simply sang. The tiger milk cut through the hearty flavours of the baked eggs and the earthy beetroot was a lovely accompaniment that I would fight anyone for, just you wait. Soph's favourite was the smoked brisket with plantain hash, corn and an HP aji (that's the British bit making a reappearance!) - big enough for the both of us to simply not be able to finish.

Desserts were breathtaking. A mazzamora morada cheesecake with a spiced berry sorbet and edible flowers was quite possibly the prettiest thing I've ever eaten. With a baked cheesecake consistency and a rich base, this was the heavier pudding while the suspiro de limena got my vote. A meringue with a basil and lemon sugar/sorbet crumbled over the top hid a custard and a strawberry heart. This was pure genius and the right combination of sweet and cleansing.

Brunch by way of Peru might not be the most obvious combination but by god, is it a winning one. Pachamama is one hot mama worth waking up for. Five out of five.

Original Sin

Sharing its name with a classic INXS song (sorry, had to slip that in), Original Sin is another blink-and-you'll-miss-it bar tucked off Stoke Newington High Street, beneath burger joint Stokey Bears. It opened at the beginning of the year but shamefully (because it's only a short walk from my flat) I only made it down a couple of weeks ago.

We sat at the bar and it was by far the best decision. Veteran frequenters Matt and Ella have already worked their way through the menu so our prime positions gave us the perfect opportunity to go off menu and leave it up the hugely knowledgeable and creative women behind the bar. Matt went for something involving cognac, rye and amontillado (sherry's the next big thing) while Ella and I each kicked off with twisted negronis - hers sprayed with Laphroaig, mine infused campari and vermouth with mescal and chocolate bitters, finished with a sprig of rosemary that was set alight, blown out and used as a stirrer. The oils in the herb complemented the smokiness of the mescal and the rich undertones of the cocoa - I think this may quite possibly be a new favourite cocktail.

Then things took a darker turn. I was presented with a glorious drink that combined tequila, orange rhum, coffee liqeur and St Elizabeth Allspice Dram. Deliciously rich, this is a drink that works on so many levels as each ingredient takes a turn at commanding the floor. The sweetness of the cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg were pleasantly dulled by the bitter coffee and I'm totally all over tequila in cocktails at the moment.

We finished the night with an unexpected shot of sazerac that they'd made for one the bar back's leaving party the next day. These guys sure know their way around a bottle or two.

This neighbourhood bar is a real find. From the friendliest faces to the civilised pool table in the corner, it's a dimly lit destination for dates and mates, whatever the motivation. Five out of five.

(Photo via)

Rex & Mariano

I think I've found a new favourite. It's instantly rocketed to the top of my list along with Duck & Waffle, 8 Hoxton Square and Pollen Street Social and I'm already thinking of excuses to go back. Hidden between two of the main streets of Soho, Rex & Mariano is the Goodmans' latest fishy opening and it's definitely a good'un.

Previously an unremarkable Vodka Revolution, Rex & Mariano has transformed into a light and airy space with two open kitchens and a bar along one side and a combination of high and low tables on the other. Friendly staff greeted us at the door, showed us to a high table by the window, explained the ordering system (iPads) and left us to pore over the menu.

We were celebrating so I gravitated to a glass of prosecco each, naturally. Simple to order, they appeared pretty sharpish and were crisp, fruity and light and a perfect accompaniment to our starter of burrata. The combination of creamy cheese with simultaneously sweet and smokey tomatoes on a bed of focaccia rendered us temporarily speechless and transported straight into summer.

Choosing mains was hard but we eventually settled on the tuna tartare for me and the Sicilian large stripe prawns for S, along with courgette fries and aioli. My tartare was divine - cubes of fresh fish on a bed of avocado puree, topped with colourful red chilli for a bit of bite and the lightest touch of sesame. Definitely guilt free, I added a bit of S's roasted lemon and Tabasco from the table to bring the flavours to life.

S's dish stole the show, though, and reminded me of the brilliant meal I had for my birthday in Savelletri's Osteria del Porto last year - enormous prawns in a lemon, garlic and parsley oil. Deliciously sweet and meaty, these guys were so moreish I could have eaten them all day. We mopped the oil up with the courgette fries - a generous portion that were brilliantly cooked (no soggy sticks here) - and had to stop ourselves from ordering more.

The guys at Rex & Mariano (so named for Rex Goldsmith, The Chelsea Fishmongerer and Mariano di Vigni) have got this restaurant spot on. Affordable, accessible fresh fish that you don't have to travel miles for, I've already planned another trip. Five out of five for sure.

Bleecker Street Burger

There's nothing better than a pop-up that becomes permanent. From MeatLiquor to Senor Ceviche, when an idea gains momentum, good press and the all-important backing to set up shop and open bricks and mortar, you know you're onto a good thing.

Last year was unequivocally the year of the burger. Everywhere you looked, toasted brioche and pulled pork were making an appearance and things were getting a little stale but there was always one name that shone through the crowd. So much so that I can't believe it's taken me until now to finally check out Bleecker Street Burger. Starting life in a van, then at Street Feast and Hawker House, and now in its own small but perfectly formed stall in Spitalfields Market, Bleecker Street brings New York style patties to London's streets.

We headed down for a post-work bite in the week, overjoyed that we could comfortably sit on the benches outside without feeling like we were in the Arctic, and ready for some serious meat. It was too tempting to order the same thing but in the quest for best burgers, we had to sample more of the menu so I chose the Blue Burger which turned out to be a beautiful combination. A gloriously rare patty topped with melted blue cheese and lettuce all sandwiched in a non-brioche bun - the rich flavours of the protein melted in unison and the bun managed to resist a breakdown and hold itself together right til the very end. Bonus points to Bleecker.

But what really stole the show was the Bleecker Black. Two signature patties with cheese and the ultimate black pudding - a monumental achievement in burger brilliance that we quickly declared to be one of the best things we've ever put in our mouths. Coupled with the angry fries (crispy fries liberally doused with hot sauce) and a couple of cans of Brooklyn, we are now completely hooked.

I had high expectations following the hype but to have them surpassed is a really nice surprise. A definitive five out of five and many definite return visits on the cards.

Hawksmoor Air Street

When a restaurant's described as the best steak place in town, it'd be rude not to try it out, right? Hawksmoor's been on the scene for a couple of years now with five restaurants across the city and one in Manchester about to open but I still hadn't found the time to go. Until last week.

After a killer start to the evening at Aqua Kyoto and Cats, we hoped that Hawksmoor would live up the hype. Skipping down Regent Street for a 10.30 table at the Air Street outpost, we had high hopes - and boy, were they met. The hosts and hostesses in the marble stairs ushered us in, sweeping us up the stairs and into the deeply seductive restaurant that's all dark wood, green leather and stained glass, towards our own little booth. So far, so good.

Onto the food. We'd spend the last couple of days gleefully emailing possible choices and they didn't disappoint. After a last minute addition of salmon tartare crisps - thins topped with the chunkiest, smoothest salmon perfectly seasoned with dill - we dived into the potted beef and bacon with yorkshires. Two huge and puffy puddings were ideal for scooping up the smooth meat and topping with the bacon and gravy, and we passed forks back and forth across the table hungrily. I opted for the Brixham crab on toast - a generous portion of white meat with the smoother brown hiding beneath, it was light enough to counter S's beef but so flavourful I ate every last scrap.

Next up were steaks. Naturally. S went for the fillet which was expertly served rare-medium whilst I had the steak tartare - it only comes as a starter portion and I didn't think to order two as a main but the portion size was just right in the end. Many wordless minutes were spent as we savoured the brilliantly seasoned dishes (mine, of course, had a perfect egg yolk on top and S's steak lived up to its reputation as the best steak in London, of course, ) - and then greedily spooned the truffled macaroni cheese onto our plates. We ordered the triple cooked chips too but the best side had to be the creamed spinach - a dense pot crammed with creamy, nutmeg laced leaves that we've both been dreaming of ever since. The stilton hollandaise deserves a mention as well - a rich, tangy sauce that saw frequent dunks from chips and steaks alike.

At this point, two bottles of wine down, we were completely defeated but couldn't resist the Salted Caramel Rolos to take away; these homemade chocolates come served in a beautiful box and were achingly naughty, keeping us going all weekend.

Hawksmoor really does pull out all the stops. From the buzzy atmosphere and the fantastically friendly and attentive staff to the impeccable food, this is one place I'm glad I've finally made it to. Definitely a five out of five - all that's left is to try the others, just to make sure, of course.

The Cocktail Trading Co

It seems London's been having a love affair with anything that's not at street level - from the likes of The Shard, Sky Garden and Tower 42 towering above the city to places like WC, a wine and cheese bar that's popped up in former facilities underground. Whilst this is nothing new, I think a few places are stepping up their game. Take The Cocktail Trading Co, for example. A downstairs speakeasy, yes. Like all the others out there? No.

We stepped inside on a Wednesday night with an hour to kill before a dinner reservation (that's another story). Most of the tables were already busy save for a spare couple that were booked out - but the friendly waiter said we were free to perch until their real owners arrived and happily for us, they never did. This gave us the perfect opportunity to check out the decadent decor - framed caricatures of familiar faces along one wall, a curio of objects along the other and an upright piano by the bar for those who fancy tickling the ivories.

Turning our thoughts to the booze, we were quick to choose. I went for the Urn-aged Corpse Reviver No 2 which came served on a grassy tray complete with grabbing zombie hands and a thirst for more. Mixing Egyptian embalming gin, fortified honey wine, mandarin liqueur, lemon juice and absinthe this was a dream - not too fruity, not too sweet, not too sour but with enough depth, smokiness and warmth to have me hoping for a refill.

S went for the No 42 (also called the Welcome to Kentucky, have a nice day) which blows any previous efforts at presentation straight out of the water. A Chinese takeaway box is filled to the brim with Jim Beam, ginger and plum infusion, yuzu juice and matcha tea then topped with crunchy noodle bites and edible flowers. This is cocktail genius - and well suited to the bar's self-proclaimed productivity.

The waiters were not only attentive but genuinely some of the friendliest I've ever been served by - a real testament to a bar that's smack bang in the middle of the most stressful shopping streets in London.

We would gladly have stayed for more (especially as the drinks are an unbelievable £9 each) but had to move on to catch dinner, but we'll definitely be back. This, by the way, is a perfect little place to impress your Valentine's date this weekend, just be sure to book a table as this is one bar you won't want to miss.

Duck and Waffle

Some people set sensible resolutions: 'I'll work out', 'I'm doing dry January', 'I'll eat well'. I didn't set myself any of those unless you count my interpretation of eating well to be eating at great places rather than turning to the rabbit food. It's been a mixed bag so far but this week really kicked things off - first with a great meal at Tozi and then with what was firmly one of the best meals I've ever eaten at Duck and Waffle.

Our late night reservation had been weeks in the making so by the time Saturday night rolled around, I was raring to hit the lift up to the 40th floor and survey my stomping ground below. For the uninitiated among you, Duck & Waffle sits pretty on the 40th floor of the Heron Tower and is open 24/7 so whether you're in need of a morning pick me up, a late night lounge or simply in the mood for a cocktail, this place ticks all the boxes. Just perhaps avoid if you're afraid of heights.

Luckily for us, S and I are huge fans of high places and we decided to raise a toast to our fantastic little corner table which gave us views across the city in two directions (seriously, try and nab one if you can, I promise you it's worth it). And of course, we had to break bread. Fresh out of the oven and deliciously hot nduja and gruyere bread, naturally, before choosing what else to feast upon.

Like a lot of places at the moment, Duck and Waffle is all about the small plates. Big enough to share, not enough to overwhelm and just the right amount to make you fall in love, they came thick and fast from the open kitchen and had us speechless in appreciation.

We kicked off with the achingly smooth Angus beef carpaccio which comes garnished with small spots of truffle, foie gras and pecorino - combinations of woody, earthy flavours that compliment the mild meat brilliantly. This is a dish I could happily eat for the rest of my life. Next up, the roasted octopus - succulent octopus combined with the meaty, almost tomatoey flavours of melting chorizo were melded together with lemon and caper for a bit of bite and mixed with potatoes. I gleefully scooped this up with first fork and then bread while S barely got a look in, because it was such a perfect plate.

Then came the Scotch bhaji - a new twist on the classic Scotch egg that's seeing a surge of popularity at the moment. Cumberland sausage meat encased a beautifully runny yolk, and crispy deep fried onion wrapped the whole thing together. It arrived on the plate like some twining vine with crunchy tendrils to break off and dip into the caramelised onion yoghurt. Fourth was the hugely decadent foie gras creme brulee with lobster  - if ever there was a time to forget the diet, this must be it. The pot of molten pate, topped with the classic sugary crust which satisfyingly split with a crack or two of the teaspoon, demanded simultaneous dipping of the moreish lobster tails and the brioche toast immediately.

Our final dish - and perhaps the one we didn't really need to order because the first four plates were exceptionally filling - was the jerusalem artichoke ravioli. From the 'For the table' part of the menu, this is meant as a sharer and sits alongside the eponymous duck and waffle which (whisper it) we didn't really fancy ordering. Instead, this gorgeous pasta dish came served in a heavy skillet and was topped with charred cauliflower, smoked butter and malt crumble - a sexy comfort food if ever there was and tasty enough to satisfy my meat-loving companion.

I would have loved to have tried one of the desserts - especially the pistachio and dark chocolate macaroon sandwich with drunken cherries - but I was so full from gorging on the fantastic mains that I think it's a brilliant excuse for another visit. Rich (the cocktail maestro) sent us over two delicious cocktails to try: the Duck & Stormy (rum and ginger in a brown bag) and a Removed Aviation (gin, violet and citrus juices) so we graciously sipped on those instead before bowing out at a civilised 1am.

Having looked forward to eating at Duck and Waffle ever since it opened, it definitely didn't disappoint. Dining at height late at night lent itself perfectly to romance and fun in equal measures; the ever-changing atmosphere reflected the ever-changing clientele, and we were bouncing around to Al Green and Mark Morrison from start to finish. The service, as you'd expect, was brilliant - unobtrusive but friendly, polite and there when you needed them and still going after hours on end. My only gripe? That I can't call that little corner table my own and eat there whenever I'd like... Maybe that can be next year's resolution.

Le Bun at The Three Compasses

Burgers burgers, everywhere. London's love affair with all things Americana shows no sign of slowing down any time soon and it seems that every corner you turn, you'll find a rib shack, burger bar or BBQ rustling up buns of varying degrees of success. The Burger Awakening only struck me a year or so ago so I'm a little slow on the uptake of the various outlets but the only one on my list worth writing home about (and revisiting) is MeatMission. Until now.

Le Bun is stealing the show. Fresh from winning Sky and Samsung's Launching People and a two month residency at the Old Bengal Bar, Le Bun have taken over Dalston Pub The Three Compasses to offer fast food French-style. Last night was their launch party, and with the promise of great food, 50% off and killer tunes, it was suitably rammed.

With no time to lose, we did what four sensible people do when offered six options - order one of each and dive right in. I kicked off with the Le Bourguignon Bun (I was swayed by the promise of bacon salt, champagne slaw and truffle mayo) and practically inhaled it, it was so good. The slow-cooked meat was deliciously melt in the mouth with a great depth of flavour from the glaze; crunchy cabbage slaw added that bit of tang and the saltiness from the bacon and truffle rounded everything off. The rest of the team didn't even get a look in.

Le Duck Frites Bun was equally as sumptuous with crispy straw fries packed straight into the bun, whilst Le Chevre managed to serve up a whole wedge of oozing goats cheese, topped with that biting crunchy slaw for good measure. Le Royale With Cheese sold out pretty sharpish and passed the boys' meat test (ie. plenty of it) and this time, I was the one who missed out.

We didn't stop there. After catching up with the brains behind Le Bun (Tim Talbot and Andy Taylor) we just couldn't resist even more food. So out came three sliders and Le French Onion Dog - the first three were 'down in one' affairs (see the boys about to get stuck in) and the dog we shared, all grinning beatifically. Also, who fries parsley? It's genius!

These guys have got the burger thing down, I'm a total convert. They're sticking with The Three Compasses for a while and are also running Taco Tuesdays (self explanatory, right?), Steak Frites nights on Wednesdays complete with Red Wine Roulette and a toasty winter garden to wrap up in. Whilst you're out there, try one of the crazily moreish winter warmers from Kamm & Sons - I fell in love with the Hot Roots so have one for me.

Le Bun, I salute you. Cinq out of cinq. Bravo.

The Shed, Notting Hill

Following the disappointment of last week's meal at 21, I was on the hunt for somewhere to knock me completely out of the water. After a Friday night filled with beer and ferocious games of Articulate (we're wild), Saturday called for some civility and dinner was the perfect answer so I left rough-and-ready East to meet Sophie on the other, more pristine side of town.

After a couple of gin and tonics at hers, we decided to jump on the bus to Notting Hill and try for a table at The Shed (somewhere I'd chosen, having imaginatively googled 'restaurants Notting Hill'). Tucked off the main drag, The Shed's a tiny barn of a building hidden behind trellis and creepers that if you weren't looking, you'd probably miss. But miss it we didn't and managed to bag one of the last tables before the 9pm rush.

The interior is deceptively small, but with the help of cleverly placed wall mirrors at either end of the restaurant you'd be forgiven that there were double the number of diners with you. And as you'd expect from a place called The Shed, the decor's quite rustic - lots of wood and old school metal bar stools, gardening implements strung across the ceiling and colourful oil drums standing as table bases. They have a combination of individual tables, bar type benches and the bookable Butcher's Table to choose from and suit your mood - we chose the benches for a proper catch up and with twee-sounding Twinkles in hand, dove straight into the delicious sounding menu.

Like many a place these days, The Shed's built on sharing plates, and split further into mouthfuls (canape type bites), cured meats (self-explanatory, from Nutbourne Manor in Sussex), slow cooking and fast cooking and they recommend two or three of the daily-changing dishes apiece. We chose from each section of the menu and were definitely not disappointed.

First up, thick wedges of The Shed's sourdough bread. Light and fluffy and perfect for pulling apart and smothering with butter whilst we waited for the broad bean hummus, heritage carrots and dukkah to arrive. We dove straight in to it - chunky and green and spiked with the minty flavours of the dukkah. Crisp purple carrots and the thinnest of crisp bread were ideal for spooning and scraping this fresh little starter for ten.

Soon after, the Nutbourne air-cured ham arrived. These were deliciously thick slices of deep red ham (none of that anaemic meat you find in supermarkets) with ribbons of salty fat around the outside and peppery rocket to offset it all, carved straight from the joint by the resident butcher. Then came the hake with lemon potato vinaigrette, peppers, samphire and dill which was one of the stand-out dishes (amongst all the other stand-outs) of the evening with the crispy-skinned fish sitting plump on the tangy yet creamy lemon potatoes. I could gladly eat this for the rest of my life and have every intention on attempting to recreate it at home as soon as I can.

Then - and we started to wonder if the kitchen times their 'courses' with perfect precision - came the black tagliatelle with Portland brown crab that we'd been warned was very fishy. Fishy it was, but perfectly so. The wide ribbons of pasta were coated in the tasty, salty crab meat and finished with a kick of chilli and garlic that just melted altogether in the mouth. As a recent convent to crab, this dish could have been completely overwhelming and off-putting but I loved its bold flavours even more.

The penultimate dish was the pan fried goats cheese with honey, thyme and hazelnuts. With a nod to French cuisine and their penchant for serving cheese halfway through the meal, this was a tangy little palate cleanser that's had me aching over it for days. Honey and goats cheese is a classic combination but the added crunch of the hazelnuts really brought this to life. Ideal ahead of the Sussex lamb, rainbow cauliflower, spinach, rosemary and almonds that came out last. I never eat lamb so ordering this dish could have been a real mistake but the perfectly pink meat coupled with the rich rosemary jus and florets of cauliflower were a match made in heaven that even the hardiest of non-lamb lovers (me) couldn't fault. Whether I'm completely converted remains to be seen, however.

We were so full after this so didn't manage the coveted cheese or puddings, but instead went for another cocktail each. I chose the to-die for 'Daily Loosener' of Sipsmith vodka, summer berries (a devilishly soaked cherry), lemon, cardamom and soda. Order it everywhere you can as this drink is a keeper.

Everything was on absolute point at The Shed this evening. The atmosphere was buzzing, music was whimsical (Hot 8 Brass Band's cover of Marvin Gaye, for example) and the service impeccable. From the warm smile when we walked in to the constant top up of our water, the waiters and waitresses were really friendly and unobtrusive and an absolute delight to have buzzing around.  Our meal worked out at £51 each (including the 12.5% tip) but is definitely one of the best I've ever had in London, so I'll definitely be back. Five out of five, for sure.