I moved to London by accident. After having spent two months eating out in Paris, I arrived with amazing memories and no money but with an ambition to fulfill a notional obligation to exercise a very different version of George Orwell’s ‘franglo’ experiences of the late 1920s.
However, real life took hold: an insouciance towards l’addition and a rejection of my own kitchen gave way to long shifts in a Soho wine bar, bowls of cereal and a realisation that it would be some time before I could explore London’s restaurants in the same manner.
That was 18 months ago. Now, with a bank of experiences - despite what only really seems like a surface-scratching foray into London's world of food - I again feel compelled to write. A journey which, to date, has taken me from, most memorably, Franco Manca, St John Bread & Wine and Beirut Express to Zucca, The Square and Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, even in a blogosphere so saturated with food and restaurant-related experiences, deserves some form of documentation- if at least only to prove to my family and friends that my epicurean lifestyle has a traceable purpose.
My premise remains unchanged: To eat well, avoid eating badly and to help others do the same. Hello, again.
