A hunk of burning love with a side of prawn dhansak: It's Asian Elvis night at Spices

When a friend invited me to our local curry house for "Asian Elvis night", I accepted for two reasons. First, Spices in Datchet is one of the best Indian restaurants in the Southeast, and I've had precious little of this delicious but diet-dangerous cuisine since taking Weight Watchers seriously. Second, it had to be good for a laugh.

I've never been a huge Elvis fan, and my impression of impersonators had them solidly in the trashy but entertaining ranks of American tackiness. Somewhere above "See Rock City" snow globes and Pez dispensers and below a dinner of Kraft macaroni and cheese followed by Marshmallow Fluff. I was expecting a few interludes of really bad karaoke and crazy costumes slipped in between the courses of a fabulous meal.

How wrong I was. The guy was good. Really good.

Sal Bashir (www.sallikeelvis.co.uk) has a fine, mellow voice with the same deep timbre that helped Presley send a shiver down millions of female spines. I'm sure an expert could tell the difference, but to my unrefined ears, if I weren't watching Sal do his thing I would not have been able to differentiate between him and a recording of the real thing.

Of course, you need more than the voice to get this Elvis thing right. Sal has the moves, the costumes, the personality and some fine sound equipment. His show splits in two, a first half dedicated to the early years neatly wedged between starters and mains, the second half moving on to the later '60s and '70s after dinner. Obviously a huge Elvis fan, Sal's musical selection takes in both the classics and a range of songs that an Elvis amateur like me had never heard, but enjoyed. The magic of digital recording means that he has a wealth of top quality backing tracks behind him, leaving him to get on with the singing or, occasionally, with his own guitar. His costumes were evocative of The King but didn't descend into that paunchy, fringe-encrusted Vegas look that's often used to send Elvis into farce territory.

This was all about the music. (Proven by the fact that I walked away with a list of Elvis tunes I really must get onto my iPod to accompany the only two tracks there at the moment. "Viva Las Vegas" entered the collection when I was compiling background music for a charity casino night, while "A little less conversation, a little more action" is one of my favourite anthems on the playlist I use to gird myself for a tough day at the office.) And that music was wonderfully augmented by performance.

I can't emphasise how surprising this was, merely from a logistics point of view. Spices is the typical small English restaurant, long and narrow with six or seven tables on each side and a strip of open space down the middle. I would never have called it a performance venue. Yet Sal managed to work that little strip of floor like it was a proper stage, somehow slipping in expansive dance moves without ever looking constrained by his boundaries. He worked the crowd like a proper, old fashioned "entertainer", serenading ladies and getting couples up to dance.

Should you ever spot a promotion for Sal in your local curry house, book a table quick. Forget about the comedy value; you're on for a proper concert.

London Open House weekend reveals hidden treasures

Open House London is an architectural festival that, for one weekend in September, opens doors to properties normally off limits to the general public. I've meant to take part for years, but always seemed to be out of town. This year, at last, the diary was free. With almost 700 possibilities, what to see?

After a bit of planning online, my No. 1 choice became obvious: Marlborough House. This was the magnificent townhouse of the Dukes of Marlborough, a project driven by the indomitable Sarah Churchill at the same time she was creating the family's country palace at Blenheim. She worked with Vanbrugh in the country, Christopher Wren in town, and the era's best artists and craftsmen at both houses. When the Churchill family gave up the London lease, the house returned to Royal ownership and became home to all sorts of minor royals and monarchs in waiting. It's now headquarters for the Commonwealth.

The blockbuster sight here is the main hall and the adjoining formal staircases. Classical paneling, tapestries, magnificent murals by Louis Laguerre, iron work by Tijou. All it's missing is a bit of Grinling Gibbons woodwork to make you think you were at Hampton Court or Chatsworth. Of course, it's the subject matter of the art that gives the creator away. Just as at Blenheim, all the wall decorations are bringing John Churchill's military victories to life. And I do mean glorious life. These interiors have clearly been recently restored and are well looked after. The magnificent ceiling started life at the Queen's House, Greenwich, and was moved here in a later re-decoration. I particularly enjoyed the allegory of rhetoric honing her sword on grammar's sharpening steel. Exactly the scene I'd give prominence to in my palace, if I had one.

You get to see a handful of other rooms, all gracious and spacious Georgian with nice plasterwork and big windows looking over expansive lawns. It's hard to believe you're in central London. The second most interesting room is clearly the commonwealth meeting room, in which a huge table features the chairs and flags of each member. It's quite a test of geographic knowledge, and certainly sparks some hunger for adventure travel. Tonga, anyone?

Next up was Horse Guards. Unlike Marlborough House, this turned out to be more impressive on the outside than in, but the guided tour by a succession of army officers was interesting. Perhaps it's because my first job was in the defence industry, but I've always had a soft spot for military people. In England, I note that they're some of the few who still find it acceptable to be proud of their glorious history. So, perhaps predictably, I thought the Irish Guard who explained the origin of his bearskin hat and let me stroke it, and the tremendously fit officer in camouflage who spun tales of the Duke of Wellington, just as impressive as the architecture. You actually only get to see two rooms here, the star sight being the office that once belonged to Wellington, still holds his desk and is the current office of the head of the army. Intriguing, but probably not worth the 40 minutes we waited.

The day's final visit turned out to be the most impressive. The Foreign Office headquarters building dates from the mid 19th century and was designed by George Gilbert Scott in the Italianate style. It is a bombastic, over-the-top building that beautifully expresses the confidence of empire. This, after all, was a temple built for the ruling of overseas possessions, and though its bones are of a Tuscan palazzo, its decor reminds you of nothing so much as an Austrian palace. Even the long corridors of offices are impressive, with their vaulted ceilings and mahogany doors.

But it's the vast public spaces, designed to impress, that still do. There's an internal courtyard, roofed over with glass, overlooked by loggias and encrusted with statues of imperial heroes. The board room off one of those loggia is a neo-Georgian gem from where they once made decisions about ruling India. The heroes of the original colonisation look down from noble portraits. (One of them of Lord Cornwallis. I only ever learned about him as the guy who lost the Revolutionary War and had to surrender to the Americans. Turned out he went on to become a successful governor of India and is commemorated all over this building.) There are the Locarno rooms, named after the treaty signed here, a suite of highly decorated painted interiors in the neo-Gothic style. You end with the most impressive, the towering State Staircase with its snowy expanses of marble and its gold gilt coffered ceiling. Around the tops are huge murals depicting allegories of Britannia. Here's Britannia Bellatrix, girding her boys for the wars they must fight to keep her safe. Followed by Britannia Pacifitrix, enjoying the rich harvests and leisure time of peace. And on from there.

It's no wonder that this place was falling to pieces by the '80s, with much of its glory shut behind plasterboard walls and dropped ceilings. Most Brits seem to be very squeamish about the imperial past and find patriotism to be tasteless and embarrassing; this building is the architectural embodiment of all that would make people with those sensitivities cringe. As an American, of course, I have no issue with either flag waving or with government buildings that glorify the nation.

I don't think either American or British history is blameless, nor do I believe their governments to be perfect. But I believe pride, patriotism and celebratory architecture can exist besides an ackowledgement of the darker sides of history. Fortunately, someone in the British government in the '80s felt this way, too, and kicked off a £100 million restoration process. I'm proud to think that at least a little of my early tax money went into this place. It's worth every penny.

So that's three down, 697 options still remaining. Plenty, I'd say, to get me excited about next year's Open House weekend.

Carpe diem and bring on the foie gras: It's my birthday

The most significant anniversary in my life is not my birthday, but the annual marking of the elimination of cancer from my body. That milestone is actually sometime in early July. After several years of sliding scheduling, however, I'd managed to let my regular mammogram and ultrasound slip into September. And, once there, what better date on which to schedule them than my birthday? First, because it's the one date each year I'm not going to forget. Second, because ... assuming those tests come out clear ... what better gift could I give myself than the affirmation of life after once coming close to losing it?

Thanks to the magic of digital technology, the results are instantaneous. Thus the highlight of my afternoon was the doctor telling me that all looked good. Three years in the clear. Two more to go and my risk profile returns to that of a normal woman. "Normal" is till a grim 10 per cent risk of breast cancer, but better than now. Each year, better. So ... time to celebrate.

The chosen destination: La Trompette in Chiswick. The chosen company: Two of my oldest friends in the UK, one of whom I met on the very first day of the very first long-term assignment that would eventually see me move here. It was a night for celebrating not just health and life, but the comfortable delights of friendship that deepens over the years.

I've been dining out a lot recently, at many fine spots. They pale in comparison to La Trompette, however, a place that reminds me what a Michelin star really means. Perfection. A staff that never sets a foot wrong. Exquisitely presented food, where every element on the plate is there for a purpose and delivers memorable tastes. A great wine list accompanied by recommendations that get you the perfect match to your meal. The residents of Chiswick (American readers ... this is a close-in suburb of London. Think of St. Louis' Kirkwood or Chicago's Lincoln Park.) are truly blessed to have a place of this quality sitting on a little side lane off their high street. And we're all blessed that they're offering weeknight special pricing of three courses for £37.50.

It was a grim day, weather-wise. A steady downpour had forced me to buy yet another umbrella, and the walk from the tube station was a blustery, moist, uncomfortable battle. I was half an hour ahead of schedule, but had no desire to wander anywhere else in the downpour. The staff didn't mind at all that I was early, settling me into the table and immediately bringing water and a range of flavoured breads to assist my drying off.

Next it was time for a little chat with the restaurant manager over champagnes. (I knew my friends wouldn't mind if I got started before them.) La Trompette prides itself on avoiding any of the established, easily available brands. Champagne is, after all, filled with small producers without the marketing budgets or size of harvest to become household names. Yet, arguably, these guys produce much better wine than the big houses. The trick? Finding them. La Trompette has assembled a fine non vintage list, with 15 different options ranging from £45 to £77. (The complete sparkling wine list, with vintage and options from outside the champagne region, numbers 34.) The manager diagnosed my preferences and steered me toward Serge Mathieu's Cuvee Tradition Blanc de Noirs, brut. Dry with just a hint of sweet fruit, sparkling without too much effervescence, biscuity with a touch of honey, and near the bottom of the price range. Beautiful. I had to pace myself not to drink an unfair amount before my friends arrived.

A few sips into my second glass, the long waxed jacket and Australian hat that came dripping in from the rain was whisked away to reveal a nattily-suited Nicholas. A half-glass later Christine had finally battled through the traffic. Time for the party to really begin. Weight Watchers in abeyance for the festivities, that meant foie gras. Specifically, the foie gras and chicken liver parfait with toasted brioche. The texture was firm yet easily spreadable. The feel like fatty silk in the mouth. The taste distinct yet not overpowering. The brioche perfectly toasted. And, quite remarkably, the waiter was on hand at just the right moment to offer another piece. I didn't need one, but this was a nice (and unusual) touch. Christine's single, large ravioli of Cornish crab and salad got rave reviews, as did Nicholas' onion and cheddar tart.

By this point we'd finished the champagne and moved on. To ... a schioppetino. This is only the fourth time in the eight years since discovering this wine in Venice that I've seen it on a wine list. (Regular readers might remember my glee and amazement finding it aboard a Caribbean cruise ship. See 20.1.09.). I'll borrow the wikipedia description: "aromatic, medium bodied wines with Rhone-like qualities of deep dark coloring with violet, raspberry and pepper notes."

It was a graceful complement to the succulently medium rare roast rib of beef that both Nicholas and Christine had opted for. Not, perhaps, so logical with my bream. But I'm going to drink schioppetino wherever I find it, whatever I'm eating. Turns out my fish had such hearty accompanying flavours, and the wine is light enough, that it worked OK. I'd opted for the bream because of its companion potato gnocchi (another favourite) and jerusalem artichoke puree with Iberian ham and truffle veal jus. You'll sometimes find me complaining in these pages of over-complicated dishes, in which you just can't figure out why ingredients are there, or you can't taste them. This dish demonstrated how it should be done. The bream served the role of a fine canvas, distinct enough to assert its own qualities but flexible enough accept and transform the notes laid atop it. The gnocchi were perfectly al dente, moist, firm and dense with starchy comfort, kicked into a taste sensation by the puree. I can't even guess how many of those humble tubers gave up their essence for that little zig-zag across my plate; the concentrated flavours tasted like a dozen. Ditto the jus, with pulled off the trick of being light while also retaining all those complex flavours.

The impressive cheese board tempted me, but it being my birthday, chocolate was really a requirement. Bring on the Valrhona chocolate marquise topped with macadamia praline, accompanied by vanilla ice cream, chicory creme and caramel. As with the main course, every taste was on this plate was there for a reason. The praline offered texture to the softness of the rest of the dish, while the vanilla and chicory tempered the power of the darkest of dark chocolates. And then, just to make life perfect, Nicholas shared his cheese.

Another year of life. Fine food. Love. Laughter. Why stress over the little things when you have these? Carpe diem, my friends. Carpe diem.

Exotic Archipelago is London restaurant discovery of the year

When you're confronted with ostrich, alligator, kangaroo and scorpion on the same menu, you're likely to react strongly. The squeamish amongst you might say "no way". The culinary adventurers are more likely to observe: "Nice gimmick, but will the food be any good?"

Happily, in the case of Archipelago, the answer is "absolutely". In fact, this is my most delightful London discovery in years, and I have no doubt I'll be making it a priority to get back here. It's a small place, not more than 15 tables, boldly dedicated to the exotic. If I had to nail down the cuisine, I'd say it's South East Asian/African fusion.

You know you're in for something good from the moment you arrive, ducking from mundane Whitfield Street (humble Georgian mixed with brutalist cement) into an Aladdin's cave kitted out by a pack rat who has been seems to have been smuggling stuff out of the back attics at the British Museum. Swing a cat in here and you're likely to hit a Thai Buddha, an African tribal figure, a Moroccan rosewater dispenser, a few camel blankets, lanterns from Indian backstreets and a whole zoo of carved, glass-blown and sculpted animals spotted in the game reserve. The jumble is clearly put together with much thought, however. All of the cutlery and glassware on each table is purposely mismatched, actually making things look more lavish. Menus are treasure maps, rolled and placed in a wooden chest on the table, secured with a silk flower.

Frankly, you're in such an Indiana Jones mood by the time you settle in to peruse the menu that ordering fish or chicken seems like a waste. Though there's plenty of "normal" stuff on the menu. Sadly they were out of the crocodile starter. (I've had alligator, a tasty combo of chicken and lobster, thus was very disappointed not to get to try its cousin.) I opted instead for the ostrich. Rich and flavourful, with a depth of tastes so various it seemed more like sausage than lean meat. I could easily have asked for a triple portion and made that my main meal. But the delights of the curried kangaroo were ahead.

I can't say that the cute little marsupial tasted much different from slightly tough but tasty beef. However, the guy making the curries in the kitchen was clearly a master. The dish was all about the explosion of pungent, distinct spices in your mouth; the type of meat was incidental. It came with a stir fried pak choi and, to calm things down, a yogurt sauce resembling Greek tzatziki.

For dessert I went with a trio of chocolate. Sounds like standard fare, but the dark chocolate mousse was infused with lemon grass (a brilliant innovation I've never come across before) and the milk chocolate was, I think, prepared with basil. I'm not sure what enhanced the white chocolate, I can only tell you that it was the only one of which ... despite trying to stay within Weight Watchers allowances ... I couldn't bear to leave a bite behind.

So many other items on the menu tempted me. Tom yum soup with gold covered quail's eggs. Carmelised duck breast with pomegranate and pistachio nut salad. Blackened tilapia with sweet and sour beetroot salad. Rabbit, lentil and bean curry. Frozen berries with warm coconut-vanilla sauce served around a pyramid of ground nuts. A selection of cheeses with white peach, raspberry and chili chutneys.

And the best thing about this place? Three courses for £25. Amazing. We booked the deal through toptable.co.uk, which is loaded with recession-busting deals at the moment. (Blog entry on that to come.) Archipelago was fabulous value for money, delicious food and huge fun.

My only complaint is slow service. They clearly don't have many staff, with just two people covering the whole place when we dined there. They were attentive, knowledgeable and cheerful, it's just that it took quite a while between courses for the food to emerge from the downstairs kitchen. As long as you're not in a hurry and you're with good company, then the food and atmosphere is well worth the wait.

Post Script: Archipelago must surely be the first restaurant covered on the blog that drew me back within two weeks. I dined there again on the 20th, this time opting for green curry seafood to start and a roast zebra for my main that tasted remarkably like veal. Another excellent meal. The only difference being the lack of three course deal on a weekend; add another £20 to the base bill.

Economist editor provides early glimpse of 2010

You may know The Economist’s “World In…” series, a special issue of the respected publication that lays out what to expect in the new year as the old one winds down. Global circulation now stands at over a million readers, the vast majority of which are well educated and highly influential. Thus The World In has become a bit of a playbook for the great and the good.

Every September The Economist invites a handful of advertisers to a sneak peak at what editor Dan Franklin is planning. Fresh from my early morning outing to Economist Tower, here’s an overview of what Franklin’s starting to glimpse in his crystal ball.

Certain issues are going to be hot all year. The economy, of course, leads the way. Unfortunately, Economist editors aren’t brimming with cheerfulness, as they expect there to be a slow, painful recovery followed by another dip as government incentive money around the world starts to run out. Even with recovery, unemployment in the “rich world” is likely to remain high, with all its ensuing trauma on governments, society and the workplace.

On a related story, expect both the US and the UK to be obsessed with the weight of the debt they’ve accumulated firefighting the downturn, and the long-term effect on their national budgets.

Business writers will continue to look at the difference between developing markets and the “rich world”, noting that despite expectations about how we’re all linked by the global economy, developing countries have continued to steam ahead.

And just in case the conflict in the Middle East isn’t stressful enough, Franklin says to expect a lot of focus on, and tension between, the two Koreas. Back in Europe, Russia will continue to struggle with its disappointment that it can’t get past being a commodity-based economy, and Franklin fears we could see heightened tensions between Russia and the Ukraine.
For a month-by-month view, read on.

January

• Aftermath of Copenhagen conference; heightened focus on sustainability issues.
• UN launches “year of biodiversity”
• WEF Davos likely to see more than the usual puzzling over the future of capitalism- What to call the decade ahead? Likely a sense of optimism, and a pause for long-term planning and foresight, because a decade is turning
  

February

• Likely rise of pandemic issues as Northern hemisphere is in height of cold & flu season
• Focus on entertainment and leisure with the Vancouver Olympics and the Oscars
• The Chinese Year of the Tiger

March

• Once-a-decade census in the USA likely to trigger much debate and reportage on changing nature of America
• Spring meeting of G20 in S. Korea sparks discussion of global governance

April

• A likely focus on Iran, and what to do about its nuclear threat, in the run-up to non-proliferation treaty discussions
• Obama hosts a spring conference on nuclear disarmament
  

May

• The Shanghai World Expo expecting 70 million visitors; much discussion of who’ll be present and relations with China
• British election seems likely (last possible date is 3 June)

June

World Cup in South Africa lavishes attention on the continent and a whole range of African issues
July

• At some point this year (so we’ll say the middle) China is predicted to overtake Japan as the world’s second-biggest economy
• Expect companion pieces on China’s demographic shift; on the brink of having more dependents than workers (like the “rich world”), this has serious economic implications
  

August

Obama’s deadline for pulling combat troops out of Iraq to focus on “the good war” in Afghanistan; expect less “silly season” summer news slowdown in light of this very serious issue

September

End of 38-year US Space Shuttle programme prompts discussion of what’s next, relevance and cost of space exploration

October

• Brazil’s election. Term limits will force change in, and focus on, BRIC member that’s quietly and steadily performing
• 200 years of independence celebrations across a handful of Latin American countries around this time

November

US mid term elections will be the first real verdict on the performance of the Obama administration and its impact on the world

December

Expect obsessive reviews of the global economy and how it’s recovering from recession.

Let's hope that, despite Franklin's caution, the December coverage is positive.

Bingham's food on Michelin track, but service needs help

Nothing in the food world carries quite the weight of the Michelin stars. Getting one can establish a chef and his restaurant for life. Getting two or more seems to assure both constant waiting lists and the ability to charge exceptional rates. Losing one can kill a culinary career faster than botulism.

Thus two friends and I were thrilled to act upon a tip that the restaurant at the Bingham Hotel in Richmond was in full pursuit of its first star, and we should try the place before they got it and the prices skyrocketed.

The food is, without doubt, on track for lofty acclaim. Interesting ingredients, prepared with great skill and creative flair, with absolutely exquisite presentation. A bit over-complicated at times for its own good, but all positive. The setting is sophisticated and, on a sunny day, offers some of the most picturesque Thames-side dining I've ever experienced. The problem was the service. Genial but very slow and woefully uninformed. They're going to have to work on that.

Let's start with the food. There's a set price menu with three options per course that you can try for £19.50 for two courses and £23 for three. I could have been happily opted for the celeriac and goat's cheese terrine with beetroot and Jerusalem artichoke salad (nice use of seasonal produce); skate wing with the uber-trendy salsify and pigs' cheeks; followed by a selection of British and French cheeses. But we were keen to try other things on the menu, so we went a la carte. This too, however, was a set price. At £39 per person, lunch or dinner, that's a good value, and I like the fact that the set price allows you to choose what you fancy rather than juggling the range of costs.

I started with the pressed rabbit and ham terrine with pickled carrots, crisp ginger and a foie gras parfait. The terrine was beautifully delicate for something made with such robust ingredients; truly a work of art in its finicky, precise construction. And it tasted fabulous. The foie gras was a bit pointless, however. It was an unnecessary compliment to the dish and, in consistency, too runny to eat easily. My main course was a very posh take on fish stew: Roast monkfish with razor clams, squid and scallop in a seafood bisque with citrus oil and fennel marmalade. The bisque was rich, pungent yet also light, and a vivid yellow. Tumeric, I presumed. I wanted to consume every drop. That was a bit difficult, given the fact that it wasn't served with a spoon. This is a typical example (more to come) of the staff's deficiencies. Both of my friends had the sucking pig; again, a traditionally hearty peasant's dish re-imagined as beautifully presented nouvelle cuisine. The crackling had been cut into thin strips and woven into a lattice work. Clever and pretty. Though, as I'm not a crackling fan, I can't offer much judgment on how it tasted.

While the starters and mains were flamboyant and, often, more complicated than they needed to be, the desserts were pretty straightforward. Two of us opted for the Amadei chocolate tart. This Tuscan chocolate, considered the "champagne of chocolate" by many, made a tart that was dark, rich, smooth and deeply satisfying, though on par with many I've had. The third diner had a marscapone cheesecake, which she rated similarly "good but not best ever."

What was missing, food-wise? I found most of the dishes over-complicated. This reminded me of the main criticism I had of Tom Aikens' place (see 30.03.08); things would have actually been even better with a bit of restraint. The fennel marmalade in my fish, for example, added nothing but a fiddly bit of decoration. The nibbles with pre-luncheon drinks were an unexceptional bowl of mixed olives. Moving on to the table, I've never been to a Michelin starred restaurant without an amuse bouche, that little extra something from the chef. No hint of that here. Also no little extras around pudding, be it a secondary, complimentary dessert or a lovely little tray of delicacies with the bill. (Regular readers will know that multiple desserts are always going to captivate me.) It's as if the chef ran out of steam on the main dishes and couldn't work up the energy for any fine little touches and transitional notes.

My main issue with the Bingham, however, was service. Everything was exceptionally slow. We were shown to the bar rather than the restaurant upon arrival for our 1:30 booking (standard for dinner, but we would have liked an option at lunch. We were ready to tuck straight in.) and were abandoned for 10 minutes before anyone took an order. Another 20 minutes passed without anyone giving us a menu to peruse, or checking up on us, before we finally got to the table. Once settled, the staff showed no expertise at or interest in the menu. At a really fine restaurant, when I ask for help choosing between dish A and dish B, I expect a lot of detailed knowledge, some questions and a consultative recommendation. Not the "it's all good" that any 20-something barmaid can give me at my local pub. At the end of the meal, when I asked about their single malts, I was handed a menu of ports and dessert wines; not a scotch in sight.

We were abandoned for long stretches after each course was delivered, making it difficult to ask for any extras (like that inexplicably eliminated spoon for the bisque). The friend who had to leave at 4 barely finished her pudding in time. The remaining two of us stayed past 5, and in all that time only got asked if we needed anything once. Requests for water had to be made three times before a fresh carafe turned up, and the staff was inexplicably reticent to ask us if we wanted to order any more drinks. We ended up having a remarkably restrained one-bottle lunch over that four-plus hours, but figured they could have sold us another £60 in wine and cocktails if they'd only come around and asked.

All of this was made forgivable as much by the remarkable setting as by the food. The Bingham sits directly on the Thames, just up river from central Richmond. Sleek, modern gardens slope down to a high wall, beyond which is the Thames path and the water. We were seated on the balcony in warm glow of one of the last balmy, bright days of summer. Cormorants snagged fish, posh boys skulled by from the rowing club and the odd pleasure craft drifted by. With such a setting we could have been happy across the hours with a burger and a diet coke. The gourmet fare was a bonus.

Should you go in the winter, however, plan to be demanding about the service. It certainly won't stand much scrutiny without the distraction of a fine view.

Post script: After writing this post I've learned that neither service nor setting play a role in getting a star. It's all about the food. Specifically, quality of ingredients; skill in preparing them and combining flavours; creativity; consistency and value for money. On these criteria, I'd say the Bingham stands a pretty good chance. As for my rating, I'll stick by my guns. Service matters.