Zuma's food remains tops, but the atmosphere makes me wish for take-away

More than three years ago I wrote about Zuma as the best Japanese restaurant I'd experienced, and swore I'd make an effort to go back.  It took a while.  Mostly because it's one of those perpetually sold out places that requires you to call exactly 3 months before you want to dine there to snag a reservation.    If you fail to call within two hours of the tables being released, you miss your window.

Wrapping up a rare visit from my father, and getting him together with the NU girls, seemed like a good excuse.  Thus I marked my diary and booked the table in October. While others were tucking into austerity January, we had one more celebration on the cards.

Was it as good as I remembered?  Absolutely.  It was also far, far more expensive than I recalled.  And the uber-glamorous dinner crowd with their cacophonous buzz left me disenchanted.  I'd return for lunch … which draws more of a business crowd … but probably not dinner.

We pushed the boat out and had the more expensive of the two tasting menus.  This was actually a failure of communication between my husband and myself; I was steering towards the less expensive, but he somehow mis-interpreted that and ordered the luxury level for the table.  Something I didn't realise until the grilled lobster game out.  What the hell.  Who needs to buy groceries in January, anyway?  We'll just work through the Christmas leftovers.

As with my last visit, everything was perfection.  Standouts were that lobster, soft shell crab and the wagyu beef.  The latter turned up cured, cold and very rare in one course, grilled and in a sweet and savoury sauce in another.  Everything was magnificent, from dishes of salmon tartare to platters of succulent sashimi to sushi like little works of art to morsels of perfectly steamed, melt-in-your-mouth black cod.  This is a seafood lover's dream.  Everything is exquisitely fresh and thus you're really able to pick up the distinct differences in taste between the different kinds of fish.  And we ended up, as I did last time, with a chocolate fondant that puts many French places to shame.

Everything comes as sharing platters, which is great fun when you have several people and can all compare tastes and favourites.  Unfortunately, they don't have a matching wine or sake pairing menu. Which, of course, is a good way of keeping costs from spiralling further out of control.  We had their sake sommelier bring us four different little jugs to accompany the four courses.  Three were chilled, one room temperature.  She explained some of the nuances but her English wasn't that good, so this lacked the detailed pairing explanations you'd get from an expert in an equivalent European restaurant.  It was interesting, and the match with the sushi course was particularly good.  But our biggest lesson was that sake, at more than £30 for each of those cute little jugs, makes fine wine look like a value-for-money drink.  Given that the majority of the meal was fish, we would have had a better time getting a single, seafood-friendly white to share.  Live and learn.

My biggest issue with Zuma on this occasion was my fellow diners.  I can't think of another London

restaurant that is so flagrantly, ostentatiously set up for the Super Rich.  Tables of Arabic oil princes jockeyed with Russian oligarchs and their pneumatically enhanced, diamond-draped women.  Asian beauties with piles of shopping bags from nearby luxury brands sat cheek-by-jowl with the rare table of English aristo trust fund babies.  Rare, because Asian, Arabic and Oriental diners outnumbered Anglo-Saxons by two to one.  Couture clothing dominated, as did youth.  As upper middle class professionals with an average age in the mid 50s, we were no doubt amongst the poorest and oldest in the room.  Zuma presented fascinating people watching possibilities, and I'm sure that atmosphere is part of what you pay for.  Problem is, I don't want to pay for that.  I just want London's best Japanese food.

One other small quibble:  With tables so difficult to get, this is one of those places that gives you just two hours for your booking.  Which is fine if you're doing a normal three-course meal, but actually gets quite insulting when you're splashing out on the budget-busting tasting menu with break-the-bank sake rounds.  Eventually, they figured this out, and slowed down to let us take our time after the third round of food (Triggered, no doubt, by the premature delivery of the black cod at the same time as the sushi.  The manager whisked it away in embarrassment and delivered another, later.  It deserves, and later got, solo centre stage.)

So Zuma leaves me with mixed feelings.  It stands head and shoulders above any other Japanese food I've ever had.  I could eat here every day.  The food is exquisite in every way and I'd prefer it not just to every other Japanese place, but to most other restaurants in town.  But the atmosphere is an exclusive, showy, loud morality play of conspicuous consumption, rushed along by waiters who clearly want to turn your table.

For the same price, and the same effort to make the advance booking, you could be sitting in the quiet elegance of Le Gavroche.  Which makes you think.

In fact, that's where we're off to next.

Mary Rose is a magical time capsule in Portsmouth

Tourists flock to Pompeii to drink in that unique sense of history frozen in a single moment in time.  Here in Hampshire, we can get the same experience without leaving the county at the Mary Rose museum.

Henry VIII welcomes you

Granted, there's no Vesuvius looming, and you'll be looking over the Solent rather than the Bay of Naples.  But you have the same extraordinary sense of time travel, and the museum (located within the Portsmouth Historic Dockyards) brings together artefacts, architecture and story in a way that leaves the Italian city in the volcanic dust.

The pride of Henry VIII's navy, the Mary Rose sunk in battle in 1545 and returned to the surface in 1982.  Experts have been conserving her sodden timbers ever since, and the process is nearing completion.  An innovative new museum opened in May 2013 that brings the ship … as she was on her last day … back to glorious life.

A covering of volcanic ash preserved Pompeii's story.  Boarding nets did the same for the Mary Rose.  This netting, strung over the top of all the exposed decks to prevent enemies coming aboard, kept everyone and everything in when she went down.  Meaning archeologists weren't just bringing up a ship.  They had everything from cannons to workmen's tools, skeletons to personal possessions to capture that world, at that moment.

The museum cleverly lays out the artefacts where they would have been on the ship, and invites you to explore through the stories of different crew members.  We don't know their names, but skeletons, possessions and their location on the wreck lead us to the master carpenter, the cook, the physician, etc.

The Mary Rose settled on her starboard side and sunk into the silt, thus half was preserved and half washed away.  She's now sitting up, that starboard side a ghostly skeleton in a vast, glass-enclosed hall.  The displays of artefacts occupy the space that would have been her port side, prow and stern, the building's lines re-creating the rest of the ship.  She's still drying out; in 2016 the glass partition will come down and the galleries will seem even more a part of the wider vessel.

Wander where the officer's quarters were, and see the ship's china, the contents of the officer's personal chests, even the skeleton of the ship's dog.  Elsewhere you can explore the quarters and armaments of the fighting men.  There's an interactive section where you can try your strength against a weighted machine that mimics a longbow.  In the bowels of the ship, see how the kitchen worked and where food was stored.  Throughout, serious commentary and actual artefacts are matched with educational games on video screens:  get your distance calculations right to hit the French ships; stock the galley correctly to feed both officers and men.  This place would be a blast with kids.

We spent about two hours here before we became overwhelmed by the sheer amount of interesting stuff.  And that's not even considering the scientific story of the rescue and preservation, which is worth a visit on its own.  There's so much here, you could go many times before you got bored.

It's a good thing for locals, therefore, that a single entry ticket is good for return visits for a whole year.  I'm embarrassed that it took me 18 months to get here after the new museum opened.  I'm vowing to do back before my return ticket expires.

Icelandic Hotels: Ranga falls a bit below expectations, The Grand above

My interest in Iceland kindled two years ago thanks to a Country Life magazine article about a Northern Lights-viewing trip to Hotel Ranga on the south coast.  The organiser was an Icelandic specialist called Discover the World.  When we decided on Iceland for the 2013 girls' trip, we went for the same organiser and itinerary.

Problem was, after getting our deposits down they told us that Ranga was sold out.  We diverted to the wonderful Hotel Glymur, but the sell-out made Ranga all the more intriguing.  So when Piers and I decided on Iceland for New Year, I tried again.  Discover the World again took my deposit for a Ranga-based itinerary.  And, again, came back a few days later, apologising, to say the hotel was sold out.

I don't often channel my aggressive, the-customer-is-always-right American roots.  But this was one of those times.  After frustrated mentions of the problems on the last trip, treatment of return customers and  a suggestion of bait-and-switch marketing strategies … they found room for us at Ranga.  Was it worth the effort?

The battle to get here might have created unrealistic expectations, because I found Ranga to be a fine but not extraordinary hotel.  Glymur was probably better, and certainly had a more spectacular setting.  Ranga's most notable edge was its cheerful and chatty staff, led by a manager who circulated the dining room getting to know guests and was always on hand to advise on sightseeing routes.

The atmosphere here is wilderness lodge.  Ranga is essentially a giant log cabin.  Check in, bar, restaurant and lounges are in the two-story central block, a corridor stretches in each direction with a single story of rooms.  The taxidermised polar bear, arctic fox and salmon decorating the lobby drive the point home.  The rooms are simple, basic and comfortable, with doors direct to an outside patio.  Those facing south look over sloping fields and a river flowing swiftly to the sea and provide quick access to the hot tubs.  Those on the other side overlook the car park, but would have the advantage of Northern Lights views (when the lights show themselves) without leaving the room.

The rooms have neither the charm nor the space to merit spending much waking time in them.  If you're not enjoying the hot tub or getting a massage (one of the best I've had, ask for Kathrin), there's a lounge filled with oversized leather chairs and sofas above the bar and restaurant.  Windows set into the gabled roof give views of the river lands beyond.

We were on half board (dinner, bed and breakfast), essential when dining prices anywhere in the country are steep and you're a captive audience.  There are basic restaurants in towns 20 minutes in either direction, but I doubt it would be worth the effort.  Dinners at Ranga were excellent.  Adeptly prepared, beautifully presented and concentrating on Icelandic favourites like Arctic Char, lamb and skyr (very similar to sweetened Greek yogurt).  Our biggest complaint … besides them letting the tomato-allergic Piers get a third of the way through some seafood soup before apologising and whisking it away, realising the offending ingredient was in the stock … was repetition.  There's no choice: you get what the chef decides.  Our three nights featured chicken as a main course for dinners two and three (with a different sauce), and skyr for dessert on nights one and three (the exact same dish).  All the food was excellent, actually increasing our irritation about the repeats.  We would have liked to try other things.

Back in the city, the expectations v reality battle went in the other direction.  I wasn't looking forward to the Reykjavic Grand, which looked like a characterless cement office block on the outskirts of town, well beyond walking distance to any tourist sights.  Turns out it's built around an architecturally-striking four-story lobby with water features, a central fire-pit and a cathedral-like glass wall at one end

decorated with modern art echoing medieval stained glass.  It's a comfortable place to congregate, with multiple seating areas and a big bar serving up light dishes, drinks and a variety of Iceland's excellent beer.

There's also an underground garage with stairs leading up to the covered porte cochere; a blessedly welcome feature after three days of risking life and limb to get across ice-slicked car parks.  (And falling badly on one of them.)  Upstairs, the rooms are stereotypical Scandinavian design: sparse, cool and elegant.  But the ceilings and windows are high, the rooms bigger than average, the bathroom generous, while the deep blue textiles brought warmth to all the pale colours.

We ate in both nights we were here.  The first because we attended the hotel's New Year's Eve ball, the second because we couldn't be bothered to make the effort to go out.  The buffet with a selection of carved roasts at one end was tasty, though unexceptional.  The same starters and desserts as we'd had the night before re-appeared.

Does Iceland have a particularly limited repertoire of dishes?  We certainly seemed to be having the same things over and over at both hotels.  Probably not.  I'm sure we would have done better to wander into the tourist district.  But this was one of those times when comfort triumphed over culinary exploration.

Northern Lights are even better than the world's best fireworks night

"Because we live so much of our lives in the dark, we're addicted to bright lights."

That's how the Reykjavic woman explained the mad abundance of bonfires and fireworks on New Year's Eve.  It's a national rebuttal of the weather.  A celebration of resilience and an assurance that they will make it through the darkness to the long, light-filled days of summer.  And it conspires to create what must be one of the best places in the world to celebrate a turn of the year.

Citizens start letting off fireworks from mid-afternoon.  When, of course, it's already grey and gloomy enough for the colours to show up in the sky.  The pace builds steadily as the hours tick by.  On the whole, these aren't official civic or community displays, but private arsenals.  Tradition has every family spending between £200 and £300 on fireworks for the evening.  The fireworks vendors are the charities that run the island's search and rescue organisations; critical infrastructure for this rugged and often dangerous land.  Thus people aren't just funding their display for fun; it's a civic duty.

And we're not talking the usual modest, back-garden stuff here.  These are proper sky-fillers that would

do any professional display proud.  Difference being that at a professional gig, you're looking at one point in the sky.  In Reykjavic, you're surrounded.  As we approached midnight, things built to a crescendo.  At any given second, perhaps 30 large fireworks were lighting up the sky from one horizon to another.  It was impossible to keep track of … better to watch one patch of sky and take in four or five displays.

The illuminations carry on at this pace for a full hour after midnight.  Frankly, you'll get tired of watching them before the citizens stop firing them.  We retreated to our room just after 1, and it sounded like artillery fire in a war zone until 4 or 5am.

You can appreciate the festivities from anywhere in Reykjavic, but we'd bought into a package with Discover the World.  (The same specialist agency that organised my trip in October 2013.)  A formal dinner kicked off with cocktails in our hotel, the Grand, at 6pm.  Then the first two courses of our dinner before getting bundled into buses to take in one of the community bonfires. (pictured at the top.)

In addition to the fireworks, most communities collect massive piles of wood to create towering pyres in the early evening.  This is no mean feat in a country with few trees.  We visited one of the larger ones in the Reykjavic suburbs; a bonfire the size of a generous mansion, flames licking three or four stories in the air, scores of buses bringing tourists in.  But we'd seen the wood stacked in every village we'd visited along the south coast.  It's all part of the quest for illumination.

Back to the Grand for dessert and some music in the ballroom before heading up to the fourth floor, where a balcony wrapped around three sides of the building to give a remarkable panorama.  Viewing fuelled by champagne and platters of dessert canapés, of course.  We could have danced 'til 4am back in the ballroom, but we figured nothing could top the fireworks so turned in.

Not all the fireworks in Iceland are man-made, of course. The main reason for coming here in the winter is the Northern Lights, though there's no guarantee you'll see them.  The skies need to be clear, you must be away from the ambient light of the city, then you need all sorts of other atmospheric conditions to fall into place.  Most country hotels have a wake-up list: they watch, and ring you if anything appears.

Miraculously, the clouds parted for just a few hours in our whole trip, and that happened at midnight when conditions were favourable.  The spectacle is one of the most bizarre things I've ever seen in nature.

At first glance, I could have mistaken our sighting for a long cloud illuminated by the moon.  It was a long, wide white smudge across the centre of the sky.  But then it began to move.  The lights dance, shimmer, shift and glow in eerie and unexpected ways.  They come and go in an instant.  At one point, there was just a the thin horizontal track above the horizon.  Moments later, there were three sets of lights all doing different things at different points.

Depending on the gases in the air, the lights can take on all sort of colours.  Ours were primarily white with flashes of green.  They were at their most dramatic when they seemed to drizzle down the sky, like   thin white icing sliding down a chocolate cake.  At the same time, the stars were shining with remarkable clarity.  We're so used to light pollution, we forget that without human intervention, the night sky is pinpricked by thousands of lights.  The only place I've gotten a view of the star-scape this good was on a cruise ship in the South Pacific.  Granted, it was a lot warmer.  But this is closer.

The fireworks were great, but it was this sighting of the Northern Lights that really made the trip.  What man creates is impressive.  What nature rolls out is truly awe inspiring.

If you don't slip on that ice, there's plenty to see in Iceland's short days

Iceland is the land that health and safety forgot.

Not for this sturdy Nordic land are legal warnings about the dangers of hot coffee or slippery roads.  Weather closures?  Don't be silly.  Iceland stays open all year, despite the dark, snow and ice.  Drive.  Hike.  Climb behind a waterfall.  If you're stupid enough to slide into a ditch, slip and break a bone or plunge to your death off an icy trail, that's down to your own lack of common sense.  The Icelanders, after all, are all indoors having a soak at their community hot water pools.

We managed to fit a fair amount of exploring into five days, with the only casualty being a badly jammed kneecap when, despite taking great care, I wiped out on a sheet of ice that covered the car park at the Reykjavic Saga Museum.  But, really, it was just a matter of time.  Pretty much every car park, pavement and side road in the country was a skating rink.  (The notable exception being the Blue Lagoon which, one assumes, has such an enormous flow of foreign tourists they feel the need for more thorough clearance.)

There is no bad weather; only inappropriate clothing.  If I ever do Iceland again in the winter, I'll be going with slip-on crampons to slip beneath boots with much better traction than the fashionable but useless version I took along.  I'd made the mistake of anticipating lots of snow, which any time spent looking at average temperatures would have told me was a mistake. Thanks to the Gulf Stream, the whole country hovers, on average, a degree or two on either side of freezing all winter.  This, inevitably, leads to a world wavering between water and its frozen form.  It is, after all, called ICEland.

So why in the world did we head to this treacherous, real-life version of the Frozen set in the depths of winter?  Two reasons:  northern lights, and one of the most spectacular New Year's Eve traditions in the world.  We did indeed see those magical lights, and the turn-of-the-year festivities lived up to expectations.  More on those in the next entry.  But, even for the most ardent, that's less than 12 hours of activity.  How do you fill the rest of the trip?

Sightseeing is possible, despite the fact there are just over four hours of daylight at this time of the year. In Reykjavic, they just get on with things in the dark.  In the countryside, you time your visits so you're driving to and from your destination in twilight, saving the sun for the sights.  Although "sun" is a relative term.  Low on the horizon, screened most of the time by thick banks of clouds, the light source is less sunshine and more a murky, pearlescent illumination.  The landscape was dark rock peeking through drifts of snow, mediated by tones of grey and the occasional fungal green.  It's like living in a black and white film.

But a very, very dramatic one.  We spent three days on the south coast, where imposing volcanic peaks drop into strips of flat, water- and glacier-scrubbed fields before black sand beaches give way to plunging surf.  Waterfalls plummet down cliff faces.  Meandering streams cut stark deltas, free of any grasses or trees as they flow to the sea.

Our south coast highlights:
Seljalandsfoss - Conveniently located within sight of the main road, you can't miss this one.   Its great claim to fame is one that needs warmer weather:  stairs at either side give you access to a cavern behind the falls.  At this time of year the way is completely iced over, so we just gazed in admiration at the power of the water thundering off the cliff.

Skogafoss - A little further back from the road, but another one that's easy to drive up to, wander a few steps and admire.  Like the one above, it's another wide, straight, thundering fall from a cliff edge above.  This one is in the back of a valley, however, so a touch more picturesque.

Vik - Hard to believe, but this tiny hamlet of around 300 inhabitants is the biggest population centre on this stretch of coast.  It's raw nature with a few farmsteads for 50 miles in either direction.  Thus the petrol station, restaurant and small woollen mill here are a big deal.  For the best sight, however, you leave your car and walk a couple hundred yards out to the beach, where the dramatic stretch of black basalt sand with atmospheric basalt pinnacles rising out of the waves offshore has featured on lists of the 10 most beautiful beaches in the world.  And the drive into Vik from the west, sweeping around a mountain pass with spectacular views before descending back to the coast, is equally dramatic.

Gamla Fjosio - This little restaurant sits in that wilderness to the west of Vik, not far from the visitor's centre for Eyjafjallajokull.  That's the tough-to-pronounce volcano that shut down air traffic across Europe in 2010.  The visitor centre is a barn with some photos and information boards inside, on which we decided not to lay out £4 per person to explore.  I'd rather put it in this place.  A homey, barn-like interior with no more than a dozen tables features a simple but tasty menu, all based on the cattle from the farm here, and served by the family.  My "volcano soup" (spicy beef and vegetable) was a tasty and warming starter, while Piers' cured beef had him asking for recipe tips.  We went on to a steak sandwich and a burger, both very good.  The drawback, like anything in Iceland, is price.  This very simple lunch with a couple of drinks each came in at £30 per person.


Our Reykjavic highlights:
The Cathedral - I admired the building on my visit in 2013, but discovered two new aspects this time.  First, the tower is pierced and illuminated, giving a filigree effect in the dark.  Which is, of course, most of the winder.  Second, you can take a lift up the tower and then it's a short climb up to a viewing platform below that filigree.  The views over town, shimmering in the pre-dawn half light, were magical.

The Saga Museum - Calling this a museum is stretching the point.  There are no historic artefacts here and it's not particularly scholarly.  Think Madame Tussaud's does Icelandic history.  Pay your money, get an audio guide and

walk through a series of sets in which life-sized wax figures act out some of the high points from the first settlers through to the religious reformation.  It's good context for understanding the history, if not awe inspiring.  A side room where you can dress up in Viking costume, complete with chain mail, helmets and weapons, is that little extra that makes admission worth while.

The National Museum of Iceland - Once you've gotten the cartoon strip version at the Saga Museum, come here for the real stuff.  Precious artefacts from settlement through the modern age.  A tiny votive statue of Thor, an intricately carved medieval church door, local silver production, native costume, and much more.  A horrifically ugly building on the outside, but indoors its elegantly designed and everything is well displayed.  If I could re-do my 2013 trip, this is the one thing we would have seen in town.

The Blue Lagoon - Pretty much as I described it the last time.  We went on New Year's day, however, and this was probably a mistake.  The crowds were substantial, even with our pre-paid vouchers, so we forked out an additional £30 per person to skip the queues and upgrade to a premium package.  That gave us a couple of free drinks, gown and towel rental, and a booking (only) in the restaurant.  Another expensive lunch, albeit in more elegant surroundings that the Gamla farm.  The high-ceilinged room looks out through glass walls at the steaming lagoon and the Icelandic specialities are beautifully presented, but the service isn't particularly attentive.  We advised the staff about Piers' tomato allergy, and discussing menu choices, they then thoughtlessly served up sun-dried tomato bread.  Which, fortunately, he didn't eat too much of before we realised what that subtle flavouring was.  I'd return to the lagoon any trip, but not on a holiday and probably not for the restaurant.

'Tis the season to be very, very busy. Here are the highlights.

Even without all the pressure at work, it would have been challenging to do all this stuff AND write about it.  Your correspondent only has so much discretionary time.  Here's a summary of the best holiday events.

Winchester Christmas Market - It seems that England now has almost as many "European-style" Christmas markets as the German holiday heartland its copying.  It's Winchester that's become my holiday tradition.  Just half an hour south of our house, good park-and-ride that's free on Sundays, excellent variety of craftspeople and an achingly picturesque site tucked in the shadow of one of England's most beautiful cathedrals.  Stall holders are either craftspeople (particularly fertile ground for silversmiths, glass artists and weavers) or purveyors of unusual gift items.  I almost always find things for those hard to buy for people who seem to have everything.  And if you can't find something here, the town beyond still boasts a satisfying number of independent shops.

The Christmas Balls - This was the year when "Strictly Come Dancing" took over the party scene, forming the theme for both black tie events I attended.  My husband's military gang extended an alumni invitation to their annual gig.  Organised by serving soldiers and put on in their Territorial Army HQ, it has a sweet dance-in-the-gym feel that evokes memories of high school.  Made much more sophisticated by a military chamber orchestra playing for us over cocktails.  After dinner, a couple of Strictly stars did three display dances, then gave a cha cha lesson.  Which, much to my surprise, got most of the room on its feet.

The Women in Advertising and Communications London (WACL) ball was in a different league, as you'd expect of a major fundraiser organised by female execs who run events for a living.  The ballroom of the Savoy has always been one of London's better venues, and is now looking magnificent after the grande dame's three-year, £220 million renovation.  This was a brilliantly themed event, honing in on the exotic South American end of ballroom dancing.  A troupe of Brazilian Mardi Gras performers welcomed us and ended cocktail hour with a boisterous drum procession into the dining room, where they showed off their capoeira moves before leaving us to eat a three-course Brazilian dinner.  Another pair from TV's Strictly showed up for a tango and pop artist Ellie Goulding dropped by to sing a few hits.  The WACL organisers certainly know how to warm people up for a charity auction; the pounds were flowing.

The Montcalm at the Brewery, London - This quirky, modern boutique hotel is worth considering for anyone who needs to be in The City (we booked it for the military ball) or simply for someone who's after a more unusual London base.  Lord knows it's well off the tourist track, on a quiet street in between the Barbican and Moorgate; the area is a ghost town on weekends.  Which means you can get some deals on the rates (and street parkng).  The hotel links several buildings in what was once the Whitbread Brewery, a late-Georgian model of mass production.  Thus you get picturesque, historic exteriors and hip modern intetiors.  Lots of black and grey, exposed stone, modern sculpture, a waterfall dribbling down a lobby wall, etc.  In our room, a glass panel separated bathing area from sleeping.  You could lounge in the tub and watch TV.

Bombay Sapphire Distillery Tour - This wins my vote for best new tourist attraction in our area in years, and is sure to be somewhere I bring visitors repeatedly.  Bombay has spent a fortune refurbishing the Georgian mill on the river Test that made paper for British banknotes in the Victorian era.  It's a gorgeous, rural spot about 20 minutes south of Basingstoke and would be worth a wander for the architecture and surrounding woodland and riverscape alone.  The distillery tour is well organised and cleverly scripted, but rises above the average in three ways.  First, there are two modern glass houses in the middle of the complex where you can see the botanicals used in the gin as they grow in nature.  Second, there's a room of scents where you have a sniff off all those botanicals, in several forms, punching a card to indicate which you like best.  Finally, you end up in a cocktail bar where they whip up a drink for you based on the aroma profile you selected.

Ming: 50 Years That Changed China - I didn't get the chance to linger with an audio guide in this latest British Museum blockbuster, but I did wander through twice.  The show focuses on a time period roughly analogous to the English Civil Wars when China was, arguably, at the height of its artistic flowering.  The items here ... many never seen outside of China before ... present an elegant, sophisticated and advanced society of achingly good taste.  Not only is all of this stuff beautiful in its own right, but you can see influences on style to the present day, particularly in the pottery and painted scrolls.  There are sumptuous Imperial robes, beguiling portraits, haunting temple figures and fascinating weapons and armour.  I was particularly intrigued by the lacquer furniture which, when displayed alongside an explanation of the complexity of the process, is awe-inspiring.

The Christmas Films (The Hobbit, Paddington) -In our Tolkein-obsessed household, the release of Peter Jackson's final Middle Earth saga was always going to be a big event.  My husband had a few quibbles with just how much artistic license Jackson's team took with the plot, but on the whole enjoyed it.  As did I.  Which, given the fact that at least 65% of the film is fight scenes, is an accomplishment.  It would have been easy to slip into boredom, but the characterisation and magnificent sets held my interest.  Paddington required a small friend for admission and was a sweet, innocent, funny joy.

Italian trio (Luce e Limoni, Tartufo, Ciccheti) captures holiday dining prizes, Brasserie Gustave offers French respite

December is always a madcap month;  Inevitably the busiest for the social diary, this year it also coincided with a particularly awful time at work requiring dedication to the first half of my work/life balance.  Ergo, a wealth of potential, distinct blog entries are crunching down into two summaries.

Today, the highlights of the holiday dining out.  Tomorrow, the cultural and activity highlights.

Luce e Limoni - My favourite new discovery of 2014 finished the year as well as it started it.  I had two festive holiday meals here, and both parties were delighted.  Although in at least one case, vast quantities of their fine Fiano wine gilded the lily.  The large shell pasta stuffed with crab and the swordfish in a breadcrumb, herb and pecorino crust were the superlatives, but there wasn't a complaint across the two dinners.  Add great service.  I'm by no means a regular, but I have been here enough for the staff to recognise me.  They took special care not to ignore us when big groups could have dominated their attention one night, and ended our meal with free limoncello another.  True Sicilian hospitality to go along with the authentic food.

Tartufo - Another return to a discovery from earlier this year.  It's exceptionally difficult to find restaurants open on Christmas Eve in London.  Tartufo's location within a hotel (11 Cadogan Gardens) forces its opening, and its location a stone's throw from Sloane Square made it perfect for dinner before midnight mass at St. Mary's Bourne Street nearby.  The starter of rabbit rolled in pancetta was the best rabbit dish I've had anywhere, any time, and the conte di cavour was the same memorable chocolate indulgence as on my first visit.  If anything, the menu has become even more resolutely Italian, moving away from the Franco-Italian fusion that was this place's original signature.  Best of all: three courses for £35, four for £40; a steal for this part of town and probably the best value for money of any of these restaurants.

Ciccheti - This bustling hot spot on Piccadilly, just off the Circus, bases its menu around the Venetian concept of small plates of snacks they will nibble in bars on the way home for dinner.  Essentially, Venetian tapas. Meatballs, small pizzas, griddled prawns, arancini (deep fried rice balls), prosciutto, grilled vegetables, etc.  All done with a deft hand and authentic flavours.  My one complaint: there's no "assorted feast" option to make it easy for you to order a variety.  I wouldn't go back here for a formal meal ... both restaurants above are better and this place is very loud ... but it's a great concept for a large group and it's a quality find in a part of town reknown for tourist rip-offs.

Brasserie Gustave - I decided to give my husband a break from the Italian onslaught with this well-reviewed French brasserie in Chelsea.  Resolutely traditional in menu, wine list and the preparation of key dishes (steak tartare, veal diane, crepes Suzette) at your table.  My french onion soup and steak tartare were exemplary.  This is the kind of food you dream about finding in Paris, and rarely do.  The prices on the wine list, however, make this a pricey choice if you're doing a long, boozy catch-up lunch with friends; though the staff is happy to let you linger and end your lunch as the clock approaches 6pm.