Outlaw's is a fish-lover's dream (with a nightmare bill)

Ask the average Brit to name a famous seafood chef, and Rick Stein's name will inevitably top the list. Serious foodies, however, will probably default to his protege Nathan Outlaw.

After learning his trade at several well-known restaurants, he opened his own place and got his first Michelin star at the tender age of 25. He's a frequent guest chef on the BBC's Saturday Kitchen, and his eponymous Cornwall-based flagship holds two Michelin stars. Heading to Fowey for dinner is no simple undertaking, however, so we were excited to hear that he'd opened a place in London.

Outlaw's at The Capital is a small, elegant restaurant tucked into a boutique hotel in a Knightsbridge backstreet near Harrods. In a part of London synonymous with bling, it's a tasteful room done with amber wood paneling, subtle stripes and cream pottery, where a knowledgeable staff serves with quiet efficiency. While there are other things on the menu, the point of this place is seafood and the tasting menu is a fish-lover's dream. Having made the effort to come here, we could hardly do anything else.

The 5-course tasting menu is £85, the matching wine flight £65. That does not include  the copious add-ons like amuse bouche, pre-deserts and petit fours that often come with the chef's menu. These are definitely Knightsbridge prices.

We started with a whisky-cured salmon, presumably prepared in a sous vide to impart its feather-light, melt-in-the-mouth texture. The saffron kohlrabi and horseradish yogurt was hardly noticeable on the side; I could have used a bit more to balance the dish. That was brilliantly matched with a sharp Etna bianco to cut through the richness of the fish. Next came a fillet of brill served beside a deep-fried, crispy oyster. The contrast of flavours and textures was spot on, as was a sauvignon blanc from the Loire.

Moving from classic cooking to the peasant kitchen, out came red-wine braised octopus with beans and seaweed dressing. This was the best take on this tricky-to-cook fish I've ever eaten, the fantasy recipe you want someone to serve you in a big bowl with piles of crusty bread while sitting on a Mediterranean beach. Sadly, it's never this good on holiday. Some clever Spaniards have injected a bit of Riesling into their Albarino to provide a good match here.

Last up was cod in "devilled butter" with brown shrimps and brussels sprouts. The spices elevated what was otherwise a resolutely traditional dish; even so, it was the least impressive of the savoury courses because of its familiarity. It was the wine that made this course memorable. An all-seafood menu is tough for a red wine-lover; this was the course that gave the sommelier a chance to break old pairing traditions, letting the meaty heft of the cod carry a light, fruity Rully (pinot noir).

We added a cheese course (£10 supplement) which, in retrospect, was unexceptional and not needed to round out the menu. The courses might have been small, but they were filling, and the dessert was exceptional. A rich, dark chocolate fondant tart in a marvellously crisp pastry case, accompanied by poached kumquats in syrup and malted milk ice cream. Why isn't this a standardly-available flavour? Magnificent stuff.

This was a beautifully balanced meal bringing in a variety of fish and cooking styles. My only real complaint would be with that cod dish ... the fish itself is so close to brill that the two courses seemed a bit redundant. Though the brill was elevated by the fried oyster, I'd probably have preferred something like shellfish or smoked eel for that second course to get an even wider variety of fish in.

The great danger when eating here is the add-ons. The base tasting menu and wine flight price is standard and manageable for a nice night out. Once you include that cheese course, the glasses of port to go with it, glasses of champagne to start and coffee to finish, we hit an eye watering total. A wonderful special treat, but most definitely not an everyday restaurant.

Wisley's Garden Glow creates astonishing holiday magic

British Christmas decorations have come a long way since my first experience in 1994. Back then, I was bitterly disappointed. I was expecting a magical land of carollers, roasting chestnuts and Dickens. Instead, I got gloomy rain, boring civic decorations with glaring corporate sponsorship and unimpressive shop windows that just promoted product (a long, depressing way from Marshall Field's famous fairy tale windows). Out in suburbia, few people bothered with exterior lights.

How times have changed.

London is magnificent this year, with different shopping districts giving their areas distinctive looks. Regent Street's hovering angels are a work of modern art worth making the trip for all on their own. Most National Trust houses now open at Christmas time to show off their festive decor. Neighbourhoods have embraced the spirit with many houses staging their own illuminations (we even have a decorating contest in our parish). Across the country, cities and parks are staging festivals of light to get people out of the house and push back the winter gloom. 

One of the best in the southeast is at the Royal Horticultural Society Gardens at Wisley.

Lighting designers Jigantics have created installations of oversized, glowing blooms. A field of 20-foot high daffodils here, a row of towering, shimmering tulips there. Bright, white onions the size of garden chimneas dot a black field while enormous water lilies send rippling neon reflections across ponds. Some are even interactive. A line of towering tulips has big buttons at their base, allowing you to shift colours and patterns.

You feel like Alice in a particularly magical wonderland. Or Frodo wandering around Rivendell at night. Or a visitor to the strange forests on that planet in Avatar. You get the idea. It's out of this world.

The installations are complemented by coloured lights artfully installed to show off some of the most striking trees along the route. The colours shift and dance, turning the complex beauty of exposed branches into high art. 

Your route through the gardens is clearly marked by strings of white lights, which lead you to the half-way point of the giant glass house. It glows like a jewel box stuffed with emeralds and sapphires. 

Inside, there's fun for the kids: a giant gingerbread house and a display of the winners of the school Christmas Tree decorating contest. (The thought that's gone into the decorative schemes, and the skill with which these under-10s have made their ornaments gives one great hope for our artistic future.)  The cafe across from the glasshouse is open for dinner and has been expanded with an additional marquee, so you can make a night of it.

For some reason ... rain, still early in the season, 5:30 arrival ... we were almost alone on our walk, which made the experience all the more wonderfully surreal. The gardens keep glowing until 2 January, and they're open until 8pm for this special event. Free admission for RHS members, other adults £11.70 and children £5.85.

RA's Abstract Expressionism show leaves me confused, but reflective

I had a Damascene moment of revelation at the Royal Academy's Abstract Expressionists show. I suddenly understood, and had complete empathy for, the anti-establishment frustration of the "heartland" Trump voter.

Here I was, working hard to appreciate a show full of canvasses from a tiny, exclusive group of New Yorkers. I was there because, as a supporter of the arts and a lover of London's museums, I thought I should be. I knew that Abstract Expressionism was considered one of the United States' greatest contributions to the history of art. But the rooms of acknowledged masterpieces left me unimpressed. This little circle of urban bohemians seemed completely engrossed in themselves, and completely unconcerned about the preferences and desires of their audience. 

There was an audio guide with commentary from worthy intellectuals spinning lots of erudite interpretations in a faintly condescending tone that implied that if I didn't "get" this stuff, I was either uneducated, a country bumpkin or a cultural philistine. (I am none of those.) An example: "Clyfford Still wanted his viewers to have a direct experience with the work, without being encumbered by illustration or storytelling." Guess what, Miss Establishment, I LIKE being told a story! In fact, it's one of the primary things I look to art to do. And by stripping it out, you've destroyed the art that I love.

Kick these bums out! Let's go back to the good old days! MAKE ART GREAT AGAIN! I won't push the politics any further, but you get the point.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy elements of this show. There are beautiful things here. Many succeed in the stated objective of the movement: they got me to feel emotion (that's the expression part) without resorting to the depiction of recognisable figures (that's the abstract). The audio guide helped me to understand the skill and craftsmanship behind the canvasses. No, Jackson Pollock did NOT just fling paint around. There's an exquisite method to his madness. There were even several things in this show I'd happily live with, most notably Lee Krasner's Untitled 1948 (above) and De Kooning's cheerful blocks of blue, yellow and green in Villa Borghese. Although the problem with most of these canvasses is that, unless you live in a massive home with vast stretches of stark walls, they're impractical. This is art meant for vast white galleries, not homes.

As wandered through the show I became increasingly perplexed as to where the line was between great art, graphic design and interior decoration. Jackson Pollack's mural (above), commissioned for Peggy Guggenheim's entrance hall in 1948, is a vast and beautiful thing with beguiling colours that seem to dance across the canvas. Rothko's big, fuzzy squares of floating colour do indeed bring on the "serene sense of calm and balance" described on the audio guide. I actually found the abstract sculpture, inserted into the middle of most galleries almost as an afterthought, to be my favourite part of the show and wished the guide would have spent more time on them. Barnett Newman's tall bronze poles with their irregular surfaces made a dramatic statement, for example, in front of his tall canvases with blocks of colour.

They all worked for me as design. They triggered fond memories of the bright plastic modernism of my youth (seen in a very different context earlier this year at Las Vegas' Neon Museum), and reminded me just how good the Mad Men producers were at set dressing. If someone hired me to create a striking public space in a modern hotel lobby, or to do a memorable lobby in a corporate office, this would be "go to" stuff. Striking scene setting, but memorable on its own as art? I am still skeptical. Intellectually, I probably would have been much happier with this show at the Victoria and Albert, where they would have explored the wider design movement.

Not everything struck a pleasant chord. The problem with abstraction is that, if it doesn't provoke emotion, it can be spectacularly boring. I walked past a lot of stuff that I just couldn't summon enough interest in for thoughtful contemplation. Frustrating in a show that costs a whopping £17 to enter. And not all of those expressive emotions are pleasant. With the exception of the aforementioned Villa Borghese and one other, similar canvas, De Kooning's paintings are like angry, paranoid mental disorders trapped in a frame. There's the kernel of a frightening Doctor Who episode here. There was plenty more rage at the establishment throughout. And then there's just the preposterous. I am never going to see Ad Reinhardt's all black paintings as anything but the beginning of the triumph of marketing spin over skill in the world of art.

For me, the real value of going to this show was a personal one. My mother was at Washington University studying art ... specialising in graphic design ... from 1958 to 1962. Abstract Expressionism would have been the dominant trend at that time. This show injected me inside my mother's university experience. I suddenly understood her earlier work, all the stuff that had never made sense to me. I understood why she ... passionate about watercolour, landscapes and the classics ... really didn't care much for art school. And why she was never really happy as an artist until she rejected what she learned and went back to watercolouring the peaceful, figurative scenes she loved. So even though I'm never going to get hugely excited about the abstract expressionists, it was worth going to the show just to get that additional insight into my mother's world.

Subtle nuances separate a Michelin star and a local treasure

REVIEW:
La Trompette, Chiswick, and Thompson, St. Albans

It's a rare and profligate treat when you sit down to two gourmet tasting menus in less than a week. With matching wine flights. I blame the American elections. I needed distraction.

One was La Trompette, a well-known Michelin-starred French restaurant in Chiswick with a long-established reputation amongst London foodies (past review here). The other was a popular local restaurant in St. Albans called Thompson with just two AA rosettes and little reputation beyond its immediate area. It's not even, quite remarkably, in Trip Advisor's top 10 restaurants for the town. And yet, there wasn't that much difference between the Hertfordshire unknown and the Chiswick giant.

With two fine dining extravaganzas so close together, this seems a fine opportunity to consider what makes a Michelin star, and to compare and contrast the fine dining aspirant to the established giant.

Both places delivered beautiful meals, each a procession of highly-styled plates with small portions carefully arranged on showy china in squares, dots, smears and crumbles. Both had attentive and knowledgeable service, with Trompette's being primarily French and Thompson's fielding a more global team. The sommeliers at both made confident pairing choices and could talk about them in depth.

The menus followed the same general progression from light to full-bodied, each preceded by showy amuse bouche at the start and delivering an exotic pre-desert towards the end to cleanse the palate before the final firework. At Thompson: smoked and lightly pickled sea trout; chicken liver parfait with roasted fig and red wine jelly (above, top photo); poached fillet of halibut with girolles; slow-roasted local beef; tropical sorbets with roasted coconut; Black Forest dacquoise (below, bottom photo). At La Trompette: raw bream with an Asian pickle; roast scallop with confit ginger; roast foie gras with gingerbread (above, bottom photo); wild turbot with spatzle; citrus mousse; bitter chocolate with peanut, caramel and lime (below, top photo). Both restaurants offered a choice between two main courses, at La Trompette you also got to choose between desserts.

Both dining rooms are tasteful, uncluttered and modern. La Trompette's is brighter and decorated with lighter colours, while Thompson is darker and cosy with rich reds, browns and blacks.

The prices, surprisingly, aren't as different as you'd think. The Chiswick-based Michelin experience will put you back £70 per person for the food, with an additional £55 for the wines. Up in Hertfordshire, you'll pay £59.50 for dinner and £35 for the wines.

Other than distance from central London and £30.50, what differentiates the Michelin starred restaurant? Though uncompromisingly French, La Trompette's menu had a few more elements of the exotic: bonito, shimeji, miyagawa. The flavours were a bit more distinct and powerful across the board, as if everything had been distilled down a bit further. The sauces were slightly glossier and richer. The sommelier was more playful, offering us the usual descriptions or a blind tasting with descriptions after the course (we guessed, of course) and his pairings were more unusual. That included wines from surprising countries ... we only drank one French and one of the best was an American from Oregon ... and one of those tasting menu dramas where the wine's not that palatable until the food comes, and then they transform each other. (Although Thompson scores bonus points for matching their dacquoise with a coffee martini rather than a standard pudding wine.)

But these are tiny nuances. Of the two restaurants, La Trompette delivered to expection. The newsworthy discovery is in St. Albans. I fantasise about a restaurant like this in our bit of the English provinces. The people of Hertfordshire are very lucky. If you every find yourself up that way, be sure to book in with Thompson.

Mozart at his sublime best in original setting

Mozart's Requiem Mass is an astonishingly beautiful piece of music. I've heard it several times in concert halls, and most notably as a critical part of the soundtrack to the film Amadeus. (It was his last work, and in the film a ghostly patron is haunting him into his grave as he writes it.) But I'd never experienced it as it was meant to be encountered: set within a formal mass.

Last night's All Souls' Day service took care of that, and became one of my life's most emotionally powerful experiences. You don't need to be religious to appreciate it ... though it certainly helps. But if you love Mozart then, at some point in your life, try to get to the requiem in a liturgical setting.

From those first dolorous, dramatic notes, as the priests in their black cassocks of mourning processed in through a haze of incense, it was high drama. As the music soared heavenward, the actions of the priests became not just the steps of a ceremony, but a carefully choreographed dance. The orchestra made the celebrants' actions more significant, while the priests in turn added meaning to the music.

Though I've heard this piece many times before, it was only within the rhythm of a church service that I understood the journey the composer is taking you on. You start with grief. It is the music of death, lamentation and loss. Then comes the fear of hellfire and damnation. These two sections are arguably the best bits musically, and likely to be the ones you know. But then, having taken you down into the pit, Mozart brings you out and up. The music gets more cheerful as you approach the climactic moment of the ceremony ... positively joyful as you finally become a participant yourself, heading up to communion to celebrate the fact that death isn't death, but a new life.

It's the emotional journey that any good funeral tries to enact, from a worthy religious service to a secular drinking session. Mourn. But move on. Remember the joy and hope for more. Let the departed's life inspire you to greater things in his or her memory. Mozart's requiem in its proper setting does this all, with a drama that rips your soul to shreds, then rebuilds you and takes you to a higher place.

I can't offer enough thanks to the musicians and singers of St. Mary's, and their colleagues drafted in to the expand the numbers, for this extraordinary evening. It was, quite literally, an experience money can't buy. Musical perfection for the cost of a prayer.

While St. Mary's Bourne Street rarely brings in a full orchestra for masses, it's known for its church music. Most Sunday masses (11 am) have a full choir, a professional organist and the quality and lyricism of a top concert. Holidays often add violins If you're at all into liturgical music, do check it out.

From the glorious Yeatman to a curious club ... places to stay in Porto

The problem with getting an upgrade to the first class cabin is that forever after you feel just a bit disgruntled turning right when you enter that aircraft door. Even though coach had always been perfectly comfortable before your lucky encounter with luxury, and still is.

That's the way it works with luxury hotels, too. On paper, you contemplate their costs and think how could a bed and bathroom for a night be worth that kind of money. Once immersed in their cosseting arms, you start calculating how you could justify a return trip, while that great value and perfectly adequate B&B starts looking far less attractive.

That was my accommodation challenge during my recent trip to Porto. The Oporto Cricket and Lawn Tennis Club ... just say "Cloob Inglaish" to the taxi drivers ... was perhaps my best travel deal of the year at just €45 per night per room. (That's thanks to their reciprocal deal with our club, the Lansdowne). A simple room, clean and tidy, with decor probably last updated in the '80s and a lovely view over the cricket pitch. The small team concentrated on the flow of regular members popping in for sporting activities, as you'd expect, but they were there with food, drink and advice within regular operating hours.

I might have been shouting its praises had I not arrived there after four nights at The Yeatman, one of Europe's great luxury hotels and undoubtably the place to stay for a memorable visit to Porto. Its sprawling location across the heart of the hill that makes up the port district of Vila Nova da Gaia means that every room and public space has stunning views of the river and the historic district of Porto beyond it. Enormous rooms and gracious public spaces are all deeply comfortable and decorated with tasteful elegance. The food is exquisite and the wine lists impressive. The staff abundant, their English flawless, equally cheerful and helpful whether you're hitting the maid up for some extra toiletries or working with the concierge to plan a special event. Prices vary by season and day of the week. Mid-week winter rooms may go for at little as €185, while holidays push into the mid-€500s, but on average a room for two will set you back €280 a night. Which is a lot less than many luxury hotels, but a great deal more than the humble tariff at the Cricket Club.

Still, if I went pack to Porto, I'd be scrimping and saving to return to the Yeatman. What made this place so special?

The views were beguiling both inside and out. The hotel is shaped like a big amphitheatre, lobby at the top with rooms and public spaces stepping down the hillside in an echo of the wine terraces up river. The focal point of the outdoor space is an infinity pool shaped like a wine decanter, overseen by a statue of a mermaid. Too cold to head outdoors? No worries. One of the arcs of that amphitheatre holds a spa and a curving pool behind a stretch of spotless, almost seamless windows. The grand staircase leading down from the lobby has the feel of a French opera house, the main bar channels an English country estate.

There are thoughtful touches everywhere. Each floor has a different theme, making the hallways mini-museums that you actually want to explore and pay attention to. Founded by the Taylor port company with a specific mission to promote Portuguese wine, there's even a cork museum on the way to the spa. And the lifts have custom-made 360-degree photographs that, once the doors close, immerse you in either a warehouse of port barrels ageing, or the terraced hills of the vineyards up river. Classic jazz fills the hallways, but disappears as soon as you shut your door. Port and cakes wait in your room on arrival.

Hotel rooms are adopted by different wineries; the sponsors then get to decorate them according to their own tastes and themes. Meaning every room is a bit different. Ours was cool and elegant, with a long range of bookshelves showing off a thoughtfully-curated collection of books and some interesting glass and pottery. The bed was deep, firm yet soft, dressed with sheets of the highest thread count and downy pillows. Because it was a special birthday, and we girls are always spectacularly charming when planning our annual trips, they were kind enough to bend their regular rules and allow three of us in the room. Even with the added roll-away bed, we had ample space. Including closets, a separate entry hall and a fairly private balcony with enough room for full length loungers and a table for four. The bathroom was the size of an average hotel room, with an enormous tub, double sinks and a ridiculously over-sized tiled shower room. It was all stocked with Caudalie products, a pricey, high-end French brand that found us collecting samples all week and dividing them like precious booty at the end of the stay.

The breakfast buffet was enormous and presented with far more care than your usual hotel. The hot items were all fresh, the fruit exquisite. Pastries, meats and cheeses all waved the Portuguese flag, bringing local colour to start your day. Choose filter coffee, use the Nespresso machine, pour yourself one of the range of juices or go for the local sparkling wine on offer. Why not? You're on holiday...

As I've mentioned in earlier entries, costs once inside the hotel could be surprisingly reasonable. While spa treatments were roughly the same price as London hotels, a hamburger in the bar was €10 and wines by the glass were as cheap as €4. You can hardly match that in my village local.

Of course, all of this would strike a hollow note were it not for the customer service. Despite the fact that there were hundreds of guests, within half a day of arrival most of the staff seem to recognise you personally. They glow with delight when you return from sightseeing, welcoming you "home" like you actually live there. Whether it's finding just the right table to give you drinks with a view, organising a special day out, getting you those vital WiFi codes or making sure everything you need is on the breakfast buffet, they're eager to please and working hard to anticipate every need. And unlike so many grand hotels in Europe, the overwhelming majority of the staff is from the country you're in. I have no issue with the usual United Nations of hotel teams, but the Yeatman's local staff is brimming with pride in and knowledge of their country. They're not just serving you. They're a promotional team for the food, wine and culture of their home ... which adds immeasurably to your experience.

After all that, how could the Cricket Club possibly compete on anything but price?

While lacking the spectacular panorama of Porto, the Club offers pastoral views of green lawns and a cricket pitch and pavilion, all fringed with mature trees. It's in an affluent suburb, just a five-minute taxi ride from the historic centre but with a totally different feel. People live, take their kids to school and go to corporate jobs here. There's a pleasing rhythm of everyday life that gives you a better chance of feeling a part of the local scene.

It's also a bizarre bit of cultural dissonance that needs to be seen to be believed. It is a cozy clubhouse from the English counties. If you were suddenly dropped into the bar, with its taps to pull pints of English beer, the piles of cricket bats, the British military insignia on the walls, English club rugby playing on Sky Sports, you would have no idea that you were sitting in the middle of a foreign city. Until the staff opens their mouths. Ironically, English proficiency was lower at the "Cloob Inglaish" than anywhere else we visited. So we nodded, smiled and pointed in the morning and, eventually, a friendly, rotund little old lady emerged with a full English breakfast. We'd wanted scrambled rather than fried, but that clearly wasn't in the script. I rather suspect this is like travelling back in time to the glory days of empire.

I'm glad I had both experiences, and if the Yeatman didn't exist, I'd be delighted to return to our clubby, inexpensive bolthole on another visit. As things stand, I'm looking at the ebb and flow of room rates on the Yeatman's web site, dreaming of a weekend break in low season.

Four tips (with restaurants) for dining well in Porto

I hadn't anticipated our Porto visit being a "foodie" trip. I had no expectations; I was entering the unknown. While French, Italian and Spanish cuisines are all legendary, and restaurants based on their traditions fill London, Portuguese hasn't really entered our culinary cultural awareness.

How many classic dishes can you name? If told you to cook Portuguese, what ingredients would you reach for? Can you name a Portuguese restaurant or grocer? The DK Eyewitness Travel book doesn't have a food section in its guide to the country, the first time I've noticed this omission in a European destination.

I'm delighted to say that a low profile does not translate to unremarkable food. We ate as well on this trip as on more food-focused jaunts to France or Italy and, as mentioned in my earlier article, paired our meals with delicious wines at better prices than those from European neighbours. I would still have difficulty identifying what's classically "Portuguese" beyond flaky custard tarts, a deep affection for octopus, salt cod or slow-cooked pork in a variety of preparations, and the propensity to put eggs in everything; most of our meals could be included in a classic European menu without an immediate cultural affiliation. Given that we were eating at the equivalent of upscale gastropubs, with a few fine dining experiences thrown in, perhaps we missed "typical" Portuguese. All I can say with certainty is that we didn't have a bad meal, and everything was approximately 20% less than its equivalent in London, even with the current weak pound.

Here are my four tips for dining in Porto, with related restaurant recommendations.

1. Check out the Michelin men
With more reasonable prices than London, especially for the wine, Porto is a great place to splash out on Michelin-starred cuisine. Our culinary splurge of the trip was Restaurant Pedro Lemos, an elegant one-star establishment tucked into a house on an otherwise-residential street not far from the beach in  the upscale suburb of Foz. Lemos credits his grandmothers with his inspiration: one sold fish on the coast,  one was a farmer. Thus "surf and turf" threads throughout his cuisine, as he takes seasonal, traditional core elements and gives them the modern fine dining treatment. The five course chef's menu, adjusted according to allergies, is your only choice, and changes daily according to what's seasonal.

What does this look like on the plate? We started with two amuse bouche: the prettiest little dollop of fresh mozzarella with tiny tomatoes and micro herbs and a succulent mouthful of local pork with prawns. Foie gras on a disc of fruit bread with a brûléed top and a sliver of roasted nectarine kicked the proper courses off, followed by a delicate lobster curry with fresh, wild mushrooms. On to a perfectly cooked piece of white grouper complemented by white asparagus, jerusalem artichoke puree and sprigs of fennel. All light enough to leave room for beef with chanterelles and truffled potato cream, the meat so soft it fell to shreds with a gentle prompt of the fork. A bit of strawberry and vodka ice cream cleansed the palate before a choice between desserts: banana, lavender and sagu pearls (a bit too modern for me) or a comforting dark chocolate tart with a port sauce, pear and chees. We chose the wine flight, naturally, allowing the sommelier to introduce us to yet more local gems. (Except for the pairing with the lobster, when he chose to head to the Mosel.) The per-person charge for this extravaganza was £130, which is about what the menu would cost without drinks in London.

For about half that price, you can sample the style of one of Portugal's most famous chefs, Jose Avillez, at Cantinho do Avillez. Much as top chefs like Raymond Blanc and Angela Hartnett have done in the UK, Avillez expanded from his two-starred Belcanto restaurant to open more affordable, casual bistros. Booking in advance is essential; we tried to return here later in the week to find no availability for the rest of our stay. We had some amazing tuna here, with just the perfect amount of char on the outside to let the raw purity of the fish stand out. They also delivered a beef tartare that could best many French versions. I wasn't so keen on the Farinheira sausage with cornbread crust, or the poultry liver with port and onion marinade; the first was too heavy, the second too assertive in the offal flavours. But I suspect this is the closest I got to properly local tastes all week. We split their triple hazelnut desert, which was delicious. More memorable, however, was the service and ... once again ... the wine pairings.

2. Then ask the locals what's hot
When we couldn't get into Cantinho do Avillez for a second time, one of the waiters suggested a couple of local options. It was a hot tip, as Largo de Sao Domingos (LSD for short) delivered the best moderately priced meal I had the whole trip. I had a pork stew here so amazing I've been thinking about re-creating it ever since returning home. (One decent attempt, more experimentation needed.)  Desserts were a real standout here. I went for a fanciful mix called "childhood" that featured an artistic mash-up of swiss roll, oreos, m&ms and cookie dough served on a spatula. Amusing, but Piers' delicate chocolate cake with salted caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream was a masterpiece of classic elegance.

We tried twice to get into Avillez' second recommendation: Cantina 32. Booking ahead clearly required. Based on local votes on TripAdvisor (and tourists, as well) we tried Cozinha dos Loios nearby. This was my least favourite meal of the trip ... decent starter and dessert let down by a ploddingly heavy cream-based pasta with the local Farinheira sausage. My husband's main was good if not great. But the atmosphere is brilliant. You dine in an ancient, artfully lit, stone vaulted cellar that I suspect goes back to the Middle Ages. And, as if to make up for the unexceptional food, the waitresses were some of the best we met. Chatty, helpful, interested in us, at the end of the evening they opened a bottle of 40-year-old tawny port that Piers had his eye on, but wasn't on the by-the-glass menu. Based on service alone, I'd go back and try some alternative menu choices.

3. Let the waiter guide you
Of course, I could have just asked the waitress what to have. Good servers will always have a sense of what's best that day, and we found that to be particularly true in Porto where there's a big focus on fresh, local produce and the best stuff of the day may not even be on the menu. This is especially important at fish-heavy restaurants by the river or ocean.

We had lovely meals this way at waterfront restaurants Terreiro and Avo Maria. Both clearly charge a premium for the privilege of their views, but they're still value for money. (As opposed to the blatant rip offs that those picture-book-menu restaurants in high traffic tourist areas can often be.) Locals love octopus and I'd recommend it highly anywhere it's on the menu. It's tricky to cook but the Portuguese have a flair for it. Grilled, cooled, sliced like carpaccio and served beneath a salad with some vinaigrette, it was one of my go-to starters in Porto. The other was tuna tartare, on most menus and always delicious.

Our best seafood meal was at Mohle, on a terrace at the edge of the Atlantic in Foz. Like its Foz neighbour Pedro Lemos, there were as many locals as tourists here. Always a good sign. After a quick chat it was obvious we should just put ourselves entirely in the waiter's hands (see top photo). Out came pork croquettes, prawns hauled from the Atlantic the day before with a pungent garlic butter sauce, and then a noble sea bass, grilled whole and expertly filleted at the table. With matching wines, of course. And some fine port recommendations with dessert.

4. Look to the wineries
Porto's wine and port houses are clearly aware of the marketing potential of restaurants for raising margins and showing off their products.

Vinum at Grahams would be my recommended "splurge" restaurant here if you don't want to go the full Michelin star route (and price). The views are astonishing, the atmosphere elegant yet casual, the food excellent. Although I took issue with their steak tartare, which presented far too chunky a pile of raw meat for my taste. As you'd expect, the wine list is fantastic and the waiters are great at making recommendations. They also use a collection outrageous Reidel decanters that turn pouring wine into performance art. I thought the one called "the mamba" might make an excellent Christmas gift for my husband, until I discovered it retailed for £400. Sorry, darling.

We had another excellent meal deep in the Douro wine region at Quinta Nova's Conceitus.  You dine under a canopy of grape vines, looking out over those extraordinary stair-step vineyards. Choose from one of two four-course chef's menus, both at €42. Dishes include items like rabbit terrine with pistachio, cauliflower cream soup and a pork cheek slow cooked for eight hours. The highlight was a traditional cake called "Lo", a light sponge encased on three sides in crisp pastry, topped with fruit. A matching wine flight here costs €24 and is a good way to sample their range, but since we'd just done an extensive tasting we chose our own bottles.

A wine dinner at the Yeatman was a surprisingly reasonable choice. As part of its mission to promote local producers, Porto's most upscale hotel stages occasional dinners at which all the food is paired with the output of one winery. We started with sparkling wine and canapés in the hotel's main lounge (with its stunning views across the river to the historic centre) and then moved downstairs to a private room for the main event. We were the only non-Portuguese of the three large tables of guests, which demonstrates that the locals are serious about their wines, too. And probably explains the bargain pricing of €65 per person. I was worried about the language barrier, but shouldn't have been. The sommelier made sure we were seated with one of the wine makers, who could speak English and give us the insight into each vintage we sampled. Once we sat down, our menus were seamlessly swept away and replaced by English versions. These told us we were having a mixed variety of appetisers, john dory, pork with chorizo, and bilberries in different textures. Each served with a different wine from Lavradores de Feitoria, a small cooperative that produces limited batches of rigorous quality. If you're heading to Porto, it would be worth ringing ahead to see if any events like this are planned at the Yeatman during your stay.