Quite often all you need to know about a restaurant is the smell that greets you as you walk through the door. The smoke and fat of a busy ocakbaşı, The burned onions and masala spices that cling to your clothes after an evening at Tayyabs, the intoxicating mix of funky aged steak and charred lobster shell that fill the upper dining rooms of the Devonshire, these are all indicators enough that you're in for a good time even before you see a menu. amazing, the kind of smell that gets you immediately vowing to order whichever the menu items are responsible for it (hint: it's the lamb skewers) and let anything else be a side order. So let's start with those skewers, which are, needless to say, an absolute must-order. Expertly grilled with touches of salty crunch on the extremities but beautifully tender inside, they come resting on fluffy flatbread to soak up any escaping juices, and two little mounds of spice (don't ask me what they were) for dipping. At £3.95 each they weren't quite the same budget as Silk Road v1, but in terms of form and flavour they were right up there. Spicy chicken was indeed commendably spicy, consisting of ugly-cute chunks of soft potato and bone-in chicken (I hope I don't create some kind of international incident by noting that Chinese 'butchery' seems to consist of hacking at a carcass with a machete with your eyes closed) soaked in a deep, rich, heavily five-spiced and chillified sauce. Add to this ribbons of thick, home made belt noodles which had a lovely bouncy, tacky texture, and you have an absolute classic northern Chinese dish. Manti (advertised with a 20min wait but which speeds by if you're distracted by fresh lamb skewers and belt chicken) were also fabulous things, soft but robust and packed full of minced meat ("usually lamb" the menu rather noncommittedly states) and with an addictive vinegar-chilli dip. But quite unexpectedly given the otherwise quite meaty focus of the menu (I'm not sure I'd bring a vegetarian here), Tarim have quite a way with salads, too. This is lampung, in which giant sticks of wobbly beancurd are topped with pickled carrots, beansprouts and chilli, all soaked in a very wonderful vinegar-soy dressing. I can honestly say I've never had anything like this before, and anywhere that can surprise a jaded diner like me with a new type of salad deserves all the praise it can get. The bill, for two people, came to just over £42, which although not rock-bottom basement pricing still seems fair given the quality of the food and the area of town (about 5 min walk from Holborn tube). I have noticed the pricing at a lot of Chinese places in Holborn/Bloomsbury creeping up over the past few years - nobody is exempt from food inflation after all - so this is just perhaps the New Normal that we all have to get used to. Instead of spending £12 on your hot lunch, it's now more like £20. Still not bad, though. Gosh Nan (fried stuffed flatbread) and perhaps most intriguingly the Uyghur Polo, a rice dish which looks like it comes with some kind of offal. And you know how I love my offal. A charming and exciting ambassador for Xinjiang food, think of Tarim Uyghur as the Silk Road of Central London, a comparison I hope they take as the huge compliment that it's intended to be. Why should Camberwell get all the fun, anyway? 8/10

Hove is a very acceptable place to spend a day. I was last in the area when visiting the Urchin, a seafood-specialist gastropub and microbrewery (I bet there aren't too many of them around) which made the (pretty easy actually) journey down from Battersea more than worth my while. Since then, I've discovered that we paid way too much for our train tickets (apparently we should have gone Thameslink, not Southern) and also that etch by Steven Edwards has opened, thus giving me another great excuse to travel. This time on a much cheaper train. The fact that Hove is so well connected to the capital city has a couple of main effects. Firstly, it means etch's catchment area is a few million or so people who can make it there and back for lunch (or dinner I suppose if you don't mind getting back too late) in a very sensible amount of time. And secondly, it means that the astonishing £55 they charge at etch for 7 exquisitely constructed courses (or another £28 for 9) is even more mind-blowing for day-trippers from the big smoke as it is for lucky locals. We shall start at the beginning. Amuses - in fact extras of any kind - are more than you've any right to expect on a £55 menu but these dainty little things, one a Lord of the Hundreds biscuit topped with cream cheese and chive, the other a mushroom and truffle affair shot through with pickle, were an excellent introduction to the way etch goes about things. Beautiful inside and out, generous of flavour and a delight to eat, from this point we knew we were in safe hands. Cute little glazed buns formed the bread course alongside seaweed butter. Perhaps the idea was for these to accompany the next couple or so courses, but I'm afraid because they were so addictive they disappeared way before anything else arrived. Still, no regrets. "Soup of the day" was a bit of a misnomer as this consisted of two courses that arrived as a pair. One a gorgeously rich and fluffy winter vegetable soup - chervil and cauliflower with some irresistible chunks of roasted cauliflower hiding underneath and topped with toasted pine nuts - and a couple of beef tartare tartlets on the side (tartartlets?) to provide a nice companion to the soup. I'm not 100% sure if the tartare was just a blogger's bonus or if they really did come with the soup as standard, but I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they do - I'm sure someone will correct me if I'm wrong. Oh, and it was all paired with a Retsina, which was a touch of genius. Halibut could have perhaps been taken off the heat a minute or two earlier but I'm only really saying this out of a dearth of anything else to complain about. It was still clearly a very good fish, with a bright white flesh and nicely bronzed skin, and the parsnip underneath made a remarkably good pairing as well as being nicely seasonal. The crunchy, seaweed-y, noodle-y bits on tops were fun to eat, too. Of all the dishes, perhaps the crisp hen's egg made the least to write home about. It was perfectly nice, with some good texture provided by croutons and cubes of pickled veg, but the egg itself was...well, an egg yolk in breadcrumbs, decent enough but compared to everything else a bit familiar. Although having said that, I'm very aware I do have slightly more likelihood of getting 'familiar' with tasting menu classics than some people, and there's every chance this could be someone else's favourite course. Such is life's rich tapestry. Scallop next, a good sweet specimen that had been given a nice firm crust, then sliced and shot through with pumpkin. It's in restaurants like these where you don't have to worry about waiting until the more abundant seasons begin before committing to a meal out - their skill is such that the dishes will be equally exciting and imaginative at every time of the year. My own personal heaven was embodied in the next course, though, and I'm sorry to be so predictable but there's nothing I can do about that. Beef arrived brilliantly charred from the grill but beautifully tender inside, both as a neat medallion of fillet and - joy of joys - a slice of ox heart with a texture equally dazzling as the fillet but with an extra note of funky offal. Next to it, a little finger of celeriac and a cluster of enoji mushrooms which soaked up a glossy, beefy sauce that made the whole trip worthwhile on its own. I would have paid £55 just for this dish, then gone home happy, it was that good. More was to come though - firstly a gently flametorched (can you gently flametorch anything? I can't think of any other way of describing it sorry) piece of Tunworth, with a red grape sorbet and bit of pickled endive. After having moaned for years about places trying to gussy-up the traditional cheese course by piling things on top or heating things up (I still have a bit of a problem with baked Camembert) I've realised that with a bit of sensitivity, applying (gentle) heat to a cheese is just a way of presenting its charms in a slightly different way. Think of when a sushi master briefly torches a nigiri before presentation. And finally dessert, beetroot mousse topped with apple sorbet and with a little red hat of beetroot crisp on top. Colourful and cleverly presented, like a kind of miniature Miro sculpture, it was a lovely coda to the meal, which had ended with the same technical ability and attention to detail as it had begun. But look, enough hand-wringing. You will know by know if this is the kind of food you like to eat, and whether you think £55 (or more realistically £120-£150 ish if you have matching wine and supplemental courses) is the right amount to pay for it. All I can tell you is that this is the kind of food I like to eat, and Steven Edwards and the team at etch are exactly the people I want to bring it to me. And I would have no hesitation in going back to Hove later in the year, paying in full and seeing what other delights the seasons bring. This is a place worth revisiting. I was invited to etch and didn't see a bill. As above, expect to pay between £55-£155 +service depending on what time of day you go, how many courses you choose and what you drink.

The best way of experiencing 90% of the fun and frolics of a top-end restaurant whilst shelling out less than 50% of the usual cost is to go for a weekday lunch or early bird menu. Some of the most exciting dining spots in the country have some remarkably reasonably priced off-peak offers, designed to fill tables at times where otherwise they'd be empty, and as we all know there's nothing worse - from a diner's or restaurant's perspective - than an empty restaurant. These special menus come with an understanding, however - that there will necessarily be cheaper ingredients used (cod instead of halibut, chicken instead of pigeon) and crucially that if there are fewer courses, the overall amount of food should remain largely the same, made up by bulking out with sides of carbs or slightly more generous cuts of the main ingredients. And there will be no squabbling about this, because everything coming out of a good kitchen will be worth the effort, made from the same wonderful stocks and sauces and using the same presentational flair, and if you get mackerel instead of turbot, or sticky toffee pudding instead of soufflé, then who really cares? But Vetch seem to have gone in a different direction with their early bird menu, and though most - in fact all - of what we were served was impressive in many ways, instead of bulking out with extra carbs or bigger cuts, they have seemingly just lifted three dishes out of the £85/£105 10-course tasting menus, size and all. I should repeat that everything we were served was at least excellent, and occasionally stunning, there just wasn't nearly enough of it. A dainty loaf of Japanese Shokupan (milk bread) was first, warm from the oven, with a little bit of miso butter which soaked into the crumb beautifully. Cauliflower chawanmushi was a lovely bowl of wintery comfort food, a silky-smooth savoury cauliflower custard topped with parmesan and chive velouté, kind of a deconstructed (if you like) and elevated cauliflower cheese. Artichoke, goat's curd and truffle was another intriguing bowl of powerful flavours and textures, topped with a giant leaf of charred kale (I think it was) which was great fun to crunch through. But favourite of the starters was this stunning chunk of monkfish, glazed on top and bright white underneath, next to a cute parcel of braised leek topped with charred stalks (more leek I think) and a little mound of some kind of fish roe. Everything about this dish was pretty much faultless, from the way the flavours worked together perfectly, the addictive textures, and the beautiful main ingredient. Everything, that is, apart from the fact we could have done with a bit more of it. But I'll try not to moan about that too much. Mains, such as they were, followed. A finger-sized slice of (albeit perfectly cooked) duck fillet came with a pickled beetroot and kale, all soaked in a fantastic beetroot/duck jus. This would have been as faultless as the monkfish it if it had only included a bit of potato - fondant, maybe, or some creamy mash - to fill it out a bit. Cod, chicken and mushroom was an exquisitely tasteful - and bijou - the fish fillet with a gorgeous glazed skin bound to seasonal wild mushrooms with a chicken cream sauce which you just wished there was more than a teaspoon of. Desserts were equally beautiful, equally accomplished, and equally tiny. "Pumpkin, caramel, finger lime" showed a range of interesting techniques and textures, but the highlight was the pumpkin, sort of a dense, silky-smooth mousse. And "pear, chamomile, yoghurt" was an intelligent balance of crunchy fruit and decadent dairy, which also just left you wanting more. So much like the service issues at the Hightown Inn which made the overall experience so frustrating to score, I'm in a bit of a quandary with regards to Vetch. I know for a fact they can cook, and the full tasting menu would most likely have been brilliant, and perhaps there are some people who would have considered the portion sizes if not generous exactly then still just about reasonable. These people probably do exist. But I can't remember the last time I left a restaurant hungry, and I have a very strong feeling that if it wasn't enough for me, it probably wasn't enough for most, and it most certainly wasn't enough for the giant bloke on the next table, 6'5" and nearly as wide, who made our drinks shake like a scene from Jurassic Park when he got up to go to the loo and who must have wondered if this procession of bitesize dishes was some kind of elaborate practical joke. But all that said, Vetch undeniably has some real talent in the kitchen and I really do want to go back for the Full Monty, so perhaps that's what these off-peak menus are about. Or at least partly about. And it's in a beautiful Georgian townhouse, front of house were as charming as you could hope for, and although the matching wines arrived in slightly stingy portions (as fitting the general theme) they were offered with enthusiasm and real knowledge. And we really enjoyed our evening there, as I'm pretty sure you would too. But maybe have something waiting for you in the fridge when you get home after, just in case. 8/10

It was Trishna in Marlebone, all the way back in something like 2009, that opened many Londoners' eyes - not least my own - to the possibilities of modern Indian fine dining. Now, I'm sure Vivek Singh (Cinnamon Club, 2001), Sriram Aylur (Quilon, 1999) and Cyrus Todiwala (Café Spice Namasté, 1995) will each have something to say about that, and clearly these places are just as much of a part of the journey of this cuisine (or rather, cuisines - India is a big country) as anything that has come since, but there was something about Trishna, the way it wore its fine dining credentials so lightly in favour of being so accessible and bright and fun - the effect was irresistible. I had more than one birthday party there, safe in the knowledge that there would be something on the menu for everyone, and everyone would have a fantastic time. Head chef at Trisnha at the time was Rohit Ghai, a man who immediately jumped to the top of my good list for having a particular fondness for game. Tandoori pheasant, pigeon, grouse and guinea fowl all appeared over the years, both at the Gymkhana group, the wonderful Jamavar and at his later solo ventures Kutir and Manthan, and in all that time across all those venues I never had anything less than an excellent time. Especially in game season. Vatavaran, barely a month old, already feels solid and settled in its swanky Knightsbridge location, and has clearly found an appreciative audience. As far as I can tell, every table in this sprawling three-floor restaurant was taken on a cold Monday night in December, quite an achievement for any other new venue but perhaps not quite as much of a surprise given the pedigree of the kitchen. Alongside a worryingly drinkable tequila-based cocktail "Sehar", involving tamarind, passion fruit and ginger, came the selection of baked and fried papads that have become such an important part (to me, at least) of the London Indian fine dining experience, alongside some intelligent house chutneys. We were particularly impressed with the gooseberry one which married the best of British winter produce with South Asian sensibilities. Ghati masala prawns kicked off the meal proper and turned out to be lightly battered and deep fried (though still nicely plump and fresh inside) then topped with a mix of spices originally from Maharashtra in western India. They were, as you might expect, lovely, although in the interests of a bit of honest feedback we had in fact ordered - on advice from the chef, no less - the grilled wild prawns with chickpeas and curry leaf, from the 'Grills' section. Which I'm sure would have been very nice too. Still as I say, they're only a month old so a few service niggles are to be expected. Guinea fowl Balchao (a Goan dish, this one - with Portuguese roots) came as a giant chop, slathered in beguiling spices and expertly touched by the chargrill. Again, there's that enthusiasm for the best British produce matched with perfectly-judged and intelligent, complex spicing, creating something entirely new and entirely brilliant. There was one dish we didn't completely love, but even now I can't decide whether it was objectively not as good as the others or whether it wasn't quite what we expected. I think part of the problem is that when you advertise something in the 'Rotisserie' section of a menu, that tends to suggest a crisp skin, bronzed by dripping hot fat, encasing soft yielding flesh - textures a rotisserie setup does so well. This strange, shapeless seabass had a soft, flabby skin and a rather mushy flesh inside, and although you have to admire the skill and patience to bone an entire fish, I have to wonder whether just grilling the thing over coals might have produced a better result. Still, maybe I'm missing something. The final courses, as is traditional in such places, arrived together alongside fluffy naans straight from the tandoor and a couple of tasteful sides. The main event, butter chicken, was a knockout - darker and richer than some examples, with giant chunks of expertly grilled poultry that still gave a crunch from a char under the superb sauce. Black daal was equally impressive, thick and buttery and moreish, and what I'm pretty sure was a courgette masala providing a nice light counterpoint to the other dishes but still packing a flavour punch. It's worth repeating just how much London owes the astonishing variety and quality of its high-end Indian food to all the names I've mentioned previously but from my perspective in particular, Rohit Ghai and the rest of the JKS group who transformed this naive food blogger's attitude on just how good Indian food could be with countless brilliant meals over the years. So consider this post as a protracted 'thank you' for the last 15 or so years, and here's to another brilliant 15 more. Oh, and bring on game season 2025. I was invited to Vatavaran and didn't see a bill, but expect to pay £100/head with booze, pretty much bang on for this quality in this part of town.