I usually prefer this iteration of Nobu to it's posher sister up to road – it's much less formal, and ideal if you just want to grab some yummy sashimi.

The quality of the ingredients is crucial in Japanese cooking, and here raw scallops, salmon, squid etc just sing… The room is very much like a very upmarket canteen, and is always buzzing. The service can be incredibly fast, so it you're looking for a dining ‘experience’, you really do want to go to the other restaurant! Last week we were in and out within an hour, and that included about 10 dishes!

Make sure you try the rock shrimp tempura, the yellowtail and jalapeno sashimi, the blackened cod, the tamago (here stuffed with rice), the bento boxes, the wagyu – it's all going to be good! Oh, and it has a very moody and groovy bar downstairs – perhaps if you want to lengthen your visit you could go to the bar first, then move upstairs.

The very slightly posher version of the sister restaurant on Berkeley Street, this Nobu is slightly more grown up, slightly more ‘civilised’ and as a result can lack a little when it comes to atmosphere. However, if you're taking someone as a treat, this is definitely the Nobu to go to. The same would apply for business diners – the restaurant just feels slightly posher.

It's the same Nobu menu nontheless – dishes to try include the gorgeous yellowtail and jalapeno sashimi, the rock shrimp in creamy garlic sauce, the blackened cod, the wagyu beef – it's all going to be moreish and delicious. I'm particularly addicted to pickled ginger and the garlic sauce, and the staff often bring me a separate bowl – they pay attention to what's happening on your table. It can be quite a fast service though, so if you want to spend more time, I'd recommend you order a few dishes at a time, and ask the waiter to come back to you in a minute.

The Square is elegant, the service and the food are flawless, and it should be on every foodies list to visit at least once.

I've been several times and am constantly wondering why I don't eat here all the time – it has that effect of slipping from your memory. I think this is really down the the atmosphere in the restaurant – it feels a little too brightly lit, the clientele tends to include a high proportion of ‘suits’ too.

Having said that, if you can ignore those around you, the cooking is absolutely faultless, if a little unchallenging.

I utterly adore, ADORE, Cecconi's, but you need to make sure you choose it for the right occasion.

Want to eat out in a gaggle of chums and roar with laughter? Head to Cecconi's!

Want to take your new paramour for a quiet romantic meal – well – I wouldn't really recommend it…

The room is one of the busiest and loudest dining rooms in this cooking standard – and this all adds to the atmosphere. Since they smoking ban came in, I love it even more (it was always full of smokers). I've always found the service to be prompt – if not super-prompt. Unfortunately my beloved lobster salad has finally been removed from the menu, but fortunately the courgette's remain. Even if you don't like courgettes, please do order some – this is the best way to eat them, and is how they serve them in Sheekey's too.

Cecconi's is fantastic fun. My only caution is that it can be *very* loud. We once took a chum who can't speak very loudly as the result of an accident – it was incredibly difficult to hear him. I shouldn't think this applies to many diners, but it's just a note of caution.

Depending on your sensibilities, Galvin either has a fabulous location, way up in the Hilton and with breathtaking views over London, or perhaps has dizzying effects on your stomach as you peer over the edge. The restaurant itself is very nicely laid out, and with a multi-tier effect, you don't feel the space so much. I assume it was laid out in this way to afford everyone a decent view out of the window…

The waiting staff are very attentive – the sommelier remembered having a little ‘discussion’ on burgundies with the Hubby the last time he'd been in – and the waitress brought us some piping hot bread straight out of the oven – yummy!

The amuse was a tomato water – just fabulous… Fabulous, fabulous – I'm definitely going to make the effort to make it having previously considered it too time-consuming.

I began with the pan-seared foie gras, spiced duck pastilla, confit lemon and date consommé. The foie gras was, yes, you've guessed it – fabulous. But actually the date consommé was even more incredible – I was spooning down to the last drop as the staff tried to take my plate. If I could have a flask of the stuff, I could climb Everest.

The Hubby had the terrine of foie gras, orange purée, spiced salt and toasted brioche. Now the Hubby is renowned in his search for a decent foie gras terrine – he's had it everywhere and is usually disappointed. Here he thought the flavour excellent, he loved the texture (it looked very smooth), he loved the orange, and even the brioche looked crisper and more robust than the usual offerings. I didn't even get a look in!

I then had the slow cooked fillet of beef, braised ox cheek, pomme purée and red wine jus. The ox cheek was deep and earthy, packed with flavour and a great contrast to the fillet. The mash was as smooth and silky as you'd expect, and the jus rich to the point of obsession. A proper ‘you can wipe your finger across it’ richness. And I did.

The Hubby had the real highlight though, Cotswold white chicken, tortellini, broad bean, wild garlic and jus gras. It looked stunningly pretty. The small amount I was allowed to steal was loaded with the garlic jus which tasted intensely of roasted garlic purée – smooth, delicious, full of flavour.

By this stage it was too late for pud, though they all looked delicious. We were brought some of the marshmallows, and the strawberry one's were particularly tasty, without doubt the best marshmallow I've eaten. I did also buy a bag of tea (!) – there were some amazing combinations, and I went for one with fennel seed, which aids digestion. I thought it might be a decent Kümmel substitute.

So. If you find yourself in need of a really flavoursome dinner, I'd definitely try Galvin! It has a very cute bar which fills up quite late (I noticed that they shut the doors between the bar and the restaurant when it started to fill). If you like heights the view is sensational. Also, the atmosphere is very relaxed – you could come here with friends and enjoy dinner without feeling as though your disturbing everyone else – a definite plus in this calibre of dining. It's going on my favourite's list.

Galvin at Windows also participates in Galvin's Chance – an employment programme for 18-24 year olds – have a look on their website.

Choosing a restaurant in our house always begins in the most random way: Richard Corrigan has been on the telly quite a lot lately, what with Great British Menu and Saturday Kitchen, and the Hubby wondered why we'd never been to his restaurant. He was adamant that he'd never seen Corrigan's Mayfair on Upper Grosvenor Street, or heard anyone mention it.

To be honest, even though I knew it was there, I'd never actually seen it, and my ‘usual’ black cab chappie gave a me a breakdown of every building in the street but declared he'd never seen a restaurant there… So Corrigan's is a bit like that building in Harry Potter – invisible to the uninitiated… This makes entering the building even more of a surprise, because the interior is actually enormous, and must span the whole of the block.

There's a very good bar area, restaurant seating, and a private room off the main restaurant. The room feels very like a ‘posh’ Cecconi's, except with a great deal less bustle. It was only about 25-30% full during our meal, although there was a function being held in the private room. With a room like this, less bustle almost constitutes less atmosphere. Given that we were asked twice to ensure that we were finished by 9.15, one had to wonder what they were worried about. Did people suddenly hot-foot it all the way over to Upper Grosvenor Street at 10pm?

Thank goodness we were only offered one amuse – hurrah! This was a little ball of mozarella in a sort of doughnutty/brioche in crispy parmesan breadcrumbs, smelled fabulous and pretty tasty.

To start I had a very lovely crispy duck egg, with English asparagus, mustard hollandaise and pea shoots. It was very yummy and the runny yolk obviously worked very well with the asparagus. The Hubby had the terrine of foie gras, which was constructed using layers of foie gras and thin slices of brioche. The Hubby felt this dampened down the flavour of the foie gras somewhat.

As a main course I had the pan-fried john dory with a raw artichoke and apple salad. This was very clean, and the acidity in the apple worked very well with the rest of the dish.

The Hubby had the red mullet with chorizo, salt cod and parsley. The mullet was cooked very well, and the salt cod complemented it, and was well seasoned. However with little salt cod and chorizo on the plate, there wasn't a great deal of flavour.

Dessert anyone? Yes, we would have quite liked dessert, but after waiting for some time for someone to give us a dessert menu, and then some time for someone to return to us, the urge had completely gone. I had quite fancied the one with the salted caramel (clearly this years' favourite flavour with chefs), but didn't fancy waiting for it to arrive.

This highlights the one main drawback to Corrigan's for us: the room is very good, the food is fine, yummy and seasonal – well done Mr Corrigan. The staff however are pretty haphazard. At one point I asked the Hubby if he felt we were sitting in the trainee section of the restaurant. The older staff were extremely well informed, polite, adept, discreet – everything you would expect. The junior staff were gauche, uninformed, and inattentive*. I would recommend going in a slightly larger crowd as you may need to provide your own atmosphere. To be fair, I would assume this place is heaving at lunchtime, and it may be a better first introduction to the restaurant.

• Actually, I'd like to correct this comment and qualify it. The staff were not entirely inattentive, but I think this highlights a common complaint for diners – there's an enormous difference between ensuring that someone's glass is topped up, that bread plates are removed, etc, but these days in restaurants of this calibre it simply isn't sufficient! The diner is looking for the staff to read their signs – do I look like I want something – do I look restless – do I look like I've made up my mind? Staff need to actually look at the diner, NOT just look at the table.

With what has rapidly become the hottest London restaurant on Twitter, Roganic is something of a joyous enigma. Chef Patron Simon Rogan, Head Chef Ben Spalding and his team are able to turn out extraordinary food in what is essentially a tiny and cramped site. But the genius of the restaurant is that it recognises this restriction and turns it to its advantage.

Very few dishes are served hot, and as a result a number of the dishes are very pure, and incredibly scented. This is also the first tasting menu I've ever managed to get through without feeling faintly ill – a number of the elements are raw, soused, or barely cooked – the resulting menu is fresh, full of texture and flavour. Some ingredients, such as the chenopodiums, hyssop, sweet cicely, lovage and wood sorrel are sourced by a forager, others from their own Howbarrow Farm, located close to their parent restaurant, L'Enclume. Remaining ingredients are sourced as closely as possible, and only from the British Isles.

Although there is a six course menu, I would urge you to go for the 10 course, if you have enough time.

The restaurant itself is behind a discreet French gray facade, and is feels like a minimalistic seaside joint. To go with the more organic feel, the butter is served on stones collected by Ben and his family, the place-mats are coloured like a stoney beach, and the water glasses are an intense sea green. It's a very serene and relaxing room. The staff are very attentive, and very well informed.

We began our evening with a glass of apricot and vodka fizz, with a couple of shards of dehydrated apricot in the glass. The fizz is dispensed at the table in a creamer (and uses just one gas canister). It's a very lovely variation on a Bellini, and I think actually preferable – but I love a vodka martini, and this was also a very good and clean variation on that.

The bread is served warm, and we were offered pumpernickel, spelt, and buttermilk & potato. The butter is brought in from a farm and whipped with Maldon sea salt in the restaurant – this results in a light and voluminous concoction. It took a lot of effort to resist.

As an amuse we were offered a chickpea wafer with ox-eye daisy, aioli, red amaranth, and edible flowers – a lovely combination of sweetly sour and floral scent. The closest comparison I can offer is that of cream cheese. But really lovely cream cheese with spiky herbs and very light garlic in the aioli – a difficult balance to strike, but effortless here.

The first course was a tiny plate of broad beans and hyssop, with fresh curds and beetroot. The beetroot came diced at the bottom of a beetroot, purée – a slightly salty sour velvet. The hyssop is a light and green puddle into which the broad beans sit, with the fresh curds. The sensation of dryness induced by chewing the broad beans is offset by the slightly tart curds, and that rich beetroot. The resulting dish is light, very, very fresh, and a lovely way to begin the meal.

I should also point out at this stage that one of the nicest parts of this menu is that the dishes begin delicately, and gradually build into an incredible crescendo of cheek-sucking umami-ness. As a result, very delicate flavours like the hyssop aren't lost in the menu – your taste buds adapt and the later intensities don't destroy that taste memory.

The next dish was a scarlett ball turnip baked in salt, smoked yolk, sea vegetables and wild mustard. The smoked yolk is achieved by sitting the separated yolk in it's shell with some smoking oil for a few hours, before putting it into a sous-vide for 40 minutes. This results in a yolk with the texture of lemon curd, and a smoked velvet intensity. The turnip is soft and tender, and delicately scented, and our samphire echoed that with its customary salty kick. The wild mustard serves as a green and intently fragrant smear under the dish. I do like to taste those additions on their own, and this is delicious – would be amazing with fish! All in all it's a fantastic dish.

We followed this with Seawater cured Kentish mackerel, shoots, broccoli and warm elderflower honey. I'm not a massive fan of mackerel, it's always rather an overpowering flavour for me, but here it was delicate. Once cured, a small amount of sweetness intensifies that saltiness. A shard of crispy skin sat on top of this moist fish, and under that was a layer of delicately soused onion rings – is this a nod to the Scandinavian counterpart? If so it was executed perfectly and served to highlight the fish, and not swamp it! The honey, sourced from Regent's Park in our case, not Hyde Park as in others' reviews, added a sweet contrast and was filled with tiny speckles of broccoli. The purées allow you to scoop up the fish and smear it with fragrant green.

Next on the table is the Shredded ox tongue, pickles and sourdough paper. I think this is perhaps my favourite dish. On the plate are a few soused raw and barely cooked elements – a halved grape, tiny cauliflower florets on cauliflower purée, barely raw strips of carrot wrapped around a purée, a radish intact with its leaf… In the centre are two shards of sourdough paper (made a little like Sardinian Carta da Musica) into which is pasted a mound of the intense ox tongue. I'll be honest – I could have eaten platefuls of the veg!

Halfway through, and next up is Flaky crab and mallow cream, young squid and cucumber. The squid is raw and diced to the same size as the cucumber, then mixed in with the crab. It reminded me of a much better textured ceviche or tartare, the effect is the same, lightly spiked and clean. The texture is further offset by the inclusion of the squid ink croutons, and the smooth mallow cream. My own dish didn't have a courgette flower* (clearly the season has passed, and this photo is from a few weeks ago). I did have stonecrop in my dish though, which added that dryness in the mouth, offsetting those other silky flavours. There were also tiny mallow flowers decorating the dish, and adding further fragrance.

Up next is one of the signature dishes of l'Enclume – Heritage potatoes in onion ashes with wood sorrel, and lovage. In our dish the heritage potatoes were Sharpe's Express, a variety first introduced in 1900. The onion ash is produced by cooking down the onions and then dehydrating them. The result is then whizzed until an oil can be produced from it, and this is then mixed with tapioca (like the Texturas from El Bulli). The dish is assembled with a shallot purée, a lovage purée, the cooked Sharpe's with a mound of the ash, shards of dried and crispy potato skin and adorned with a scattering of wood sorrel. I hadn't eaten wood sorrel on it's own before, and it's a complete revelation – an intense citrus flavour which cuts through the richness of the shallots, and that intensely onion ash. I absolutely loved this dish, but I can imagine others would not. We laughed with the staff about the ‘marmitiness’ tag that seems to have been linked with a number of the dishes – for my part, I though this was actually quite addictive. I could imagine putting that ash onto popcorn, or any number of other foods – but I do like savoury flavours!

Phew! But I have to say, still not feeling to full, up comes Cornish monkfish, chicken salt, surf clams, rainbow chard and mushroom purée. Now we really are (literally) getting to the meat of the matter. Following that intense ash, the menu steps up and gives you a good whack of umami. The intense mushroom purée really packs in that savoury punch, which the chicken salt steps up again! The Hubby wanted much, much more of this, and we literally sat at the end sucking our cheeks – it's an incredibly intense set of flavours. The menu has in the past carried brill, ours was monkfish, but to be absolutely frank, the fish is merely a foil for all the other flavours. This isn't a criticism – I'd choose those flavours over the fish any day!

Now we're on a roll and the end is in sight. Next, Cumbrian hogget, with artichokes and chenepodiums, we were getting excited. Hogget is lamb which has reached maturity, generally at the one year mark. The lamb is intense, with a lamb jus, and artichoke purée with tiny crispy sweetbreads. As a combination you do get sweet, sour, salt and savoury – and the bitter is included through the addition of the chenopodium leaves. Extraordinary things – you pop the leaf in your mouth and it takes rather nice, but after about 10 seconds it interacts with your saliva and adds and incredibly bitter note – a fabulous contrast!

How do you follow this? With Sweet cicely and strawberry, buttermilk and verbena: macerated strawberries, sweet cicely ice cream, very creamy buttermilk custard and verbena syrup. After the last two meaty dishes, this acts as a very food palate cleanser! It's served with shards of dehydrated strawberry scented with cicely – this adds a very moreish anise flavour to the shards, echoed in the main dish. Delicious. Again there is very real emphasis on the herbal and fresh nature of the ingredients.

One final course to go: Warm spiced bread, salted almonds, buckthorn curd and smoked clotted cream. We very much enjoyed this dish – the very crunch cube of brioche is toasted with cinnamon and cardamon. The cardamon offers and incredible scent, and one of those – there's something else in there, I know that taste, what is that? – moments. It sits on the buckthorn curd. The clotted cream sits to the side with the salted almonds. I can understand why people might have trouble with some elements of the dish: the buckthorn curd again gives you that sense of dryness in the mouth, and the smoked cream is so unusual, but if you combine them together again you get that sense of umami-ness – which is incredible in a dessert.

I think if you've actually made it to this point in this insanely long review, you need to get to Roganic now!

I have to confess, I eat at Tsunami at least twice a month – it's my favourite ‘local’ although it's not within walking distance. Not only do I eat here fortnightly, for the most part I eat nearly the same dishes each time: favourites include yellowtail jalapeno, duck and fois gras nigiri, beef with a truffle and terriyaki sauce, king crab tempura, tamago… The blackened cod is very good, though I usually find it too rich to eat often, both here and at Nobu…

Pretty much anything you'd expect to find in a good Japanese restaurant is here, including really fresh sashimi – there aren't many places I'd eat raw scallops, but I do here often.

The decor is ‘dressed’ regularly, though it could really do with the kind of overhaul that requires shutting it for a couple of weeks… We have our favourite staff, our water appears on our favourite table, they know which wine we like, they always accommodate us – what more could I ask? And as for the poor lady who complained about a lack of plates and attention, I can assure you that really must have been an exceptional event – I must have eaten here over a hundred times, and never experienced anything like that – genuinely!

There are times you want to get dressed up and head into town. Sometimes you just want to go local, wear your crappy cardigan and just enjoy the food. Don't expect this to be a particularly cheap option though – sashimi grade fish and shellfish is expensive wherever you go! I'll see you there…

The Greenhouse – gosh – I hadn't been there for about fifteen years. The last time we'd eaten there it was still being run by Gary Rhodes – I had the most delicious plum tart tartin served with cinnamon ice-cream – yummy. When the Hubby said he'd booked it for us to take some chums as a celebration, I wasn't terribly impressed… ‘No’, the hubby protested, 'they apparently have a Michelin starred chef, who's doing great things…' Well allrighty then… Now, we did arrive a little the worse for wear, but the staff bundled us into the glass box that I assume passes as a private dining space, and I thought things looked really rather positive.

Our amuse bouche were rather good – cubes of salmon with horseradish, little cubes of fois gras, I think, in-between dark wafers of some kind… We ordered a bottle of champagne from the very extensive list, and then the Hubby noticed that there wasn't a bottle of red under about £250… Good lord – thank goodness I was on the white! I calculated the mark up at about 400%… 400%!!! One red was marked up by over 600%. I haven't see mark-ups like that for years! We buy Antinori wines direct from the wholesaler, so I know exactly how much a bottle of Solaia or Cervaro should be, and this was pretty far off the mark!

Now, I'm not going to bitch about how outrageous that is – we were celebrating, in very good company – and we were all having a very good time.

Gradually though, we started to notice a certain surliness in the lead waiter – I think he thought us oafish, and assumed that we weren't paying attention the food – actually we were all paying rather a lot of attention to everything going on around us… (The sommelier by comparison was prompt, courteous and attentive – as well he might have been at those prices.)

As a pre-starter we were given a little demi-tasse of white onion foam, with a herb liquor, exactly as it should be – a little explosion of tastes. Now I'm not a massive eater, so I chose two starters – I had a fois gras terrine with a roasted shallot sliver on top of a little shard of something, and it was delicious! I followed that with a little roast lobster tail about the size of a langoustine tail), and that was equally yummy.

We had a variety of dishes between us, with the others opting for John Dory, lamb, halibut, sea bass etc, and all were very well executed… We ended with a lovely little strawberry tart, which was light and moreish. There were also some very good petit fours, little chocolate slivers etc. All in all the food was very competent, and I think I would return…

However, I can't help feeling the whole process was ruined by the said waiters' behaviour: we'd be in the middle of a discussion, and let's remember there were six of us, and he'd interrupt us just to pronounce (in a bored fashion!) what each pre-thingie was… I absolutely understand a restaurant taking pride in their food however, we hadn't ordered the tasting menu – we weren't here to pay homage to the chef… These little amuse were supposed to complement to meal, not dominate it. We were paying to eat the food we'd chosen, not to become slaves to the freebies.

So if you're looking for a foodie experience, I'd highly recommend The Greenhouse – but expect to mortgage your house if you want to get stuck into the wine list! However if you're looking for a good night out, with lovely food thrown in, I think I'd spend my money elsewhere.

There are a couple of ways into the restaurant – I prefer going through the customary greeting by the doorman, into the tiny lobby – but you could go in through the oyster bar if you wish. There's a teeny tiny bar which serves all manner of things in old fashioned martini glasses, and every available space is covered in photos of bygone stars… The restaurant is made up of a series of interconnected rooms, all crammed with little tables, all crammed with very animated diners. It's all run on a very tight and strict schedule – there's no room for dilly-dallying.

As a starter I had little scallops, with crushed peas, pea shoots and crispy pancetta – absolutely yummy – one of my favourite combinations; the Hubby had devilled whitebait, which came out in a huge portion, with a serving of fresh tartare sauce to the side – he often has this – and says this is the place to eat it.

I can honestly say that I don't eat fish and chips, never have and ordinarily probably never will – but I eat it at Sheekey's and at Scotts. The haddock has a casing so crisp it shatters with your fork, and it's served with crushed minted peas and chips – delicious!

This is what the Hubby chose, and I did gaze in his direction, but he ignored my fluttering eyelashes. No matter, I had one of my other favourites – the sole served off the bone, with really good bernaise sauce. I had my usual herb green salad – can't go to a Caprice Holdings restaurant without that – and the Hubby had his parmesan courgettes.

The food was perfectly cooked: the bernaise was both unctuous and light, the sole practically melted in the mouth. The Hubby's fish and chips really did look delicious, and he tucked in with gusto. It's difficult to say much more about it, really: I have never had a bad meal at Sheekey's – I have never had any issues with the staff at Sheekey's – it's a fabulous restaurant!

If you're going to go to one of the Caprice Holdings restaurants for the food (!), it has to be Sheekeys! If you're going to celebrate your wedding anniversary, or significant birthday, it should be Scotts. If you're taking your easily impressed aunt from Blackpool, and you want to show off – may as well go to the Ivy – I don't want you cluttering up Sheekeys for the rest of us…

It's been some time since we at at The Ivy, and we'd remembered being distinctly unimpressed on previous occasions, but, you can get carried away with the hype of some restaurants and here we were again.

The doorman leapt to open our cab, but didn't really look at us and was on a mobile phone – perhaps someone inside the restaurant was giving him instructions? We encountered chatting staff at every stage until we reached our table. Little details like this niggle me – you don't get it in well-run restaurants.

We were actually given a decent table for The Ivy – I have often felt that there was a distinct division in the room – and this seemed less apparent last night. Gradually though it became apparent that there was no longer any division in the room, because most of the people in the room were food tourists… This is the second time in a month that I've been in a very well-known dining room and felt that I was part of some art installation – there were people in tracksuits (?), groups of girls who looked as though they were on a hen night (?), large Americans prodding their food, and random groups of business people openly talking about their deals… I distinctly remember the first time I went to The Ivy about 15 years ago – it really was full of luvvies. The food had been good, but we had been placed in Siberia and felt very much that we were on the outside looking in. Last night felt quite different. The atmosphere had really changed, there was no tinkling laughter, and chinking glass…

But enough of the room – how about the food? The staff knew that we were on a fairly tight schedule, and took our order promptly – we opted to go straight to mains, so that the 9yo could fit a dessert in. Drinks were ordered, some didn't arrive. The tables on either side of us managed to get through at least two of their courses and we sat patiently waiting for our main courses. After over 30 minutes, a member of staff said that dishes were just being plated up – now the 9yo had chargrilled chicken, the Hubby had a veal chop, and I had yellow-fin tuna – I could have turned this out in 30 minutes… Finally after over 45 minutes our food arrived… It was cooked proficiently, but it's difficult to say it was good when you've waited so long for it. It looked as though it could have come out of any kitchen.

The veal came with anchovies, capers and a fried egg on top – perhaps an unusual combination, but the Hubby said they went very well together. The 9yo's chargrilled chicken came with broadbeans and artichokes, and looked very nice. My tuna was actually a very large chunk – perhaps more reminiscent of a piece of fillet streak – and was medium-rare. It was served with bok-choy, and noodles – the noodles were undercooked and weren't slippery with the sauce, more a staccato counterpoint to the tender tuna. We also had a herb green salad, the parmesan courgettes, and the 9yo had a portion of chips. These arrived separately to the main course.

Main course over, we waited about 10 minutes for someone to clear the plates, despite indicating that we were finished. We ordered the 9yo a selection of sorbets (passion fruit, strawberry and lemonade), and I ordered a coffee. The sorbet came… We waited… No coffee… By now the Hubby was getting quite agitated. We considered abandoning it altogether, but it appeared just as we were signalling for the bill.

When it arrived the Hubby complained – the food had taken far to long to arrive – things had arrived in parcels, some items hadn't arrived until we had pointed out their absence… Given the reputation of The Ivy, and the prices they charge, it really wasn't acceptable. They apologised, but took no responsibility – we should have been told that if we didn't intend to eat a starter, our main course would be at least 30 minutes… We weren't told that, and frankly, for a restaurant of this repute I think that's utter rubbish. The kitchen can't cope with orders coming in randomly? When we arrived at 6.15 practically the whole restaurant was packed – most people were already on their first courses, and within minutes, their second courses. And why had someone apologised to us for the absence of food after 30 minutes, promising its imminent arrival? It really isn't good enough.

So, people – if you have been to The Ivy recently, I'm sure you already know what I'm talking about… If you haven't – foodies – please go to J Sheekey's – the food is better – the atmosphere is better – the staff are more efficient! If you do want to go the The Ivy, make sure it's to impress someone who really doesn't eat out in London. Rather damningly, the hubby compared it to Garfunkels, and it's got to be 20 years since we ate at one of those! I fear it's going to be as long before we'd eat at The Ivy again.

As we were deliberately 45 minutes early for our table, having intended to grab a drink beforehand, we tried to get into one of the bars. In the American Bar the queue for a table actually led out of the door, and in the Beaufort Bar, there was a 30 minute wait for a table. What was going on? There were people coming in off the street to gawp at the elaborate bird cage contraption in the lower lobby, and people taking photos of the decorations. Oh no – the Savoy has turned into a tourist destination… It was time to take a chance and hope our table was ready early.

The staff in the Grill confirmed we could have our table momentarily, and we sat in their little bar having a glass of champagne. We drank it. People re-shuffled the bottles, topped up the ice in the ice buckets, and ignored us. There was no further interaction. We looked at each other hoping that things would improve. The wait gave us an opportunity to look at the room, which I have to say I rather liked – the chandeliers were unusual and rather lovely, the faux tortoiseshell panels made the room look rich and warm… But… what was that… smell…? It smelled like an old carvery – all gravy and roast meat? It's only been open a month, surely that smell is wrong?

40 minutes later our table, which had clearly been empty and in plain sight, was declared ready. Really? The restaurant was half empty – it was 7'ish – they couldn't cope with two early diners? Or at least check that they wanted another drink?

Finally seated, the waiter arrived and asked us to order – we pointed out that we hadn't actually seen a menu. He seem baffled, but immediately retrieved one. Now, it may be a petty point, but I cannot abide establishments who can't be bothered to separate their lunch and dinner menu's if they have different offerings. Especially at this standard – who wants to be told this whole section here that only applies to lunchtime?

The menu is long on meat… Very, very long on meat. Fair enough – it is a grill – but even by my standards there was a lot of meat. And personally, whilst I love steak, I don't really want to eat my way through a fillet steak still on the bone – I'm not in NewYork after all – this is the Savoy! It also became perfectly apparent why the restaurant smelled of gravy and Sunday lunch – all that meat took up most of the menu…

We ordered a bottle of Cervaro della Sala, my favourite from the Antinori estate (more expensive here that typical in London) and had a little chat with the somelier, who we'd last seen at Koffman's. He was engaging, charming, and perhaps the only person we dealt with with any personality. We talked about Koffman's pistachio souffle, and he mentioned that the Grill had rather a good passion fruit souffle. That determined that I wasn't going to eat the side of a cow, so I ordered the scallops, the dover sole and a winter salad. The Hubby had the fois gras and the veal mixed grill, with a side order of cauliflower cheese (?) and chips.

The scallops arrived in their shells on a bed of sea salt, and with an apple and butter dressing. The dressing was lovely, but one of the four scallops was slightly strange. These days I leave anything that doesn't taste right! The Hubby's foie gras was presented with a little brioche loaf, and nicely turned out from it's timbale, but he didn't think it was especially nice. I have to say, we were quite unimpressed, and no-one questioned my half-eaten plate.

The cutlery for the next course arrived and we were given each others'. We swapped them over without comment, now intent on seeing just how much more they would get wrong.

My sole arrived and I asked for them to remove it from the bone. Now in Sheekey's this is a two minute affair at max, and they arrive back quite promptly. However here the Hubby had his mixed grill cooling rapidly in front of him, and in the end I encouraged him to start. He wouldn't until my fish had been returned. It was cooked nicely – perhaps a little overdone – but I couldn't help remarking that perhaps all the better fish in London went to places like Sheekey's and Scotts, because this looked a little odd? Then I realised it had just been butchered when they took it off the bone, and reduced to two thin lines of fish… And the Hubby didn't have his sauce – we asked for it, and waited again. When it arrived (it was Bernaise), is was a little gloopy, and we had to give it a quick whisk, but the tarragon flavour was actually very good. The Hubby's mixed grill was by now luke warm, and he thought it over cooked. The cauliflower cheese was too sticky, the chips left uneaten, soggy and bent, and the winter salad was long on frise and endive – too bitter to serve with the rich and delicate sole.

By this stage and knowing that we were going to be there for the long-haul, we ordered a second bottle. It wasn't chilled, so the lovely sommelier put it on ice. A minute later the waitress wandered over, picked up the bottle, and proceeded it pour it into our existing glasses without checking. Oh no. This is a particular bug bear of ours. Two minutes later the sommelier appeared with a clean glass, and went to offer it to the Hubby to taste – 'don't bother' he said, 'it's too late'. The sommelier was genuinely aghast and apologised, but it just highlights how ill-trained and inexperienced some of the staff are…

Having said that, when it arrived, my passion fruit souffle was absolutely delicious and went surprising well with the chocolate sorbet. Not a combination I would have put together, but the combined aromas were actually so fragrant and yummy that I wanted to eat the whole thing immediately. The Hubby had a baked alaska flambe which looked very pretty, and judging by the speed it went down, appeared very good.

Finally happy with something, we asked for the bill. Which didn't arrive. We asked someone else. It didn't arrive. Ten minutes later, after I had very pointedly looked at my watch, the Hubby finally grabbed one of the managers (for those who've been – the one who looks like he used to follow ‘A Flock of Seagulls’) and asked again. This time it was given back immediately, so had obviously been sitting there all along.

I'm really not sure what to say. Some of the service was very good – some diabolical. Some of the dishes were good – some really very mediocre. Parts of the room are lovely – but the smell is actually quite overwhelming – you don't expect to leave smelling like you've been in a ‘Harvester’. Would I go back? Absolutely not. The wine list is overpriced, I think the menu is quite unbalanced, and really lacks any of the touches of the Boxwood Cafe, who's chef is supposed to now be at the Grill. I'd really looked forward to catching up with the old team again, but in this room, the previous light touches were unrecognisable. What a shame.

I'm not sure why we hadn't been to MW@TB since the refit – it was fully booked for the reopening and I can only assume it just dropped off our radar. However the Hubby was bored of all of our favourites, and looking for inspiration. Well, inspiration he found: he described this as the best meal he'd had in years. It was all utterly delicious, but I do have some reservations. Did any of you eat at Tom Aitken's when it first opened? Well…

We booked a table at very short notice, and actually there was definitely capacity. The room is dark and moody, and full of wanna-be beautiful people. People were pottering about, and being shown the kitchen – the sort of food tourism I usually find irritating – but I was drawn in – what was happening behind that wall of wine?

I'm reticent to bow down before an effigy of Marcus because I'm uneasy about the endless exertions of the kitchen: this isn't food to scoff, this is food you're supposed to worship. The lovely Marcus has fallen foul of the Michelin Prostration Rule: the more desperately you want your Michelin stars, the more you have to prostrate yourself at the feet of fiddly little bits of twiddle and twaddle – all absolutely delicious in their own way, but there is something of the wafer thin mint by the time your reach the end of your meal. Marcus may have two stars right now, but if it went on effort, he'd probably be in a league of his own. Without doubt he has an excellent palate – but we all know that less is more.

Before I write-up a restaurant I sometimes check other reviews – not so that they can modify my opinion – but because the Giles' and AA's of this world are much better at documenting the little twiddly bits than me. Given how complicated the food is at MW@TB, I definitely checked them. I did note that despite saying that they thought Marcus was one of the best cooks in the UK, they both felt he was trying too hard.

The amuse consisted of a little mock cauliflower cheese: a cauliflower shot, cheese foam a parmesan breadstick. There was another amuse, but in the long line-up of food, it now passes me by…

I ordered the fois gras, which was beautifully presented. The terrine was very finely sliced, which gave you an opportunity to take it either as a tiny mouthful, or piled with the apple and parsnip milk powder*, a whole variety of combinations – or you could eat a number of slices together – in which case the terrine was very rich and perhaps cloying.

The Hubby had the lobster, which he loved, and which looked utterly beautiful. I did note, however, that the mushrooms listed in the menu were not those on his plate. The waiter detailed those in the dish, but you wonder if Marcus had chosen the poetic ‘hen of the woods’ because of how it reads on the menu, rather than his ability to source it. I did steal one of the alexanders as I'd never had one before and it was rather nice.

As a main course I had the venison: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG.

OMG

It really was delicious. Best venison dish I've ever had, the previous being Koffman's Venison with chocolate sauce back in the days of La Tante Claire. The venison was perfectly cooked, rare, thinly sliced, melting. The liquorice counterbalanced the earthiness of the farro, and I vaguely remember posturing on the counterpoint of the lychee, though that taste now eludes my memory palate. The monk's beard was delicious – an iron strong cross between spinach and samphire.

The Hubby had the lamb, which he loved, but which I didn't try at all. Apart from the pink peppercorn yoghurt. I like pink peppercorns very much, and this tasted lovely, but apparently was not necessary for the dish stated the Hubby.

We were offered the cheese board, which was mind-blowingly pretty, I could smell it from across the room. However by this stage we both agreed there was going to be little room left if we intended to squish a dessert into a far corner of our appetites, and regretfully we didn't have any. Such a shame.

We were given some kind of little jelly pre-dessert, which was delicious. It may have been a take on a Mojito. It may have been an Old Fashioned. Again my memory palate fails me, but we immediately declared it was the only way to eat jelly.

For my actual elected dessert I had the peanut parfait with salted caramel and Valrhona – seemed rude not to. Gosh it was yummy. I'll have to ask the Hubby what he had, I don't think I even looked at this plate while I practically licked mine clean!

We were offered even more food after this – I have absolutely no idea how people also manage to navigate the petit four trolley which was laden, absolutely laden with goodies. Well, I say I don't know how, but in reality we did take a choccie each – out of politeness you understand. More salted caramel – crisp, melting, delicious.

I mentioned Tom Aiken at the beginning of this piece because MW@TB reminds me of Tom's early days… We ate there three or four times, but with increasing trepidation. There is a genuine limit to how much food one person can eat without being ill. Both chefs seem to be trying to fill us up with their talent and love, but there's only so much of a good thing one diner can take. As a result we stopped going to Tom Aiken, though I understand he's now limited his free culinary outpourings somewhat. Chaps, if you fill us up on all those little twiddly things, we can't try the cheese trolley, which would have earned you more money. We can't come as often, because our bodies literally can't take the assault. I'd like to eat here all the time, but I really think my palate would drown in all those little extras, and that clouds one's ability to focus on what really are brilliantly executed dishes – dishes we asked for – dishes we're paying for.

So – as a rare treat – fill your boots (and your pockets, handbags, and anything else you can find…)

*Thanks Giles – knew you'd ask what it was!