f you hear an awful screeching noise while entering a coffee shop, leave. They are burning the milk.
The city has finally reached peak ‘elevated’ fried chicken. Manna, Bao, Meatliquour, Kanada-Ya and Chick ’n’ Sours have the best.
Unlimited chai at Dishoom will start to make you feel queasy at exactly 2.66 cups.
All all-avocado restaurants need to die a death. The ice caps are melting.
Have a small child? It’s not allowed into Parrillan. Take your grown-up pals instead.
If you can’t get a table at tiny restaurants like Aulis, Kitchen Table or Evelyn’s Table, follow the chefs on Instagram, as they regularly post about last-minute cancellations.
C&R Cafe is still the best place in central London for laksa. Get on the Overground to Malaysian Deli in Brockley for everything else.
Don’t visit Brixton without stopping by Three Uncles.
If you’d like to remember an entire tasting menu, do not have a glass of wine per course. Ever.
While most zero-waste cooking is great, never sink to eating an unappetising mush of artichoke leaves on a cracker.
Luke Farrell’s southern Thai restaurant Plaza Khao Gaeng isn’t that spicy. Especially when accompanied by a pint or two of Largerita.
Like the humble Martini, Gildas — that’s pepper, anchovy and olives on a stick to those of you born after 1945 — are a thing again. Gobble them at Rita’s, Bar Daskal and Peckham Cellars.
Speaking of Martinis, The Connaught and Dukes remain the best places to have one or two, but never three.
Out in Soho at 3am? The chicken Milanese panini at Bar Italia will always be more satisfying than the very bad pizza at the only other place open. Ahem, Cafeteria.
Some hybrid foods are worth eating after all, and the cruffin — a croissant-muffin mutant pumped with vanilla bean custard, raspberry jam or salted caramel — at Richoux is an excellent example.
Meanwhile, hyper-pimped croissants like those at Criss Cross on Old Compton Street are vile. Especially if they’re filled with truffled liquid cheese.
Mazemen is brothless ramen and it’s actually worth queuing for at Supa Ya.
The robot waiters at Din Tai Fung in Selfridges aren’t exactly efficient, but the soup dumplings are mercilessly addictive.
At 24 the Oval, they give you free Yorkshire puddings and gravy as a starter on Sundays. You’re welcome.
Yes, it’s acceptable to eat tinned fish now. But no, it’s still not allowed in the workplace.
In the depths of Queen’s Park? Venture to Carmel for lamb ragu-pimped hummus.
It’s impossible to romance a person with battery-powered candles.
Ordering one’s steak ‘blue’ will not make you seem more sophisticated. Rare or medium rare are the only reasonable options.
Oxeye in Battersea is the best place to experience British wine.
The £1 happy hour oysters at The Seafood Bar are small, but still delectably cost effective.
Poached sheeps’ brains are, frankly, dreadful, but Neil Borthwick’s fried calves’ ones at the French House are a delight.
If you see aged chicken on a menu, order it. Ditto ex-dairy cow beef.
It’s time to stop going to The Breakfast Club already.
By all means, go to Eataly for your supplies. But eating there will never beat Manteca, Luca, Padella, Artusi, Bocca Di Lupo or Ciao Bella.
Four cans of Nice red wine will probably make you sick on the Overground. I’m sorry, TfL.
Run to Apothecary for the miso glazed aubergine, but steer clear of any truffled sushi.
The Galangal Penicillin, made with tequila, mezcal, galangal honey and lemon at Mr Lyan’s Seed Library is a very effective upper.
No, the pineapple dressed with honey and lime zest at Seabird does not seem a worthy dessert. But it is.
You probably won’t get through the second serving of steak frites at Le Relais de Venise’s. But that doesn’t matter because you should be saving room for the le vacherin du Relais — a tower of meringue, ice-cream, chocolate sauce and Chantilly — anyway.
You will lose approximately 15 Instagram followers if you post yourself doing the much-hyped ‘bump’ of caviar.
The quality of Lewis Hamilton’s Neat Burger has gone downhill. Try V Honest in Leicester Square instead.
Pickle juice is arguably the most agreeable hangover cure.
Not all Wagyu beef is equal. If the price seems too good to be true, it probably is.
The Flubber-green Azul Slipper Kakigōri cocktail at Kol Mezcalaria is the best drink in town.
Never ever f*** with the DNA of bagels.