This is why people come out to eat, despite everything
Saturday’s dinner took place outdoors under tarpaulin and with the rain thumping down on a tiny courtyard in Bristol, where, at a romantic table for two, we enjoyed that specific British genre of alfresco dining that requires a bobble hat. Littlefrench in Westbury Park – it’s little, it’s French – has no control over the weather, of course, and I’m just ecstatic to see the place open in whatever form.
Reports of the restaurant scene creeping back to anything remotely normal are vastly exaggerated. In my bio-pic, summer 2020 will be a montage of my forlorn face on many, many wild goose chases, closed signs, dashed hopes and a closing shot in which I snivel and eat an M&S nutty salad on a random doorstep. Don’t set off anywhere until you’ve heard a voice on a phone confirming that human life is present; but then, if they’re open, they’ll probably be busy, stressed out and unable to answer the phone.