Studio Gauthier, Fitzrovia

Hard as it may be to believe from my supremely easy-going and liberal attitude these days (no laughing at the back), there was a time when I was, well, if not completely anti-vegan then certainly vegan-skeptic. To someone who once considered vegetarianism radically restrictive, veganism seemed like vegetarianism with the few remaining good bits (butter, cheese, cream, eggs) taken out, a path taken only by people who didn't really like food in the first place and were looking for a more socially acceptable word to substitute for "dietary neurosis".

And certainly, there are cuisines that (for want of a better word) "veganise" better than others. Most of the SE Asian and Indian subcontinent handle veganism supremely well - certain subgenres of Indian food are largely vegan anyway, and I have it on good authority from a vegan friend who went on holiday to Thailand recently that he ate extremely well almost everywhere. Just don't try being a vegan in France - one member of my family recently asked for a vegan alternative to a set menu starter and was served pâté de foie gras, a substitution very much from the Nana Royal attitude to hospitality.

Sushi, with its focus on fresh fish, doesn't seem like an obvious cuisine to lend itself to going vegan, but then chains like Pret and Wasabi have done so for a number of years already with their avocado and cucumber rolls. What if it was done properly, with a chef's attitude to detail and with real presentational flair? Studio Gauthier attempts to do just that, making excellent sushi that just happens to have no animal in it. Can it really work?

Well, in a word, yes. The first thing to arrive to our table was this cute presentation of plant-based "caviar", the deception strengthened by being served in a little custom-printed caviar tin. The "caviar" itself was remarkably realistic - certainly the equal to the lumpfish roe you can get from Tesco, probably even nicer - and underneath was a layer of creamy, salty plant-based crème fraiche of some kind (probably made from nuts but don't hold me to that). It was all rather lovely, despite the vegan blinis perhaps not working quite as well as their butter and milk-based counterparts and also being somewhat burned. Passing the huge open kitchen a little later, I noticed one of the staff despondently picking through a pile of burned blinis for the occasional one that could be salvaged and used, so clearly something had gone wrong in the preparation that day. I'm sure they're normally a lot better than this.

When it comes to accurately describing the actual sushi, I'm going to have a bit of an issue, as some of the very clever techniques they used to recreate the standard sushi sets are quite beyond my powers of deduction. But alongside avocado nigiri here are "salmon" and "tuna" nigiri made, I'm told from tapioca starch with more fake tuna urumaki, all of it more than convincing. What also helped was that the sushi rice was warm - a detail that plenty of "actual" (and far more expensive) sushi places get wrong.

Another plate of nigiri featured chargrilled aubergine, piquillo peppers with passion fruit chutney and, in the centre there, "Green Dynamite" - crisp rice fritters topped with tofu "crab", and sliced jalapeño dotted with sriracha. Thoughtfully put together and each mouthful bursting with flavour, I think it was about this point that I completely forgot I was eating plant-based food and was just eagerly looking forward to the next thing to arrive.

More "tuna" and avocado and truffled miso nigiri came sharing a plate with a bitesize inari - a spongey, sweet tofu thing stuffed with soft, warm rice. Inari are actually vegan anyway, so perhaps the success of this shouldn't be too much of a surprise, but it was still a very good example of its kind, and right up there with the caviar as one of my favourite things overall.

With a couple of cocktails, the bill came to £43pp, more than reasonable for London these days, certainly for food which although doesn't contain any expensive protein did still clearly have a lot of work and thought gone into it. I'm just docking a couple of points firstly for the burned blinis, and also for slightly inexperienced service charged at slightly-over-normal 15% - we had to ask a couple of times for various things. Also, the room isn't air-conditioned which you could just about get away with when it's 28C (the day we visited) but once it goes over 30C, which it often does in London these days, you're not going to want to be there very long. Still, these are niggles.

Even a committed protein eater like me had a blast at Studio Gauthier - it's intelligent, enjoyable food done well in attractive yet informal surroundings, and for not very much money at all. For vegans though, this could very easily be everything they ever wanted in a restaurant, where instead of having to choose between the only plant option (usually mushroom risotto, or something involving butternut squash) or going hungry, they can have anything they want from this enticing menu, and be just as smug and satisfied as their protein-eating friends anywhere else in town. And that alone has to be worth a trip, surely?

8/10

64 Goodge Street, Fitzrovia

The first thing we were given to eat at 64 Goodge Street was a little plate of truffle-cream gougères topped with shaved Comté. These turned out to be important for two reasons - firstly, they weren't on the menu and as unannounced bonus extra dishes go you could hardly do more to tap right into my personal pleasure points. Secondly, they were absolutely, extraordinarily wonderful.

And these things are important because the way you react to this (spoiler alert) hopelessly fawning review rather depends on whether you think my critical faculties have been impaired by a group of extremely talented restaurateurs knowing their audience inside-out, or whether you think that despite the near-impossibility of my not enjoying a new venture from the Quality Chop House guys, 64 Goodge Street really is, objectively, as blindingly good as I say. And I very much hope to convince you of the latter.

So yes, those gougères. Warm and silky smooth inside, with a supremely light crust, they packed a heady truffle punch and almost dissolved in the mouth they were so delicately put together. I am able to enjoy even slightly cackhandedly constructed gougères - I mean, what's not to like about truffle, cheese and pastry - but when they're made with care they're great, and when they're this good something very special indeed is going on.

Crudités - baby carrots, radishes, chicory - came with a luxurious Roquefort dip topped with caramelised walnuts. In all fairness, there's only so mind-blowing a plate of raw salad can be, but the Roquefort dip was lovely, and it all looked very pretty and summery.

From here on, almost everything that came out of the kitchen at 64 Goodge Street was not just good but close-your-eyes-and-can't-believe-it's-so good. Chicken liver parfait, as good as chicken liver parfait has ever been in this country or any other, came squiggled (neatly) onto the top of dainty brioche fingers, with some slices of cherry (no doubt treated to some extremely clever cheffy technique) providing sharpness and colour.

Kintyre smoked salmon - which I assume is from Kintyre smokehouse up in Campbeltown but happy to be corrected if I'm wrong - was excellent both on its own and draped over warm blinis and topped with crème fraîche and roe. 64 Goodge Street can do fireworks and fancy techniques, but are also otherwise confident enough in their own skin to occasionally sit back and let the ingredients do the talking.

The fact we didn't order these smoked cod's roe tartines and they appeared as a little blogger bonus extra makes me eternally grateful that I was able to have my terrible ordering blunder so easily rectified, but was left seriously questioning my skills in reading a menu. Of course a smoked cod's roe dish from the team behind Quality Chop House would be good - how on earth did I not spot that? - and these were world class little nibbles, a layer of tarama on a delicate stick of pastry, topped with pickled radish and onion.

Snail, bacon and garlic is never going to be anything less than a winning combination, and treated to the 64 Goodge Street's skill with a deep-fat fryer they became little crisp "bonbons" that exploded with meaty, buttery goodness.

Then, lamb sweetbreads, gorgeous tender bitesize things in a light crisp breadcrumb coating spritzed with some kind of vinegar, then topped with blobs of mint & tarragon purée. Another marriage of brilliant ingredients and dazzling technique in an accessible, deliriously enjoyable little package.

Oh, and so far these were just the "snacks". The menu proper - at least my own - began with this pretty little fillet of sea bass with wild fennel and pastis. The fish itself was - needless to say - beautifully cooked with a delicate crisp skin, and the sauce, creamy and light and heady with aniseed, was a perfect match. But dotted around the place were these little elements of - well I'm not sure, they were sharp and pickled and citrussy, perhaps gooseberry or some other seasonal fruit, and really lifted the dish to something else.

On the other starters, duck sausage and crab with asparagus, I can't report firsthand as they disappeared before I could beg for a taste, but the general consensus from my fellow diners appears to be that they were sophisticated, generous of flavour and extremely enjoyable. And given everything else we were served, I'm quite happy to take them at their word.

My main was a porc - sorry, pork - chop, portioned into even, chunky slices each containing a morsel of tender meat and melty fat. It was all covered in a charcutière sauce, a glossy, meaty affair studded with cute little buttery girolles, spinach and herbs. Perfectly seasoned, masterfully cooked and with one of those fancy French sauces that probably take a lifetime to perfect, it was everything you (or, more importantly, I) would ever need from a pork dish.

I got to try a bit of the turbot, which although perfectly decent perhaps lacked a little bit of the power and dazzle of the pork. This could easily be a personal taste thing though, or even a victim of contrasts - perhaps I should have tried the fish before the pork.

And I didn't get to try the hogget at all, but I heard nothing but satisfied noises coming from those who did. Looks nice too, doesn't it?

All the desserts were at least worth ordering, but I got the impression the Paris-Brest (traditional, in a classic way - none of your weird fruit flavours added to this, thank-you-very-much) and the strawberry tart (fantastic balance of pastry and fruit in a stunning red gelée) were very slightly more accomplished than my own apricot tarte tatin which needed a lot more sugar to counteract the rather sour fruit element. But that said, I still enjoyed it, and the almond ice cream was superb.

Overall though, we had a blast at 64 Goodge Street, and left all agreeing it was one of the best meals any of us had had all year. Which is just as well, because the bill, with 2 bottles of wine between 5, came to £137pp - certainly at the higher end of what you might expect to pay for modern French food in London, even food as sophisticated and intelligently constructed as this.

But it still felt like value, and I'd pay it again on any given future special occasion, because all said and done, when French food is done this well, there's very little that can beat it. Certainly you can pay a lot more for a lot less - especially (whisper it) in France. 64 Goodge Street, like Quality Chop House before it, is a place so good that it makes you that bit more happy (and, let's face it, smug) to live in London. And there's no higher compliment than that.

9/10

Bandra Bhai, Fitzrovia

I don't know why I don't review more bars on this blog. Some of my happiest moments have been in places like Rules or Bar Termini or Swift or Scout, game-changing world-class establishments where if you leave without having had the time of your life and spent a fortune well, you're doing something wrong. London is packed full of great bars, with almost every part of town hosting at least one chance to get hold of a good martini, but the very best bars exist in their own rarefied space, a magical blend of bartender skill, twinkling clandestine atmosphere and the low, contented buzz of a group of people having a lovely time.

A good part of the magic of a great bar, then, and crucial to the correct "buzz", is being that sweet spot of not too busy (involving booking way in advance or - bleugh - queuing) or being funereally deathly quiet, which is equally undesirable. A bar is more than the staff and the cocktail list - it's also the people that choose to drink there, and in what numbers. Given that these are early days for Bandra Bhai, and the word is only beginning to spread, the healthy number of fellow cocktail fans in the plush downstairs space (underneath hip Indian restaurant du jour Pali Hill) points to the fact that already Fitzrovia has another hit on its hands, and that before too long it could be pretty oversubscribed. For now though, it's ours to enjoy in its current relaxed and inviting form, a comfortable and serene place to enjoy cracking cocktails, and tastefully done Indian small plates.

Before the food, though, cocktails. This is a Rajdoot Martini, an very imaginative blend of gin, samphire-infused vodka (yes please) and something called Cocchi Americano which I'd not crossed paths with before so let me hand you over to Wikipedia - "Cocchi Americano (pronounced: /ˈkɔkki ameriˈkano/) is a quinine-flavored aperitif wine produced by Giulio Cocchi Spumanti in the Asti province of Italy.". So now you know. The Martini was superb by the way, fragrant and sophisticated with the samphire just a gentle seawater backnote instead of being aggressively fishy (thank god).

I will never not love a cocktail served in a metal pineapple, and the "Gaba Singh Side-Hustle" was not only visually arresting but, thanks to the time-honoured combination of cognac and pineapple, a treat for all the senses. It's probably worth addressing the fact that £16.50 is a little toppy for a fruit cocktail but personally I'd pay an extra £5 for the metal pineapple.

Though it's perfectly acceptable to come to Bandra Bhai just for drinks, and there's nothing wrong with that, it would perhaps be a shame not to try at least a couple of the dishes of elevated Mumbai cuisine from the kitchens on the ground floor. So firstly these Mangalore buns, lovely and soft and steamy which came alongside a fantastically rich mixture of spiced crab meat. Whether this was what you're supposed to do or not, I made a hole in the bun and filled it with crab, and then devoured it in a couple of quick bites before the whole construct fell apart. It was great.

And of course we were duty-bound to order lamb chops, gorgeously crisped up on the grill, soaked in a beguiling spice marinade and served with a smooth coriander chutney. Absolutely wonderful things as, yes, you might expect for £20 for two but hey, they aren't pretending to be a cheap chop house. This is high-end stuff, unapologetically so.

As with any cocktail bar - at least, any good cocktail bar - the final bill will align in direct proportion to the amount of fun you're having, so expect to be charged accordingly if you skip out of the place high on life (and pineapple cognac). But as I said, this is exactly how it should be, and if you factor in the experienced bar staff, the friendly front of house and the extremely comfortable surroundings, well, this is what I consider getting your money's worth. You can certainly pay a lot more for a lot less. This lot above (had we not been on an invite) would have come to about £70 including service, so £35pp, if not quite a bargain then certainly more than reasonable.

And although it is early days, already Bandra Bhai has the feel of a settled and mature bar hosting what felt like a cast of regulars, a genuinely exciting new addition to Fitzrovia (a place not exactly brimming with smart cocktail options). The Indian theme, used intelligently and judiciously, adds a certain 'lean' to the drinks list in the same way as Kwānt on Heddon St does for African - fitting the mood of the building without being clunky or clichéd. All in all, it's a very smart little operation which I hope to visit again as soon as time will allow. Long live the metal pineapple.

8/10

I was invited to Bandra Bhai and didn't see a bill.

Cin Cin, Fitzrovia

Although we're still a long way from being back to normal, certain signs abound that the Old Order is restoring itself. I managed to get a walk-in at my local pub yesterday, for example. I can no longer get a seat on the tube between Victoria and Oxford Circus in the rush hour. And recently, I received an invite to a brand new bistro in Fitzrovia serving a very attractive-looking menu of Italian small plates. Nature is healing.

Cin Cin began life in Brighton, and in fact have two locations down there at time of press. The formula (not rocket science, just good food served smartly for not very much money) has proven so successful that they've now taken over the site of what used to be Bonnie Gull Fitzrovia, somewhere that used to be worth patronising for cheap oysters and fizz between the hours of 4 and 6pm, but in all honesty not much good for anything else apart from that. The bijou spot seems a lot happier in its new skin, menu full of the kind of stuff you'd eat any day of the week, and served by staff seemingly delighted to have the opportunity to do so. And after the year we've had, who can blame them?

The evening began with a little bowl of those giant green buttery olives, and a big chunk of focaccia with accompanying olive oil/balsamic vinegar dip - always a welcome sight. I mean, yes, you'll have been served these kind of things in countless Italian restaurants before but who cares? They're still great.

"Marinda" tomatoes (from Sicily, I sagely-inform-and-definitely-didn't-just-Google) came simply dressed in a white wine vinaigrette and more than lived up to the stark presentation. They were lovely, sweet and savoury, bringing to mind the tomato salad at Bar Nestor in San Sebastian which of course is the international gold standard of tomato salads.

A twist on truffled burrata, at Cin Cin they serve the cheese itself topped only with toasted breadcrumbs for a bit of texture, with the truffle flavour brought by prosciutto ham, itself laced with a healthy amount of the good stuff. Beneath was a "pesto rosso", presumably made with red pepper instead of the usual basil leaves, which had a nice clean sweetness to it, and finally a split spring of asparagus because why not, it's the season after all. There is a slight trend at Cin Cin to lean towards perhaps one or two superfluous elements on each plate, but when the ingredients are as good as this you can hardly complain much.

In lesser hands, arancini can be rather dense and unrewarding, heavy on the rice and light on flavour or interest. Cin Cin have quite rightly decided to go in the opposite direction - their crab arancino contains a generous amount of crab, and loads of rich, gloopy dairy, but very little rice, and is in fact best described more as a kind of giant seafood croquette than your traditional rice balls. This was my favourite dish out of everything we were served this evening - I am an absolute sucker for crab at the best of times, and croquettes for that matter, and as if the arancino wasn't enough by itself (and it absolutely was) it came sat on a bed of richly-flavoured basil purée which contrasted the main event perfectly.

Pea tortelloni were beautifully made little things, with silky fresh pasta and a nice smooth liquid inside. The sauce was buttery and satisfying, and although it could have done with perhaps a bit more seasoning, it was still a good sauce. I would argue, though, that it didn't really need either the shoots of onion, which didn't taste of a great deal, or the chunks of mortadella, which were just a distraction. Under normal circumstances I love mortadella, and onion for that matter, but I'm convinced this would have been a more elegant dish had it just been pasta, sauce, and a few peas. Less is more.

Gnocchi with courgette flowers was more stripped back, and that much more elegant visually as a result, although it's worth repeating that both main courses were equally enjoyable to eat. These gnocchi were apparently gluten-free, although you wouldn't know it to taste them, and the cacio e pepe sauce was nicely cheesey and peppery.

The main savoury course was monkfish tail, a lovely bit of fish very much of the same standard as the stunning halibut I was served at the Pack Horse, packed full of flavour and meaty texture. The accessories I was somewhat less enthusiastic about - some of the white beans were a bit on the hard side, and I'm not sure sultanas are really ever a great match with fish - but hey, it all made for an interesting enough experience and all got polished off.

The meal ended with a bang, though, with a magnificent warm rice tart, oozing with personality, and a blood orange sorbet which was packed full of summer citrus flavour.

So as I hope you'll have concluded yourself by this point, there is far, far more to enjoy about Cin Cin than there is to criticise. The odd (very) minor niggle aside, this was a confident, clever dinner by a kitchen that understands the rules of Italian cooking but isn't in thrall to them. It's impossible to imagine you wouldn't enjoy a meal here in this bright, airy spot (in fact there's plenty of outside space too if that suits) populated by friendly, professional people, especially once you factor in the very reasonable cost - £45 for 5 courses puts it safely in the Tasting Menu Bargains of London category. I enjoyed it very much. Isn't it nice to be able to eat in restaurants again?

8/10

I was invited to Cin Cin and didn't see a bill.