The Knave of Clubs, Shoreditch

I wouldn't normally feel comfortable sticking a score on a place after sampling just 2 dishes from a menu, but I will make an exception for the Knave of Clubs for two reasons. Firstly, they have put the rotisserie "centre stage" at one end of the large dining room and that is what, I imagine, the large majority of their visitors will be ordering. Secondly, I bloody loved the place, so I don't think they'll mind me writing about it even without trying most of what their kitchens can offer.

We started, though, with oysters - an extremely reasonable £20 for 6 large, lean specimens supplied with all the correct condiments. In a town when the average price per bivalve is hovering around the £5 mark (and in some cases is well above that), it's nice to know that there's somewhere still offering value like this.

The same sense of value is evident in the rest of the menu. They really could charge a lot more for a whole chicken than £38, especially given the quality of these birds (from arguably London's best butcher Turner and George), and even if they didn't come with a giant helping of sides. For your money you get loads of chicken fat roasties, a nice sharply-dressed green salad, some slices of baguette and a little pot of light, homemade aioli.

All of this generosity would have come to naught if the chicken itself wasn't up to scratch, but fortunately thanks to the provenance I mentioned, plus judicious use of brining (not too salty but just enough to ensure every bit of the flesh is tender and juicy), plus a really lovely chermoula spice rub, the end result was a truly impressive bit of rotisserie - the best pub roast chicken I've had the pleasure to tear into in recent memory; certainly the best value. We absolutely demolished the chicken then spent many happy minutes mopping up the chermoula cooking juices with the slices of baguette, and for a while, all was well with the world.

The bill, with a £32 bottle of wine came to £51pp - you really can spend a lot more than this and get a lot less, and not just in central London. In fact the whole experience, including the lovely and attentive staff, made me forgive the only real complaint I have about the place - bloody communal tables. But the spots are spread out around them quite generously, and actually just gives me an excuse to return and try the bistro-style One Club Row upstairs in the same building, where chef Patrick Powell (ex- Allegra) is really stretching his wings. I bet it's great. Watch this space.

9/10

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The Parakeet, Kentish Town

I'm going to start this post about the Parakeet, with - unfortunately (for them, and possibly for you) - a bit of a rant. Why is it that no matter how much money has been lavished on a place, no matter how starry the chefs, how extensive the wine list, how exclusive the whisky collection (the Parakeet has some very interesting bourbons), the beer offering is almost always absolute garbage? I've lost count of the amount of gastropubs I've turned up to for a pre-dinner pint that seem to think it's OK to serve an exciting, seasonal modern British menu with a straight face alongside Camden Hells, Moretti, Guinness and bugger-all else. There's nothing poisonous about any of these bog-standard beers, and not everywhere can be the Wenlock Arms, but honestly guys, it's not difficult - serve the mass-market crap if you must but why not have one or two taps available for something from Deya, or Verdant, or Signature, or Pressure Drop, or god knows how many other great independent craft breweries on your doorstep? Would it really kill you?

So yes my evening at the Parakeet got off to a bit of a humdrum start, with a pint of something entirely forgettable, but I'll give them this - at least, unlike so many 'gastropubs', it's still a proper pub, with a handsome and tastefully restored high-Victorian bar area supported by banquette seating at least equal in size to the dining section. And they're both beautiful spaces, with stained glass details and dark wood panelling, the dining area theatrically unveiled with the raising of curtains at the beginning of service.

They can do a good Negroni too, and know how to put together a supremely attractive Spring menu, with a lot of my favourite words - crab, asparagus, wild garlic, oysters - offered at prices that, these days at least, seem almost modest. The point is, the Parakeet are doing lots of things right and so when they do slip up it only serves to remind you how much better it would be if they'd paid slightly closer attention to the details.

This, for example - described on the menu as "Poached oysters & sea buckthorn granita". Now I'm going to be generous and forgive the plurality as a typo, rather than anything more sinister, because it's £5 for a single beastie is pretty much the norm these days. But am I right in thinking "poached" means served warm? This was ice-cold and tasted raw - again, perfectly fine if that's what you want but not as described. And doesn't "granita" mean a kind of shaved-ice frozen affair? This was a very nice dressing, with what can be a sharply astringent sea buckthorn element tempered by apple juice, but I wouldn't call it a granita.

Duck hoi sin tartlets were very pretty little things which tasted as good as they looked - bags of salty, syrupy hoi sin flavour and with nice soft chunks of pink duck.

Crab lasagne bites contained a good amount of crab meat and a very seductive cheese-toastie style arrangement of textures. They were also something I'd genuinely never seen before on a menu, which for this jaded blogger after nearly two decades in the game is impressive by itself.

Hopefully it's not too much of a criticism to say that this plate of artichoke, broad beans (properly peeled, thank you) and sunflower seeds possibly would have been better described and sold as a side, rather than a starter. It had nice shaved artichokes, plenty of big juicy broad beans and the seeds added an attractive crunch, but in the end there wasn't quite enough going on to justify itself as a standalone dish. Nevertheless, we did quite happily polish it off.

The only real dud of the evening, food-wise at least, was the turbot. Under-seasoned, with an unattractive flabby skin and a strangely blobby-textured, soily flesh, it really wasn't a very pleasant thing to eat and was a poor advertisement for what can otherwise be one of the best fish to eat on the planet. The pickled white asparagus and grape dressing it came with, however, was lovely, which although hardly making up for the turbot did mean there was at least something to enjoy on the plate.

Bizarrely though, considering the poor state of the turbot, this battered, deep-fried red mullet was an absolute joy. Inside a nice crunchy greaseless batter was a fillet of superb mullet, every inch of it properly seasoned and bursting with flavour. I'll forgive them missing to remove a few bones from one side - they were easily dealt with, and the masala and curry leaf sauce it came with was rich with tomato and spices. I know through bitter experience that red mullet does not always taste this good, so this was a surprise as well as a delight.

Desserts were enjoyable, but didn't seem to have had the same amount of care lavished on them as the savoury courses. Chocolate mousse was tasty enough and a bed of crunchy puffed oats (I think they were) gave it a bit of texture, but it's not really the best chocolate mousse I've eaten this month (step forward, yet again, the Devonshire) never mind longer ago.

Citrus Bakewell tart was slightly more interesting and I liked the fragile ribbons of caramelised fruit they'd draped on top, but the cake element was slightly dry and crumbly.

Overall, though, the Parakeet are doing more things right than wrong, and if that seems like damning with faint praise it still puts them ahead of a lot of spots in town. I hesitate to mention service on invites like these but everyone seemed very enthusiastic, and kept exactly the right balance between friendliness and professionalism - they also passed the folded napkin test with flying colours. And although the food menu wasn't exactly at the budget end of the scale, they do offer a house white for £29 which is approaching a genuine steal these days. So yes, if I was going to spend this amount of money and take a journey across town for this kind of food there's a few places (not least the Devonshire, but also the Baring, the Drapers Arms and the Pelican) that would be ahead of the list. But if I was a local, I think I'd be pretty happy to have the option to visit. And perhaps that's all that matters.

7/10

I was invited to the Parakeet and didn't see a bill, but totting up what we ate and drank from the menus comes to about £70pp which isn't bad really.

The Duke, Henley

It's coming up on a year since I was last in this part of the world, when I had a very lovely lunch in the sun at Dominic Chapman, then a brand new restaurant in the Relais hotel on the banks of the Thames. Strolling around town before lunch last week I was pleased to see he was still at the Relais - he's a talented chef and deserves to do well - but I do remember being one of about 6 people in a vast dining room last May. It's strange how some of the wealthiest areas of the country need to be persuaded to spend money on food, even as they drive around town clogging up the tiny streets in their Range Rovers and Aston Martins.

So I was a little concerned that for the whole of a Saturday lunch service we were the only people eating at the new Duke Henley. But I suppose the point of these invites is to change that and get the word out, and perhaps it's not too much to hope the people of Henley can be persuaded out of the giant Wetherspoons round the corner and into this charming, dynamic little startup.

Aged beef fat focaccia was the first thing to arrive, which I hope you can tell even from my slightly blurry photo (I really think it's about time I got myself a better camera - any suggestions welcome) was nice and bubbly on top, smokey from the grill and came with whipped wild garlic butter (first week of the season apparently) and rosemary salt. I'm always a bit torn about having butter with focaccia - I have a feeling it's not very traditional Italian - but then rules are meant to be broken, aren't they? Apologies to any Italians out there.

Venison tartare came hidden under a layer of powerfully wasabi-spiked cream - horseradish cream, basically, only with wasabi. We were instructed to scoop it out using the accompanying prawn cracker style puffed snacks and while this sort of occasionally worked there weren't really enough crackers for the generous portion of tartare, and they had a habit of disintegrating when you attempted to scoop. So we basically ended up having the crackers on the side and then eating the tartare with a spoon. Tasted good though.

These were "Toastie"s, big chunks of chargrilled toast covered in gooey grilled bechamel and umami-rich black garlic, topped with shaved parmesan and what I think were crisp fried shallots. The trick in "poshing-up" cheese on toast is to not have too many confusing flavours, but black garlic and cheese are a perfect little partnership, and the bread was light and easy to eat despite being a generous portion.

King prawns with yuzu, jalapeno and cucumber made a delightful counterpoint to the richness elsewhere, adding more of those Asian ingredients to complement plump, meaty prawns. The yuzu and cucumber made a kind of Japanese gazpacho, and there were all sorts of micro herbs and interesting vegetables (sprigs of fennel maybe, and parsley) added to the mix. One of the highlights of the lunch.

We certainly only have ourselves to blame for ordering so many dishes with the same ingredients, but it was testament to the skill of the kitchen that these tube-shaped chips, that came with yet more cheese and black garlic, were ethereally light and ridiculously easy to eat. Topped with Rachel, a semi-hard goats cheese, it was another one of those dishes that would have gone great with a pint at the bar, or picked at in their little walled beer garden.

We had enjoyed everything up to this point so much that we went for both sweet desserts to finish. This is miso salted caramel tart, with pineapple chutney and crème fraiche, which was dense and gooey and almost slightly too salty but shared between too people not too overwhelming.

And this is Yorkshire forced (I assume) rhubarb, chunky and jammy, served with ice cream and shards of berry-studded meringue, which had a lovely summery flavour profile and some fantastic complimentary textures. Both desserts disappeared in record time.

As I say, this was an invite so we didn't see a bill, but doing a quick bit of maths and assuming the bottle of Chablis they sent us cost about £50, the total per person would have been about £60 (£67 if you add on service), which I think is incredibly reasonable for the amount of skill on display and the thoughtful, seasonal ingredients used. And because this is Henley, after lunch you have the option of a walk along the river, a pint in the Angel, and a photo opportunity outside George Harrison's old house Friar Park, all of which we did. And the sun shone the whole time. It was quite a lovely day.

8/10

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

The Cadogan Arms, Chelsea

There's no sign of a cost of living crisis on the King's Road, but then the people of Chelsea aren't known for their frugality. The Cadogan Arms is a grand old Victorian boozer - which means it has nice high ceilings, stained glass and a big carved wooden bar - but then this is also Chelsea so they can do a good cocktail and have oysters and fancy salads on the menu. The place had been on my list for years thanks to the "new" owners (this was in 2021, when the country was in full plague mode) being JKS of Gymkhana, Hoppers and Trishna fame, but also because it's not that far from my house in Battersea, and living in Battersea, believe me, a short journey home is a rare treat indeed.

It was a good thing we'd booked - the place was completely slammed on a Friday night, not at all a given in many city centre pubs I've noticed lately. Welcome cocktails (well, we welcomed ourselves with them) were very good - an El Diablo with both mezcal and tequila, and a Sticky Toffee Pudding Old Fashioned which combined buttered bourbon and PX to produce a remarkably authentic STP flavour profile. There's a definite North-American-Mexican lean to the drinks list - I also notice they sold Agua di Madre as a non-alcoholic option, and interesting range of drinks made with fermented kefir. I mean, this is Chelsea, after all.

Now, I hesitate - usually - to review a place after having just one dish (each) but this is, after all, a gastropub and we definitely weren't the only people just popping in for one dish before heading home to watch the new White Lotus. My burger was perfectly fine - a good shape and size, easily eaten with my hands so many marks for that, but unfortunately the beef was overcooked to grey and rather dry. They didn't ask me how I'd like it cooked, so maybe this is just how they want to serve it.

Much better was a £34 sirloin, a giant chunky thing cooked accurately albeit a little timidly - we'd like to have seen more of a dark crust - but it tasted great and it really was something almost approaching a bargain for your money. Both sets of chips - chunky and fries - were decent, and the bill which I completely forgot to take a photo of but we did pay honestly, was £47.88 each, about right really. I mean, we didn't leave hungry.

It's almost always the case that when a restaurant doesn't have to be good to make money - when your customer base is the captive audience of an airport terminal, for example, or a posh suburb of London where residents are independently wealthy and not very discerning - it isn't. I have had some genuinely diabolical meals in Kensington and Chelsea - and Belgravia, and Hampstead - over the years, to the extent that it almost puts you off trying anywhere in this places again. But I'm glad I challenged my prejudices at the Cadogan, and found a place that both knows its audience and tries to do things well. And such an easy journey home, too.

7/10

The Sun Inn, Felmersham

If it's true that some of the country's most exciting and dynamic country gastropubs are the product of their surroundings - the lush farmlands and rivers of Bowland that supply the Parker's Arms, for example, the or the orchards, woodlands and fields of wild game that provide the Royal Oak Whatcote with their astonishing seasonal variety - then the downside of this reliance on super-locality is that the places themselves can be quite hard to get to. Often many miles from the nearest rail station, connected only by two-a-day rural bus routes - if at all - it's a real job for the average city-dweller (and, by extension, non car-owner) to be persuaded that anywhere is worth a £100+ train journey and a £50+ cab, even if, as in the case of both places mentioned above, it really, really is worth the effort.

So the Sun Inn, Felmersham is a much easier sell. Bedford is 40m from St Pancras on a train journey (at the weekend at least) that cost £13.30 return. From Bedford, the 12-minute cab ride costs £17 (they have Uber as well which is probably even cheaper) and you will be greeted in their cozy, log-fired bar - should you wish - with a pint of Westbrooks Laguna pale ale (4.6%ABV) which costs £4.90 a pint. You really don't have to travel far out of the city to rediscover what true value really means. And I haven't even mentioned the price of the evening meal yet.

Before that, though, a little mention of the rooms above the pub. The particular suite we stayed in, "Dawn", is one of the most impressively luxurious spaces I've had the pleasure to overnight in since l'Enclume. Occupying a number of levels of a converted barn, downstairs is a kitchenette and living room with sofa bed, and round the corner a giant bathroom with walk-in shower bigger than my entire kitchen. Up some spot-lit stairs and a wonderfully quirky hand-crafted banister is a giant loft bedroom with a copper claw-foot bath at the foot of a second flight of stairs. Attention to detail is everywhere, from the way the spotlights come on to guide your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, to the lovely bright white soft towels to the USB-C sockets next to all the beds. But the most impressive achievement is that staircase - my photos can't do it justice, but the way the skirting board matches the contours of the 17th century stone walls is an absolute joy, a woodworking masterclass.

Anyway I expect you'll be wanting to know about dinner. First up was house bread and butter, served warm in little napkin swaddling. To go with this and in fact everything else that followed we'd chosen a bottle of an organic Penedes cava for £33, which if it sounds good value (and it was) it's worth pointing out there were 2 bottles of fizz cheaper available. Whites started at £28 and reds at £33 - the commitment to quality at value really does extend to every bit of the operation here.

Starter was confit duck from their own farm (and lovely stuff it was too, not too fatty and not at all dry, with a nice soft bite and bursting with flavour) with butter beans. On top, breadcrumbs provided texture and a healthy handful of winter herbs brought all the flavours together. An easily enjoyable, rustic starter which felt right at home in this ancient, candle-lit pub.

Next, leeks with brown shrimp, which was, like the duck, seasoned perfectly (not always a given - confit duck can easily be overpoweringly salty), boldly flavoured and full of a nice range of textures. The monks beard was nice and crunchy, and the beurre blanc soaked into the leeks in the way that it always should. Fortunately we still had some bread left over by this point to soak up the leftover sauce - it would have been a real shame not to.

Main was Hereford beef, again from their own farm, served as a giant chunk of slow-cooked brisket with layers of melting fat and soft cow. In all honesty the accompanying noodles and satay sauce didn't sit quite right with the theme of the evening - I don't usually mind the odd Asian influence here and there but the satay was rather sweet and the noodles soft and a bit redundant - but as the main event was the beef, and the beef was great, then they just about got away with it. Chargrilled PSB could have done with a couple more minutes as well, but the fact I polished my plate off despite being pretty full by this point probably tells you everything you need to know.

For some reason - blame the organic cava - I have no picture of the next course but I remember it vividly because it was brilliant. A cute little miniature apple pie, all glossy and sweet and full of nice rich apple, was served alongside a scoop of soy sauce ice cream, which I am pleased to report is an experiment which passed with flying colours. Apparently the kitchen had been testing different flavours and someone suggested soy almost as a joke, and yet it turned out to be great. It helped, too, of course, that they'd used one of those fancy ice cream machines so the texture was smooth as silk.

Cheeses - a stilton, a local soft rind, Golden Cross goats and a Brillat-Savarin were all perfect temperature and - in the case of the Brillat - soft to the point of liquid, but not necessarily in a bad way. And if we are to take them at their word that this is a normal portion size (and I have no reason not to), £10 for all this cheese is - again - real value.

And speaking of value, two final points. Firstly, the five-course tasting menu, made intelligently with local ingredients and with generosity of flavour and spirit, is £55. That's just over £10 a course, and I don't care how cynical you are about restaurant pricing, but that's a bargain. Also, they cutely say "We absolutely will not add 12.5% to your bill" on the menu which is either a principled stand against service charges or a coded way of suggesting you add it on yourself if you can afford it, but either way pretty commendable.

Which all adds up to a day and a night at the Sun Inn being an absolute, God-given joy. I'm a sucker for ancient, low-beamed pubs at the best of times, and I would have had the time of my life in Felmersham if I'd just had a burger and chips in the bar (they do this too - I bet it's great), but sit it alongside a nicely proportioned dining room serving one of the last great tasting menu bargains in the country, and give the option of those astonishing rooms to sleep it off in after, and you have all the ingredients for a proper hotel and dining destination. For anyone wanting a foodie weekend away on a budget, somewhere that feels timeless, rural and ancient but is barely an hour from London, this should be right at the top of your list. A very special little place indeed.

9/10

I was invited to the Sun Inn and didn't see a bill. However, the 2-bed suite we stayed in starts at £225/night, which if you say as £56.25pp is a far more attractive idea. All other prices, including transport, above. Sorry about the slightly rubbish photos, it was too dark in the dining room for my big camera!

The Hightown Inn, Liverpool

Despite spending the first 20 years of my life about 100m up the road from the Hightown Inn (then the Hightown Hotel), I never really considered this grand old Victorian building to be much of a "local". I was far more likely to get the train to the Railway in Formby where most of my friends lived, or the Grapes in Freshfield if we were feeling particularly Footballer's Wives. The Hightown contingent did - occasionally - persuade others to join us in L38, but the building's constant change of ownership, focus and purpose (was it a pub with food, a food pub, or just a plain old boozer? A hotel? A wedding venue or events space?) combined with the fact nobody ever seemed to know the best way of using the vast structure - a series of huge high-ceilinged rooms that depending on the time of day would be ear-shatteringly noisy or intimidatingly quiet - created a strange atmosphere that was never really anyone's favourite place to hang out.

There's still a vague sense of prevailing awkwardness in the dining areas of the Hightown - the giant spaces certainly give them a flexibility when it comes to catering for groups (we noted with some trepidation on arrival that each room contained a few tables for 20, although actually they weren't stag or hen do's and it was all very convivial and - crucially - a sensible volume) but do in the end still feel like a dance floor that's been temporarily emptied out for a banquet. There's no real sense of permanence, and you get the very strong impression that if the whole gastropub thing doesn't work out they could clear out the tables, put up a DJ booth and be back to putting on karaoke evenings and pub quizzes faster than you could say "Merseyrail Northern Line".

Further unease was spread once we'd taken our seats, from a waitress who unapologetically began with "We've got no steak tartare".

"Oh that's a shame. We-"

"Or focaccia, or Caesar salad, or mushroom parfait-"

"Can we-"

"Or ribeye, although there's alternative steaks on the specials."

Having had to go back to the drawing board food-wise, attempts to fill the gap with alcohol were thwarted too.

"Can I have a Bloody Mary?"

"No tomato juice, sorry."

"A prosecco?"

"Sorry."

Eventually we managed to piece together a drinks order from the few items they did have, and once they'd all arrived we tried again.

"Can I have the beef & ale pie please."

A pause, then she wordlessly scurried off to the kitchen. A minute later, she was back.

"We don't have that either."

Just as our lunch was on the verge of turning into a complete Monty Python sketch, between the six of us we did somehow come up with a food order, but by this stage I'm afraid our expectations had dropped all the way down through pessimistic to downright despondent. Even an attempt to fill in the yawning gaps on the a la carte with an item or two from the bar menu - a couple of Scotch n'duja quail egg would have been nice, or a grilled beetroot salad - was met with icy indifference.

"Different menu sorry, we can't serve those here."

We looked forlornly over to a table about 6 feet away in the raised bar area, where a family of four were happily tucking into an order of Scotch eggs alongside a portion of fish and chips and a burger. Somehow we'd ended up in the only gastropub in the country where the bar menu was bigger than the dining room's.

And in any sane universe, that should have been that. Another half-assed attempt to relaunch a pub with a vaguely ambitious menu that after a couple of months has fallen back into serving fish and chips, burgers and steaks because honestly, why try harder?

But then the food arrived. And it was all quite lovely.

Parmesan truffle potato chips were so fragile and delicately fried they dissolved in the mouth, and though there's nothing natural about the truffle oil they'd used (nobody's expecting real truffle on a dish worth £4.50) there was still a pleasing amount of it, the aroma filling the room and I'm sure prompting a few more orders from other tables. Assuming they hadn't run out by that point.

Oysters were a bit on the small side but nice and fresh and lean and opened well, with no shell fragments. They came with a decent mignonette but also Sriracha which it turns out goes with oysters perfectly.

Skagen toast is a Swedish thing - head chef Daniel Heffy spent some time in 3* Frantzén in Sweden - best described as a prawn cocktail on toasted brioche. It boasted lovely plump fresh prawns bound with a delicate light mayonnaise, and despite the hugely generous portion size was supremely easy to eat and disappeared very quickly.

Also fantastic were red tail scampi, huge sweet things in a batter that at first looked like it might be too much but thanks to the flavour punch of the prawns turned out to be balanced just right. The jalapeño aioli might have needed a bit more of a chilli kick but then that could just be me - this was still another very nicely done bit of seafood.

Tomato tarte fine looks great and tasted better, a delicate (there's that word again) pastry base layered with powerfully tomato-y (possibly stewed down or partially dried somehow) tomatoes and fluffy goats cheese. I've probably said all I need to say about the annoyance of having so many menu items unavailable, but things like the tomato tart and parmesan chips demonstrate that there is real skill in this kitchen and a future in something more than doing the classics well.

They do the classics well, though, of course. I tried a bit of this burger which had a good crumbly and crusty beef patty with a sensible arrangement of pickles and cheese above. Crucially as well you could eat it without dismantling it, never a given with pub burgers.

Pork schnitzel with fried capers and anchovy butter was doing almost everything right, although with the memory of a Berlin schnitzel in my mind from a couple of years ago the relatively small size of this one came as a bit of a surprise. But I doubt there's many people in Merseyside really want to eat a piece of deep-fried pork the size of a table, so this is probably just a case of knowing your audience.

Steak was definitely worth an order - lovely and charred properly with little bits of fat all crunchy and dark - and though the quality of the beef wasn't quite world class, all was forgiven thanks to how well it was all cooked and seasoned. Fries were impeccable though - crisp and full of flavour right to the last one.

There were more mains as you can see from the bill, but I won't exhaustively go through everything a table of 6 ate for a long lunch. But it's a testament to the quality of the food that despite the shaky (to say the least) start, we all left the Hightown Inn happy as Larry and more than eager to go again when, fingers crossed, they may have a few more interesting things on the menu.

With desserts (tarte tatin, above, a particular highlight - fantastic gooey treacly pastry with crunchy bits) and lots of holiday booze the bill came to £63 a head, and it's probably worth pointing out that even on a "good" day (assuming these do happen) the most they charge for service is 10%. Maybe if you offer the usual 12.5% they'll consider carrying a dish from the bar menu over to the dining room without fear of the world ending. It might be worth a shot. Oh and by the way, we also tried ordering the chocolate fondant. They didn't have any.

So scoring the Hightown has left me with a bit of a conundrum. The food alone, even the hugely reduced selection we ended up with, is probably 8 out of 10, but I can't ignore the fact that you could turn up and find half the dishes and drinks you had your eye on unavailable, and coupled with some bafflingly inflexible service decisions this has the potential to rather spoil your day. So I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and settle with a 7. Room for improvement from a fairly promising start, and here's hoping that in the next few months they become the dining destination they're so very clearly capable of being.

7/10