Dastaan, Leeds

Three down, one to go. My determination to visit all of the restaurants in this particular mini-chain - because, so far at least, they've all been that damn good - has now taken me to a northern suburb of Leeds and to the Dastaan there. My worry is that all of the things that made Black Salt and Koyal so remarkable also very much apply to their Leeds location, and so this post may end up being a bit, well, familiar. But a good restaurant deserves to be talked about, and indeed the fact that this team is able to run 4 (I assume... or at least 3) world-class spots at once is even more reason to shout it from the rooftops.

Dastaan Leeds is big and brightly lit, and on this particular cold Tuesday evening pretty quiet, although the room did begin to start filling up towards the end of the evening. It's a pleasant enough space - functional, slightly corporate - but your experience is lifted immediately thanks to the attention of the staff, who are so charming and welcoming and enthusiastic about everything that you feel like the only people in the room (even if you actually are).

Dinner began - naturally - with papadums and chutneys. Interestingly, there was one more kind of chutney than Koyal, and one fewer type of papadum, so we didn't get the Walkers Max-shaped crisps but did get a tomato and chilli chutney alongside the coriander and mango types. They were still all superb though, particularly the coriander which had a deep, rich, vegetal flavour.

Pani puri were just as powerfully flavoured as the puri at Koyal but the pastry casings were just a bit smaller, and therefore far more comfortable to eat. Like all the best versions of this dish, they explode in the mouth in a riot of spices and a blast of tamarind, one of the all-time great vegan dishes.

But just look at that lamb chop. Just look at it. Have you ever seen a more beautiful thing? The way the extremities are darkened and crunchy from the grill, the way it has that incredible tomato-soup colour from yoghurt and spices, the way you just know the center is soft and just-pink, expertly conceived and beautifully timed. Then, let me tell you, it tasted even better than it looked. This was a monumental achievement in chop-craft, an absolutely stunning bit of cooking that even had the edge on the excellent version at Koyal a couple of weeks previously. This may, in fact, be the best lamb chop I've ever eaten in my life.

The problem is, you get the very strong impression that you could just order anything at Dastaan and it would turn out to be great - narrowing our choices down to a sensible amount for two people was more of a case of deciding what we could definitely not live without. These are veggie samosas, grease-free and generously portioned, with another fantastic coriander-based chutney.

And this is a bowl of marvellously fragrant jackfruit biryani, studded with peas and topped with crisp caramelised onions. The vegan version doesn't come with the famous Gymkhana-style pastry lid to smash apart (my dining companion on this trip was a vegan) but has the same room-conquering aroma as it's brought to the table.

Finally, another contender for dish of the day, pork cheek vindaloo. The complex, vinegar-spiked sauce could have credibly made a paperback book edible but the meltingly tender chunks of pork served to lift it into the stratosphere - this was a genuinely breathtaking dish, quite an incredible thing.

But, sadly, there's only so much of the menu at Dastaan it's possible to eat in one go, and so we reluctantly finished up and paid, vowing to return next I was in town. The bill, with a couple of beers and 10% service came to just over £42pp, which considering the expertise on offer here (remember, these are ex-Gymkhana people serving 2-Michelin-star quality food) is one of the great dining bargains of the country.

So yes, just like Black Salt, and Koyal, Dastaan is absolutely bloody brilliant. I will be a bit mean and dock a point for the slightly soulless room but there's every chance when you visit it will be packed to the rafters - it certainly deserves to be. I can't imagine Indian food gets much better than this, but then I haven't yet been to Dastaan Epsom, so I have to consider the possibility it may do. Meantime, I'll have nothing but fond memories of this unassuming little place in the West Yorkshire suburbs, where life-changing Indian food costs less than a London-Leeds train ticket.

9/10

Fatt Pundit, Covent Garden

The clocks have gone back, and with them the last opportunity to have dinner in the daylight until well into 2022. For most normal people, eating in low light isn't much of an issue - in fact in some parts of the world (hello New York City) the attitude seems to be that the more difficult it is to see your dinner, the better it must be - but it does make my job as a food blogger that bit more challenging when I'm singing the praises of dishes that look on the blog like something from the pages of an old medical textbook.

So I did my very best in Photoshop with the collection of murky shots I came back with from Fatt Pundit, but you're just going to have to take my word for it that it all tasted much better than my terrible photos would suggest, and that if you're relatively new to Indo-Chinese cuisine (as I was) then you can hardly do any better than beginning your journey here.

First, a little backstory. The Hakka people have a history of migration - sadly not always of their own choice - across China, South East Asia and the rest of the world. We were told that there were quite large populations in Kolkata at one time, until the Sino-Indian war in the 60s forced them out and a fair number settled further south in places like Kerala and Goa. Each time they moved they absorbed some element of the local cuisine, whether it's the use of tikka spicing from the north, or the coconut sauces from the coastal south. The Indo-Chinese staple "momo" are essentially dim sum dumplings with things like spiced goat stew (above) or chicken taking the place of minced pork & prawn, with a choice of dips - an earthy sesame, and a tomato and chilli. Oh, and they're absolutely bloody great, with good firm pastry work containing a deliriously rich and satisfying filling.

"Crackling spinach" was spinach treated to a chaat-style dressing of yoghurt, tamarind and pomegranete seeds. At first it seemed like an intimidating mound of food until you realise the spinach had been baked crisp (think crispy kale) and so it was all delightfully light and easy to eat.

Salt and pepper okra was next, neat little things delicately and greaselessly fried, coated in a worryingly addictive seasoning and served alongside one of those brilliant coriander chutneys that only the very best kitchens get right. This was another good illustration, too, of how the Indo-Chinese thing works - recognisably Indian ingredients treated to traditionally Chinese techniques - producing something genuinely new (to me at least) and exciting.

Bombay chilli (I hope they don't mind me correcting their spelling, I assumed 'Bombay chilly' was a typo) prawns took the fusion brief and pushed it even further. Plump, perfectly cooked prawns came with a glossy sauce presumably containing corn starch and soy but definitely spiked with Sichuan peppers, had all the initial appearances of a solidly Chinese dish. But somehow, this was not simply a Sichuan sauce, it had a definite seam of Indian spices running through and between the Chinese elements, and it all added up to an incredibly complex experience.

The Kolkata chilli (ditto) chicken did a similar thing for poultry. The chicken was nicely cooked, but this was really all about that glossy corn starch (again, I'm guessing) and this time smoked dark soy sauce spiked with who knows what other north Indian spices, a really exceptional bit of work and a very impressive dish.

Of the mains that we tried, perhaps these lamb chops were the most traditionally Indian overall, but even these came seasoned with "black bean dust" alongside the usual array of tikka spices. And they were absolutely incredible, cut two bone-thick, charred from the tandoor on the outside, pink and soft inside, literally everything you'd want from a portion of lamb chops. Also, a pretty huge portion for £15.50.

If I was to have my time again the only change I'd make was to have these rabbit wonton before the other mains. Unlike the prawns and chicken, and certainly unlike the lamb, the sauce they came with was soft and refined in order (presumably) not to overshadow the delicate gamey flavour of the rabbit. Still lovely, of course, but alongside everything else a bit subdued. Unfortunately, the timing of the dishes is not under your control - like many small plates places the dishes just appear as and when the kitchen decides, and so comes my only real complaint about Fatt Pundit. For a menu of such contrasts, it's a shame you can't either control the order in which dishes appear, and you aren't really given any advice as to what to eat before what. Only a minor niggle, perhaps, but one that makes the experience of eating there just that little less perfect.

We didn't have room for dessert, but we were able to glance at the "Snowflake gelato sizzling brownie" from across the room, and let me tell you I'm definitely leaving space for it next time because it looked - and smelled - spectacular. I've had a soft spot for Snowflake since an ice cream tour of Soho a few years back, so I'm sure this collaboration was successful.

I'm sure there'll be more than a handful of you who will be wondering where on earth I'd been hiding in order for Fatt Pundit to be my first experience of Indo-Chinese cuisine. In fact, none other than Darjeeling Express' Asma Khan used to do Indo-Chinese meals at her supperclub in the days before Chef's Table and visiting Marvel superheroes. What can I say - I should get out more.

But I got there eventually and consider myself a firm fan. Everything we had was carefully cooked and genuinely different, a fusion restaurant where everything, from the menu to the cutlery (brilliantly you're given chopsticks and a knife and fork, depending on which end of Indo-Chinese you feel like leaning towards) made absolute sense. Already on their second branch, the fact they're managing to expand during a pandemic (and chronic Brexit-fuelled staff shortages) speaks to an operation at the very top of its game. Long may it continue.

8/10

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

Colonel Saab, Holborn

Although you wouldn't know it from reading this blog, about two months ago I decided to end the Covid-era moratorium on bad reviews. Since then, every meal of any significance I've eaten has somehow conspired to be rather good, to the extent that I briefly considered writing up a couple of mediocre experiences from between the lockdowns in 2020 to just add a bit of variety to the archive. In the end, I decided not to do that, partly because any restaurant open between the lockdowns in 2020 was having a pretty horrible time of it, and also well, it seems a bit mean doesn't it. Although on that point, if anyone wants to know where to avoid in the city for a game dinner, message me privately and I'll be happy to clarify.

So yes, here's another lovely meal I had, at the brand new and lavishly appointed (just look at those chandeliers) Colonel Saab in Holborn. When you've been writing a blog as long as I have (nearly 15 years... Christ) you find yourself revisiting the same site a number of times under different guises. Colonel Saab was previously Gezellig (lovely by all accounts but I never managed to organise a visit before it closed), Burger & Lobster (great of course, as ever, but it seems they could never make the numbers work) and before that a strange place doing live jazz and dim sum called Shanghai Blues which was actually rather good if you could avoid the jazz element.

Colonel Saab is high-end Indian, a field less crowded than it used to be thanks to the closure of the very sadly missed Indian Accent but which still includes Jamavar, Bombay Bustle, Kutir, Gymkhana, Trishna and the brand new Manthan I reviewed last week, all of which charge serious (though by no means unreasonable) prices for serious, intelligent Indian food. Now, spoiler alert - Colonel Saab isn't quite up there with the very best of them, but it's still more than worth your time, starting with their grown-up cocktail list. This is a "Turmeric", a Meyer lemon cordial with kombucha and turmeric-infused vodka.

Snacks (poppadums and puffed wheat things) came with two interesting chutneys - one chilli & tomato based, one pineapple. I was a teensy bit disappointed they didn't offer coriander chutney (I can eat that stuff by the bucketful), or some kind of mixed pickle (ditto), but this was still a decent start.

I can't tell you exactly what these were as they arrived as an unannounced little extra, but I think they were baked kale (or spinach) in an earthy spice mix, and remained nicely dry and crunchy to the last bite.

I rarely, if ever, order soup in an Indian restaurant, largely because I'm rarely, if ever, offered it. So I couldn't resist seeing how "Creamy almond soup" manifested itself. It turned out to be a smooth and comforting broth studded with chunks of smoked duck, salty and stupidly moreish, and though perhaps you'd struggle to place it geographically (at least, I would) it was definitely worth an order.

I can't help feeling that if you want to run a good restaurant, your over-arching philosophy should be to examine the way they go about things at grotesque billionaire-baiting PR exercise Nusr Et steakhouse, and then do the absolute opposite. This includes decorating anything (anything savoury at least) with gold leaf. Ignoring that pointless bit of bling, the paneer was lovely, charred from the grill on the outside and with a nice soft texture inside.

"Gutti Vankaya" were baby aubergine, also nicely charred and soft and sweet inside, in another tamarind sauce which went down well.

The Colonel Saab Daal Makhani was a supreme example of its kind, with a deep buttery flavour and those intense, almost chocolately notes added by the slow-cooked lentils. Very glad indeed we ordered this.

Naans were also very good - so good in fact that once we realised how much sauce we had left over in the paneer and aubergine dishes and the daal, we ordered another one. You'd expect somewhere like this to get the bread offering right, but I can tell you from experience it's by no means a given.

I'm going to have to leave on a bit of a down note though - lamb chops were over-salty, anaemic tasting and (weirdly, although it doesn't look like this from my photo) boasting very little char or crunch from the grill. Perhaps I'm a bit demanding when it comes to lamb chops, but this is only thanks to being served impeccable versions at other restaurants. I'm afraid these didn't compare at all.

But overall, there was plenty else to enjoy about Colonel Saab. You could almost certainly, if you avoided the lamb chops (or maybe if you were just luckier than me and they turned up in a slightly less sorry state), construct yourself an extremely pleasant meal in this gorgeous space, and that's something very much to admire. True, it's not quite A-tier alongside the very best high-end Indians in town, despite what their prices may suggest, but there's still some thoughtful, skilled cooking going on that's more than worth a look-in. Whether they settle in and push themselves to the top tier or I'm back reviewing the same space under different management in a year or two, only time will tell - but I genuinely hope it's the former.

7/10

I was invited to Colonel Saab and didn't see a bill. I think a reasonable amount to spend would be about £70/head.

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.

The Brilliant, Southall

Those familiar with the richness and quality of the Punjabi restaurants in Southall may feel it's a bit of a wasted opportunity on my part to have travelled to the area just three times in a decade only to revisit the same place twice. I don't have a great excuse really; I'd love to try one of the Punjabi pubs - the Prince of Wales maybe, or the Sportsman - or sample the jalebi from Jalebi Junction, but I found myself back at the Brilliant thanks to a combination of near-constant praise from others, a few people on Twitter suggesting the place after a disappointing meal at Gifto's Lahore and, yes, a PR invite which meant that even if things didn't go well at least I'd only have to finance the service charge.

There's also the non-trivial factor of the journey home to Battersea taking an hour and a half. I don't mind travelling for a good meal, but I would have been a very unhappy chappy indeed if I'd ended up on TFL rail at 10pm after another experience like that at Gifto's. I needed a sure thing, and fortunately from the moment I stepped through the door of the Brilliant (half an hour early because I misremembered the journey being 90 minutes from the office, not 60) everything went swimmingly. Tables nicely spaced, other diners chatting happily in their bubbles, and a pint of ice-cold Kingfisher to welcome me in from the rain.

With three kinds of poppadums (baked, spicy and fried) the Brilliant offer a range of house chutneys and pickles, all home made (as you might reasonably expect) but also in some cases quite unlike any you might find elsewhere. Pickled carrots, for example, in a kind of earthy, nutty herb mix I couldn't quite place but which worked incredibly well. And a super-sharp lime pickle, the limes with a similar refreshing texture to preserved lemons, and dangerously addictive.

And from there on, you really couldn't fault anything about the Brilliant at all. These chops, which I seem to remember being vaguely disappointed by a decade ago, were vibrantly spiced, nicely charred and absolutely dissolved in the mouth into fatty, lamb-y heaven.

The Brilliant "butter chicken" is, like a lot of the things they do, a twist on the classic. Served unsauced, and on the bone, it had all the spice and complex flavours of the usual version but the stark presentation seemed to concentrate attention on the chicken itself, which (being on the bone) was beautifully tender and incredibly moreish.

Seekh kebabs were similarly accomplished, nicely browned from the grill but soft and sausage-y inside, boasting a powerful chilli kick and plenty of flavour. It's only when trying the 'mixed grill' stalwarts from a restaurant that really knows what they're doing that you realise how badly some other places have been getting it wrong. I shudder at the memory of the tubes of blitzed sawdust that are passed off as seekh kebabs in some places.

Papri chaat was a little wetter than normal - that's a lot of yoghurt - but no less tasty, containing nice crunchy chickpeas alongside pomegranete seeds for extra texture, and lovely sweet tamarind.

After troughing our way through so many starters (you really need a large group to make the most of dinner at the Brilliant - damn you, Tier 2) we only really had room for one main, and that task fell to the famous house Methi Chicken, a dark, complex sauce containing chunks of tender grilled chicken. Again, you will have seen dishes like this in restaurants across the capital, but the finest versions, like this, sing to a wonderful tune of their own.

There was, though, just about room to squeeze in a tarka dal, which balanced the usual dense butteriness with a nice hit of chilli and went down very well. Also a special mention to the Brilliant house breads, one a lacha paratha which was fatty and crunchy like the finest patisserie, and also a roomali roti (literally "handkerchief bread"), whose soft, stretchy rolls were perfect for mopping up the last of the Methi Chicken sauce.

Anything you don't quite have space for the Brilliant will happily box up and let you take home, so we toddled out into the wet Southall streets laden with leftover lamb chops, tarka dal and plenty of that lovely roti. The next evening, the reheated leftovers were somehow even better than I remembered on the night - this kind of stuff really travels incredibly well. So if you're still nervous about dining out, or indeed if you're a local and want to make use of the place when the inevitable second national lockdown hits, I can't recommend their takeout service enough.

Yes, it's all a bit up in the air at the moment isn't it. Eating out in late 2020 in the UK is both an exercise in wilful denial and making the most of it while you can - looking at upcoming events in my restaurant-spod diary I wonder how many I'll be able to make, and how many will have to be parked for happier times. Who knows. In the meantime I'm going to carry on as if the world as we know it isn't collapsing around our ears, and hope that if we do all have to put our lives on hold, for however long, when all these dark days become a distant memory and we re-emerge blinking into the sunlight there'll still be restaurants like the Brilliant to welcome us back. That's something to look forward to, isn't it?

9/10

I was invited to the Brilliant and didn't see a bill, but prices are online and I estimate our dinner for 2 would have been about £70 without booze, which isn't bad really is it.

Blacklock, Soho

I quite like the idea of a subterranean, clandestine chop joint (that's chop joint, not clip joint - although there's plenty of those in Soho) but there's a fine line between inconspicuous and totally bloody invisible. I spent a good ten minutes micro-adjusting my position on the little red pin where Google Maps told me I should be, completely failing to see which anonymous black door might contain a restaurant and it was only when a friend of mine appeared from one after an early lunch I noticed a tiny handwritten sign, ink on cardboard, taped to a back wall - BLACKLOCK. So, this was the place, after all.

Inside, and down some stairs, things get more familiar. Soho basements often have a wonderful way of twisting a restaurant into strange shapes - claustrophobic narrow corridors, nooks and crannies (think Pitt Cue, or Pizza Pilgrims) - and Blacklock makes the most of theirs, with a collection of tables on different levels, a cute bar in one corner and an open kitchen at the back. There's even some natural light on some attractive whitewashed-brick snugs on one side, where you can look up and watch people walk to and fro on the pavements above. Handy for photographs, too, obviously.

The menu style is in some debt - I'm sure they won't mind me saying - to fellow meat-specialists Pitt Cue, with a short list of house specials and some sides, but actually the brains behind Blacklock come from the Hawksmoor stable, and their chefs did some chop shop prep at the Air Street branch.

Given that pedigree, then, it's probably not surprising the main event at Blacklock - the chops - are absolutely stunning. On two visits I tried the beef, lamb and pork versions and they could hardly be faulted, being perfectly seasoned and expertly timed on the charcoal grill to get a delicate dark crust and flesh so tender it dissolved in the mouth. It's hard to pick a favourite of the three but perhaps if I had to go back for only one I'd choose the pork, if only because pork chops are so often badly done elsewhere; to have them cooked as perfectly as this (yes I am using that word) is a unique treat.

Of course, some of the hard work is done even before Blacklock spark up the coals - all meat is from exemplary Cornish butchers Warrens, an operation I've been entirely obsessed with ever since a steak at the Clove Club they supplied a few years back. These days, they're a little more widely spread (try the Adam & Eve pub in Homerton, or the brand new Newman Arms in Fitzrovia) but the product shows no sign of flagging.

So far so good, then, and if you like chops, clearly this is your place. As for the rest of the menu, it's best described as split into "grilled vegetables", so things like "charred courgettes and chicory" or "barbequed baby gems" which are in of themselves nice but tend to be overwhelm with carbon taken with everything else, and a couple of pleasant salads - "kale and parmesan" on my first visit and a pretty fennel and radish affair on my 2nd, both of which complimented the meats much better.

The only real problem I encountered was the bread. What I really wanted was something soft and absorbent to soak up the plateful of salty meat juices that had run out of the chops. "Charcoal-grilled flat bread", though, for some reason arrived completely soaked in oil, meaning it was no good either to wipe my plate clean with or as a companion to the rest of the food. And also tasted pretty horrid.

But these are minor things. If nothing else, Blacklock are willing to experiment - on my first visit starters were cute little discs of Peter's Yard crispbread topped with scrambled egg and anchovies. The next time, they were somewhat less successfully experimenting with grizly blobs of cold dripping topped with prosciutto... well, you have to admire their imagination.

Mistakes, though, are expected - in fact it would be more worrying if everything was perfect in the opening couple of months than if they weren't. What's more important than the detail is that somehow, it works - it feels like it belongs here, in this quirky dark basement, with its no-nonsense grilled meats and trendy-friendly-beardy staff. And despite having lost a brothel to gain it (as they themselves cheerfully point out), the opening of Blacklock feels like we've somehow gained more Soho than - as is becoming depressingly common - lost another chunk. So, well done them.

7/10

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