Polpo

I made a delicious discovery at lunchtime: Polpo - a small, newish restaurant on Beak Street. I had been walking past it for weeks, admiring the vintage lace curtains and zinc-topped bar. But today I actually ate there: lots and lots of small, salty treats on tiny plates which they crowd onto your table. Fritto misto of squid and prawns; tiny crostini topped with anchovy and chickpeas; slices of rare steak and wild mushrooms; courgettes topped with fried breadcrumbs. I was really trying not to be greedy, because it was a work lunch and that would look wrong, but I kept loosing track of what he was saying because it was all so delicious. And when I have to do "sharing" plates I get low-level panic that I might have to fight for the last fried potato or roasted beetroot. I loved the interior, too - bare bricks, chipped tiles and stripped floorboards with lovely old school chairs and a few relaimed hooks for coats. It was full - packed, in fact - with unbelievably chic people who clearly eat there every day. I now want to be one of them.

Chez Marcelle

Last night we ate at Chez Marcelle on Blythe Road. We got there at 8.30, starving. I'd had a puncture and had to do a death-defying drive across London with a flat back tire. I'd dropped my scooter at the garage and then walked - three miles at least - to the restaurant, wearing impractical clog boots. Archie cycled and we both turned up more or less as the same time. The restaurant was almost empty and looked so unpromising. Too brightly lit. The menus were laminated. There was a vase of plastic flowers on each table... I was feeling tired and hungry and grumpy. Marcelle took our order and we drank some Lebanese wine and waited and waited - 40 minutes probably. I was on the verge of demanding we leave, when the food arrived. And Oh! - was it worth the wait. First a huge bowl of fattoush, very, very finely chopped and freshly dressed like I've never had before, with sumac and radishes and crunchy toasted pita. We had about seven different small dishes: plump, spicy Lebanese sausages; smoky, smooth moutabal; fried halloumi - everything was made completely from scratch (hence the wait), and everything was totally delicious and extraordinarily cheap. We agreed it was one of the best suppers we'd ever had in London.

All things Tunisian

I love this Alberta Ferreti "Tunisia" dress and these strappy Vanessa Bruno sandals (both spied on Net a Porter). Just the thing for stepping out for supper with Archie at Adam's Cafe:

http://www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/reviews/13499.html

Bocca di Lupo

After nothing short of a fiasco, we finally got the corner table we wanted at Bocca di Lupo. We did our usual trick of demanding pen and paper from the waitress in order to spodishly finesse our order. I voted for the fried bread with speck and squacquerone cheese - mostly because I liked the sound of squacquerone - and pork and foie gras sausage with faro. Delicious beyond words was Artichoke a la Giudia - a perfect heart of the veg deep fried to crispiness but unctiously soft in the centre. Seven or 8 plates later and still, Archie, Ol and I were hell-bent on tasting the Sanguinaccio: a pudding paté made from pig's blood and chocolate, which you spread thickly on slices of sourdough. http://www.boccadilupo.co.uk/

Magdalen

Saturday night we dined at Magdalen in London Bridge. I loved the ox-blood walls and bentwood chairs and paper tablecloths, wine by the carafe and tinkling piano on the stereo... not to mention the potted crab, spiked with cayenne, served a miniature earthenware pot. Scallops with garlic and breadcrumbs, fish stew with gurnard and mussels, roast lamb with butter beans - and pudding: a sticky, glossy tarte tatin - with two spoons (well, it was Valentine's Day). http://www.magdalenrestaurant.co.uk/