For Whom The Bell Tolls

AN EXCURSION “brimming with surprises” is how our individually dapper host bills it. “Meet at 17:10 at platform six, Charing Cross, bring an overnight bag, and sport gastro coach-house chic” are his instructions, e-mailed in an invitation etched over the image of a stiff, stuffed squirrel bolted to a rocking chair. Its limbs are crossed in a pose at once casual and pensive. Bar one, who accidentally ventures to King’s Cross, our Quink spill of positive RSVPs – food journalists and food bloggers, and food journalists who PRs obstinately refer to as food bloggers – shoe-horn themselves into rush-hour rolling-stock. Bathed in fluorescent light, and frequently kneed by a bolshy congo of corridor haunting commuters buckled into wan suits, we’re plied with blotting paper dry fizzy English red...

Read at The Prodigal Guide