It’s hard to know what we’re paying for anymore. In restaurants, I mean. Sometimes it’s the food. Sometimes the lighting. Sometimes it’s the logo on the menu, or the fact the waiter wears cufflinks. And sometimes, it’s just the postcode.
Which is why we’re launching this column – Fine and Dime – a monthly look at both ends of the dining spectrum. The big-ticket tasting menus with wine lists longer than your CV, and the hole-in-the-wall pasta bars you stumble into half-cut on a Tuesday. Because both deserve our attention. Both can be brilliant. And both, occasionally, take the piss.
