
It's been 15 months since I joined Livingetc as their in-house lifestyle guru, gradually eating my way into London's culinary scene with the sole excuse of wanting to check out the interiors of its most coveted restaurants up close — with many indulgent feasts suddenly justifiable as, erhm, that's right, research.
I could spend hours outlining what a little bit of on-the-ground action has taught me about fine dining etiquette (notably, the importance of placing the napkin on your lap ahead of the meal and, most crucially, of paying attention not to drop it on the floor halfway through it as booze begins to play its tricks; that of keeping your voice low to remain discreet, and letting the waiting staff clear the tables themselves, resisting the urge to help out via the muscle memory from my hospitality past). But there is another thought I simply can't seem to be able to shake off.