THERE’S a surprising moment just as we are about to set off when I Google the Michelin Guide restaurant’s Provender address and suddenly a photo of bacon, egg and, crikey, are they Heinz beans… looms up.
I BOOK for 1pm, change plans twice, then find myself at a loose end and decide to chance turning up at the restaurant a whole hour early. I find Le Manager - I assume anyway - standing chatting outside the front door in the mid-day sun wearing the sort of belted sky blue shorts that only a Frenchman could make look super-chic.
TRUE story: I’m perched at a high table at La Choza here scooping so-so guacamole with giant fried plantain chips and simultaneously and pretty aimlessly Googling: why do these tacos keep falling apart.
THEY’RE talking about Japanese whiskies at the table next to me, £1000 bottles and also about The Balvennie, Founder’s Reserve.
WHAT do I remember most about that night a long, long, time ago in a restaurant far away?
