Tea at The River Caff

I have many favourite restuarants but two shine out, the joint firsts among equals: St John and The River Cafe. Both celebrate eating rather than cooking, and therein lies the secret of their success. They take pleasure in your pleasure rather than in the navel-gazing one-upmanship of clever-than-thou cookery. They are fantastically foam free.

Last night we ate very well at The River Cafe. You couldn't not. Not with that stunning fennel salami and fruity artichoke or that salt-crusted farinata with its mily-soft mozzarella. Not with the indecently fresh langoustines or the spaghetti with crab (note to self, add fennel seeds next time). Nor the parpadelle with the wild duck ragu or the delicate spinach and buffalo curd ravioli. Not to mention the melting soft osso buco with its half-butter-half-rice risotto or the wood roasted turbot, lifted and lightened with lemon, herbs and those tiny life-affirming Sicilian capers.

We washed it down with Vajra's 2004 Barbera, a juicy, violet-infused red that delighted in the food - even the cheese plate, a guilty, greedy end to a meal.