Are you someone who hankers after food trends, lovingly, obsessively, happily, slavishly jumping on every bandwagon that comes along and chomping on whatever fashion dictates? Of the many trends we have seen over the last couple of years, high-end burgers and small sharing plates have surely been neck and neck at the head of the race to be uber-foodie.
A brilliant young cook called Lucy, the daughter of the cookery writer Jane Lovett, turns out amazing dinners of grilled prawns, tuna nicoise (the finest I've had; from locally caught fish, seasoned hard and given the merest charring from the grill), lamb tagine, soft slices of pork in a tuna sauce and chicken with peppers and lime.
The walls are clad in corrugated iron. There's rustic wooden panelling too. The staff wear checked shirts and have beards (which come to think of it is rather more Shoreditch than Northamptonshire). The food is also a kind of mythologised offering. I mean where else would you put 'lard on toast' on the menu?
Off I went to Manchester to see what the deal was. On King Street West, in the main shopping district of the city, you'll find San Carlo. And you'll discover an amazing story about this place too. For the man behind this business - a hugely successful restaurateur making millions from branches from Bangkok to Kuwait - used to be barber.
Umu is one of the most magnificent restaurants in London. It is a Zen-like haven, a spa for the soul, a pleasuredome for the eyes and palate. The place is so good for you. But it's a bit pricey so I think it should be free. Unlike the idea of a free Palestine, a cause which doubtless its followers feel would benefit millions, my campaign is a selfish one. I only want free Umu for me.
The man himself was behind the bar when I visited for lunch. We were the only people there for lunch and our arrival didn't exactly bring a smile to Mr Power's face. Put it this way, there are warm welcomes and there are get out of my pub before I kill you welcomes. Try it yourself and see what you get.
It pains me to think about it. But London has so many beautiful rooms that serve amazing food so however good the food and service it will be hard to force myself to return. And the food and service is great. Staff are lovely. There's a table overflowing with tall grissini. You're not offered it, but I did steal a few giant sticks.
To sustain a restaurant like this must take considerable patience. It must be so tempting for each young turk who gets his hands near the stove to start tweaking dishes. And it takes great restraint to let it be and keep those old favourites on the menu which is what drives people back time and again.
Some of these guys won't last and will be forced to relinquish their little joints whose offerings give the local community considerably more than another wretched fashion outlet churning clothes whose sequins and buttons were doubtless sewn on by grubby fingered urchins comfortably several oceans away...
The Sweet Potato fries were some of the best I've ever had and were the perfect combination of crispy coating and fluffy potato sprinkled in Paprika. We thought we should try the Cassava Chips since they are 'the Brasilian French Frie' but they were a little bland for both our tastes and we didn't really enjoy them.
As well as being a burger joint, Shake Shack is well known for its frozen custard, varieties of which are changed daily. I asked whether frozen custard was just a neat name for ice-cream, in the way that the word gelato has taken over Soho (I know, I know, they're all different, but I'm not an ice cream aficionado).