William Sitwell

So why do people hate vegans so much? Like all prejudice, it springs from ignorance and fear. But it goes deeper than that.
It’s the responsibility of the vegan movement to evolve in such a way that people like Sitwell don’t leap to these judgements in the first place
As I'm knee-deep writing a book about rationing in the Second World War AND I think long-winded reviews are a little last century, my pledge for the coming months is less words and more often. So as the month of September promises to bless us with a roll of apples, a twirl of plums and the odd plump fig here are my late summer food awards...
I suppose the idea of calling a restaurant Percy & Founders is that it sounds upmarket, established, classic. A bit like Farrow & Ball, Abercrombie & Fitch, Crabtree & Evelyn. You conjure up a place of tradition, been round for ages, created back in the Victorian era by two geniuses.
Then came his puds. We tried three. There was a lemon dish with more lemony power than you can imagine yet not too much to make you gag and shudder; I've never had such an exquisite lemon sorbet. It makes you want to look at lemons with a new respect.
The first is Rabbit and the second is John Doe. Sod Michelin, with its mincing implore that a place is 'worth a detour'. These restaurants are a worth car crash. I'd pinch Chris Eubank's stupid big truck and drive it through several houses if that was the most direct route to Rabbit or John Doe.
At The Shed the humous arrives with a novel kind of crisp bread and some chive flowers. It really is a wonderful thing. It's the sort of dish that makes me loathe Michelin. Innovative, delicious beautiful and totally off their fussy Franco-gastrophilanthropic radar.
Thus the menu at The Crown when Aldo came to cook this week reflected the dishes of his childhood. The local sparkie, tyre-man, the farmers, a smattering of music producers (they get everywhere these days) and an excitable crowd of yummy mummies ate five courses, churned out by an increasingly sweaty Zilli, working at the pass with the very gifted pub chef, Felan Hennigan.
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.
Most critics like to emit shudders when faced with the prospect of dining in a chain restaurant, the uniformity spreading out to hundreds of homogenised branches throughout the country, or indeed the world. But, let's face it, Pizza Express is different.
Marcus Wareing has freshened up his restaurant at the Berkeley Hotel, reducing the title to just his Christian name as part of his attempt to informalise the joint a little. He has spotted that formal dining is not so all the rage right now...
I shunned restaurants this week, devoting myself instead to chocolate. I tasted cookies, mousse (is the plural mousses? It's clearly not mice), tarts, hot drinks and sauce. And then I judged a new chocolate competition before judging I'd eaten enough chocolate and should lay off the stuff for a while...
I then remembered that the girl who served me had asked if I wanted my coffee and pastry to take away. So as she kindly poured the coffee into a cardboard cup, perhaps she also, in her mind considerately, grabbed a small child that she had hidden behind the counter and pressed its bottom onto the pain au chocolat.
The menu at La Serre - written first in French, and advertising a large splash of Mediterranean flavour - offered up a tomato, goat's cheese and hazelnut starter. It was staggeringly good. So simple, but the tomatoes were bursting with sweetness. Someone here has their hands on a good supplier...
This week, as the Michelin guide was leaked in France by a food critic who didn't agree with this year's awards so he broke the embargo, it emerged that Alain Ducasse had retained his three stars for his posh eaterie in hotel Plaze Athénée, a restaurant which is currently closed. All of which pre-amble I state before discussing Dock Kitchen.
I ordered a Fitzrovia Bun at Milk & Honey on Warren Street. This is something you should try to do at least once in your life. I do it about twice a year. Any more would seem greedy. It is like no other bun you will ever feast your eyes on.
The Artichoke is as sweet and charming as its modest staff. Go there, very occasionally, for a posh bite and if you drink the Knott list and don't knock yourself unconscious, you should leave happy... I also left Blanchette pretty happy - a long and narrow French place in Soho. I think it was French, I mean it was good, lots of little sharing dishes with soft pulses, nice unctuous meat, crispy long chips etc etc, but to be honest if I'd been blindfolded it could have been an Opera Tavern, or a Salt Yard or a Polpo.