Chung Yin broke my Chinese cherry and now there’s a new one – Chung Yin Central.

This little piece of Sicily in NW3 is a brilliant restaurant that really must be tried for its inventive, flavour-packed cooking and style

The Guildford Arms in Greenwich celebrated its forth birthday in November and we’re betting that a huge part of that success lies beneath the crisp skin of its roast chicken. Though its pretty sunken garden, elegant interior and menu of prettily worked up gastro dishes from Head Chef Guy Awford obviously helps.

The Carnaby venue is the spawn of The Rum Kitchen’s buzzing Notting Hill branch and the décor follows the same funky vibe: multi-coloured lights,’one love’ slogans and a rhythmic soundtrack of reggae and calypso beats thrumming off the oil drum ceiling

I must rethink my previously held opinions of Michelin starred dining. It may be an award dished out by a tyre company, it may cause endless debate and controversy, but one thing is doesn’t have to be is expensive.

Try to think of where in London you could have a cracking French meal, and Canary Wharf might not figure very highly on your list. It is here however, in a charming location on the river, that Benoit Dieppedalle, along with a couple of family members, opted to open Le Secret des Rôtisseurs. The focus is on French-style rotisserie chicken, spit-roasted to perfection.

There is real skill here, with delicious food and friendly, well-informed service. It just feels as though they’re trying a bit too hard, as though the seriousness of the location has overshadowed the key task of delivering consistently delicious plates of food.

What do you do when you feel like rebelling against the idea of seasonally-appropriate food? Have ice cream in December, of course.

Just in time for the annual festival of excess that is the festive season, Covent Garden has welcomed a new American themed bar and pizza joint: the Earlham Street Clubhouse (ESC) on Earlham Street (!), just off Seven Dials.

The Festival Hall has bravely resisted any real change inside and out; the staircases still open wooden steps scuffed and battered, the carpets in Humbrol grey. And there’s still the miasma of Hampstead intellectualism hanging heavy over the leaflet stands promoting plays no one would ever want to see willingly.