Breakfast is a mixed bag (of museli, granola, porridge, whatever tickles your morning get-up). On the one hand, everything that is worst about the food industry is represented in saturated technicolour: cereal packets making incredible health claims, day-glo juice from concentrate, breakfast biscuits and bars that taste of pressed perfumed sawdust and I think ‘pouring yoghurt’ is still loitering somewhere in the cooler recesses of a supermarket near you. Please make it stop.
The last time I heard ‘Diamonds and Pearls’ was as a teenager in a dorm listening to Prince. Cheese wasn’t on the menu however at the Merchants’ stylish evening of magicians, champagne, black tie, sexy dresses and four courses served up by new head chef Dale Macintosh. continue reading
Ironically, for a literary establishment that serves beer alongside books, Beerwolf Books are people of few words. But more importantly, the venue speaks for itself: fire, beer and books. continue reading
It was a simple chalked sign at waist level that pointed out the way. We duly followed, feeling that we were in on some foodie secret, secret supper club style. A terracotta façade and closed wooden door with overhanging sign made from the bottom of a wooden crate were the only signals that we’d reached our destination. This was The Wheelhouse in Falmouth, an eatery which a generous Lonely Planet journalist had informed us was an absolute must. continue reading