I've moved on...
...to a different domain. Why, what were you thinking? The truth is, I just woke up one day and decided it's time for a change—a metamorphosis, if you will; or, in layman's terms, if Britney can shave her head, then maybe so can I? Nevertheless, it's been a rather handsome 10 years of talking to you, and thank you for putting up with all my moodswings and terrible dad jokes. Fear not! The hormonal imbalance and jokes are more terrible on CUBICLE, see you there.
Sea scallop, oyster, seaweed and watercress

Clockwise: Carrot puree with pickled celery and basil; Mushroom broth with buffalo curd and water mint; lemon sole with smoked marrow and roasted bone sauce

Dessert: Macerated strawberries with Butter milk custard and Strawberry meringue

Silk trench coat, Calvin Klein. Trousers, Topman. Grey t-shirt, Gmarket. Bag, JHYoo. Shoes, Topshop.

Let me just go collect a few more scrap metal bits to sell so I can once again afford to take some more shots inside Roganic to show you. Or, just book and go, actually. I don’t think I’m confident enough to explain what the dishes are anyway, that’s usually Sophie‘s job and I’m the pizza-belly photographer that nods fiercely pretending to know what a hake is. (‘Yes, this hake is so delicious, can one grow it in the garden?‘) The funny thing is, I didn’t near expect Roganic to be this good despite all the gushing, although when I arrived at the address the low-key grey-pistachio exterior with frosted windows did throw me off a bit. When I plan to spend £60+ for a lunch I expect at least a carpet of some variant of red, and servants, bowing. But then again yours truly is cheap-azz that cry over a £6 burger. I went for the 6 course option, only because it’s a no-choice tasting menu which means the 3 course option would’ve been like having glorified finger food for lunch and the 10 course option would’ve been having LOTS AND LOTS of finger food for lunch. If you’re a foodie feel free to leave that dijon mustard-smear in my comment box now. Said glorified finger-food was beautifully presented on surfaces with contrasting or complimenting textures, and served with the most adequate tempo; every course had such harmony within itself – by the time we were on dessert my palate had been active like an LED dance floor. The only time I’ve had that kind of party in my mouth was when I first tried peanut butter and Oreos after watching Parent Trap in 1998…. YUM. Before the company put two and two together and forever ruined adolescent excitement of of food-experimentation, that is.