‘Worth making the trek across town for.’ You know what that means? It means ‘located in South London.’ Why do so many reviewers make readers feel that when you cross the Thames heading south the map should be marked ‘here be dragons’ and illustrated with drawings of 4x4s being consumed by sea serpents?

This is not Peter Mayle’s Provence and this is not the ‘wonderful little place’ that Giles and Samantha found as they toured the Dordogne last year, while Giles fielded emails from the office on his Blackberry and Samantha collected fabric samples for her shop. This is the France the French see – plain, simple, cheap and quite cheerful.

Busaba Eathai is a welcome addition to the surrounding area of the West End, littered with tourist-driven junk food stops and dodgy pizza and kebab outlets that the health and safety inspectors have clearly turned a blind eye to.

The dish of tongues is speaking and we’re playing deaf. S and I are trying not to look at the grey curls of muscle, the Sichuan duck tongues, that S has ordered. They are arch and taut, twisted in a last quacky screech and hold horror in their sinews. And they are cold. And, in the ultimate diss, they are sprinkled with sesame seeds.

Now, I’m not the most literary person, but two quotes came to mind about Byron, the first when I initially heard the name, and the other one a little while after we got there. Call me obvious, but my immediate reaction was to think of Lady Caroline Lamb’s description of Lord Byron as ‘mad, bad and dangerous to know’

Tsuru is a burgeoning chain, with two outlets so far, one in Bishopsgate and the original in Borough. The food is sushi, and broadly similar to what you might find at the bigger chains on the High Street. But at Tsuru, everything is made in-house, including their curry sauce, egg tamagoyaki and even down to the chicken stock.

I did panic at first when I walked in and it appeared that nothing had changed in 14 years, but perhaps this is exactly why they are still open, doing great trade and serving locals as they were years ago. Sometimes change isn’t such a good thing, as the old adage goes ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” and El Pirata most definitely ain’t broke.

Never let anyone convince you to take to the road on a bank holiday weekend; you’re asking for trouble if you live in a city like London, urban or suburban, it really makes no difference these days. Unless, of course, there’s a damn fine meal at the end of it; then, it’s worth the 15 miles = 1.5 hour schlep.

four o nine has its own discrete entrance accessed via an entry phone controlled door to the side of The Clapham North pub, inLandor Road. This slight quirkiness somehow lends the restaurant an air of exclusivity, giving you the feeling that you are entering a private dining club.

Despite Alloro’s illustrious peers in the A-Z group – Aubergine, Ken Lo’s Memories of China, L’Oranger and Zafferano – it never before blipped my belly’s radar. However, beyond a mild title glints a tesoro nascosto….