To secure a sitting at Wheelers at either 1pm, 3pm or 5pm at the Formica counter, or past a curtain, the demob-demure dining room, you must be dogged. I tried for months, finally capturing a cancellation with hours to spare.

The Panjabi sisters’ latest Bayswater offering epitomises what the expanding Masala Zone chain excels at – tantalising thalis, tribal-styled interiors and cheap chow. And its bouquet of wet-saried women (on posters, not at the pass) is sure to enchant the average solo male diner. But while its starring dishes twinkle, can it afford to let its standards slip on those that don’t?

Tucked away in the trendy riverside passages of Shad Thames lies ‘Bengal Clipper’ restaurant, which in its 15 years of trading, has been awarded more accolades than you could shake a stick at.

The title of this restaurant worried me. Not only does it have ‘Carry On’ connotations, it also sounds like the title of a hellish, low budget, box-ticking sitcom.

Cooking at Bellevue is Pablo Gallego while his partner Stephanie Gandon runs the front of house. A nice woman, but at one point she let out a thunderous unrestrained sneeze, something I recommend she doesn’t do when the AA Rosette inspector comes round.

’16 Euros to cross a bloody bridge?’ I shouted incredulously at the mec manning the toll booth as he gazed back impassively. No doubt the sight of a middle-aged Englishman having an apoplexy over the entrance fee to the Île de Ré was becoming rather familiar to him. He shrugged Gallicly. It wasn’t his fault that this time last year 16 Euros was equivalent to about £10 while now it was almost exactly £16.

As the name suggests, Semplice is about (meticulous) simplicity. A generous starter of fat pappardelle was glossily spun with racing green baby spinach and earthy, springy chicken livers. Such an unequivocally peasant Italian effort ironically came from head chef Marco Torri’s Japanese sous chef. Despite their lobster plates, it warranted envious looks from my à la carte friends.

‘The Saltoun Supper Club’ takes place each week at Arno’s home in Brixton, converted into a prop for pleasure dining. The décor bears testament to an artists eye – a nude of a tall, girlie figure by Tracey Emin clings, arms by sides, to the hall wall; on the stairs, a moneybox by Gilbert & George invites financial fuel with the words, ‘pay up and f*** off’.

There’s a nagging aura about Momo of the popularity tide having gone out and everyone waiting for it to come back in again, but with the Heddon Street area now finally free of cars and incessant road digging the whole square has a buzz about it once more and Momo is well placed to be back on the A list.

The bistro is situated in a passage, the entrance to which is to the right of Jesse’s butcher’s shop. It has a rustic feel, and the kitchen is visible from the main restaurant area. Overall, it was a reasonable meal, but the lack of interest and customer focus from the chef left a sour taste.