TOM JACKSON
The Times Magazine 91Or, if you’ve already used the “lovechild”
line earlier in the piece, then you might write,
“If KFC fell for La Tour d’Argent on a
whirlwind trip to Paris, and they had a baby,
then it might well look something like the
Fiery Cock...” and you’d reckon the gag was
even better the second time, and head to the
pub for a craft lager and a plate of truffled
fries, and reckon to do your scores and
expenses tomorrow, because with that bit of
top-flight restaurant metaphor you’d earned
the afternoon off.
It’s because there is nothing new under the
sun, you see, so the best way to talk about a
restaurant that thinks it is a bit special is to
describe it as a coming together of two other
things, and thereby reduce it to the sum of its
parts. Throw in a pregnancy and make thisEating out
Giles Coren
The Bull Inn, Devon
here is a thing in restaurant reviewing
where, if you can’t think of a more
original way of putting something,
you just write, “With its fried chicken
served at linen-covered tables under
sterling silver cloches, the Fiery Cock
comes on like the lovechild of Nando’s
and Le Gavroche...” And everyone
falls about laughing at the hilarious image of
a posh French restaurant shagging a chicken
shop, you stick a score on the end, file your
expenses and call yourself a damn fine writer
of humorous foodie prose.‘The gay abandon and
hedonistic joy at the Bull
is all in the mouth, after
the preaching’s done’