On the occasion of The Last Restaurant Review Before Christmas, a red letter date in the Church calendar also known as Dinnermass or St Luncheon’s Day, it always used to be considered traditional to write about somewhere “Christmassy”.
On this final weekend before the long-awaited morn when we find out whether all the money John Lewis spent on its adverts was worth it or not (every item bought from House of Fraser or similar rivals will have been as a blowtorch to the frozen goolies of that intrepid little snowman), I am obliged, almost contractually, to describe how I trudged through snow that huffed and squeaked under my stomping boots, through a starlit village to a little restaurant in a manger, for there was no