The trouble is, like a gluttonous little puffer fish, I was not been able to let go of the bait. And even when there weren’t openings to go to, the idea of even microwaving a ready meal has seemed unthinkable. I spent six months living a reckless, culinary version of a #hotgirlsummer (with a dash of the Hunsnet version, too) and like the crisp, cold rosé that goes hand in hand with such behaviour, I never wanted it to end. Whether catching up with friends at Homeslice, devouring eggs with my sister in Brixton’s old school Express Cafe, waddling home from so-so dates eating dodgy chicken strips or perched on a bench with a podcast at Koi Ramen on my own dime, I was well and truly relishing my luck, spending every moment of my spare time with the colourful characters who fill London’s restaurant scene with joy. I have zero regrets. Apart from — look away, boss — the Tuesday I found out that Patrón Cafe was to be discontinued.
