Le Coq D'Argent, 1 Poultry

To my knowledge, I’ve never been to a Conran restaurant. This is odd because I live in London, developed a bizarre addiction to Habitat at a tender age and love eating in restaurants almost more than anything else on the planet. Sunbathing’s high on the list but going to a restaurant with a tan is surely the pinnacle of existence. Pallid, nonetheless I eagerly awaited my team’s Christmas lunch at the Coq D’Argent, a Conran eaterie in the heart of the City.

And it was lovely. Good service (despite some inter-staff bitching), delicious food (I had an excellent pigeon salad, rack of lamb and a chocolate fondant), wonderful wine and, since my bosses were paying, I didn’t have to be concerned about l’addition. But would I pay to go back there in my own time? Certainly not. Yes, it was packed – but it was soulless; delicious – but unimaginative; nice – but not special.

I don’t blame Sir Terrance – he certainly has the popular touch and the place was heaving – but for the money it wasn’t exceptional enough; my strongest memory is not the food but a fantastic game of Shag, Marry or Cliff. Could do better.