Juno

Like the fictional teenagers of Dawson’s Creek, there are moments when the intelligent words spewing forth from the eponymous Juno are implausibly articulate but hey, who goes to the cinema to see real life? And really, that’s my only complaint. Of course, I’m never truly objective where Allison Janney is concerned and actually, Juno also stars two cast members from the tragically short-lived series, Arrested Development, so perhaps I was always going to love it. Yet although the cast was fantastic, what I particularly enjoyed was the script’s gradual evolution that gently altered my first impressions. When it comes to the pathetically simplistic nature of modern day cinema, a multilayered character is a rarity, let alone one that actually evolves over the course of ninety minutes – but on this occasion, I was proved wrong and it felt good.

One of those atypical film experiences by which it’s hard not to be touched, Juno deals with teenage pregnancy with humour and understated confidence. I’d recommend it to everyone apart from my father, for whom ‘understated’ is a terrible insult when it comes to movies, and who would rather extract his own liver than watch something that is even obliquely about babies.

Latium, Fitzrovia

I’m developing something of a disgruntlement about mid-priced restaurants. Maybe I’m getting old, or tight, but I would far rather go to a seriously fantastic restaurant once or twice a year, spending perhaps £100 a head or more, and eat in Pizza Express the rest of the time, than fork out £40-50 on something that isn’t really that much more special than a good gastropub burger.

Latium’s in the price bracket that I would cheerfully never revisit. The food was tasty, cleverly thought-out, well-presented and constructed using quality ingredients. The buffalo mozzarella was divine – but serving it with oven-roasted tomatoes, a mixed salad and slices of courgette was hardly inspired. My duck was good – but no better than the duck in The Stonemason’s Arms, Hammersmith. I’ll grudgingly admit that my dessert of yoghurt and berries was gorgeous.

I didn’t hate Latium – no one could, it’s not interesting enough to inspire hated – but I’d challenge someone to love it. And at nearly £30 for three courses, plus more for wine, for every 2.5 trips to a Latium-priced eaterie, you can go to Petrus once – surely an exchange no sane person would hesitate to make?

L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon, Covent Garden

In 1989, Joel Robuchon was voted Chef of the Century in France and his international restaurants currently hold seventeen Michelin stars between them, more than any other chef in the world. It’s fair to say I was pretty freaking excited about going to L’Atelier.

Merely stepping inside is a sensory shock. The room is dark red and glossy black with high seats around three sides of a huge cooking area and a double-height wall of succulent green plants. Think futuristic, Japanese Cheers with heavily-accented French waiting staff instead of Ted Danson. It was stunning and different and I was impressed – but I would’ve eaten the food in an ammonia-scented slurry pit. I’m not religious but I think Joel Robuchon may be divine – how else could he discover the combination of foie gras, port and parmesan for an amuse bouche, for example? Or the spectacular crab on guacamole and tomato? Oh god, or that mushroom and egg number that tasted like ambrosia? The duo of desserts were equally glorious and demanded a requiem to be sung as we swallowed them and mourned their loss. I love my food but it’s not often I’m silenced by it. Flawless.