Portobello Ristorante Pizzeria.

Having read some pretty good reviews of Portobello Pizzeria I took advantage of a friend's working in Kensington to suggest a Friday night meal there. The reviews are all correct, it really is impeccable pizza. Ordered by the half metre, the pizzas arrive on boards which are suspended above the table on a little stand which is quite cute. Very very crisp on the outside and chewy and yeasty in the middle, it was a great pizza. Toppings of home made sausage score top marks, as does the tomato base which was sweet and meaty. The waiting staff are very attentive and sweet but not overwhelming or obsequious.

However good the pizza was, it's just that. A really good pizza. It's nothing to get worked up about, and really having to eat surrounded by the imbeciles who walk the streets of West London diminished the dining experience rather, as did some chewy and greasy fritti misti ordered as a starter.

Although this place has the advantage of substantial seating and a reservations system over its equally lauded south London brother Franco Manca, I will be staying South for my authenitc pizzas in future, if only to avoid the honking morons of Notting Hill. After all, it's only pizza.

7 Ladbroke Road
London W11 3PA
020 7221 1373

This Mad Lot...

Above is an article which appeared in That's Life Magazine, beloved of middle-aged and middle-of-the-road mums and grannies the nation over. This is the first and only time that you will see Ed Banger Records and That's Life in the same sentence.

A colleague at work told me that his friend who works for the magazine needed photos of girls having fun for a series of features called 'My Best Night Out Ever' and they would pay £50. I like £50 so I sent some photos in. They chose me, ME and my friends attending a dirty RAVE in nasty ELEPHANT AND CASTLE to sit in their pages amongst The Man With No Face and Thrifty Household Tips. I fear we stood out, even without neon yellow party hats...

I doubt the readers really understood why Ed Banger's 6.5 birthday rave was the best night ever, so the journalist responsible imagined a quote by me saying that the night was so special because we were all together (since leaving university it's apparently been hard to see each other - even though none of us attended university together) and friendship is what matters in the end. I never said this, nor do I live in Brixton. Fact checking fail.

Still, it's pretty hilarious if only for the lack of hard facts and incongruous appearance of French electro music in a granny-mag. I'm framing it for my toilet wall, and spending the £50 on tickets to Edbanger's next party.

Just so you know...

There have been few updates of Things I Eat this month, and there are unlikely to be many more in the next couple of weeks. This is because January is traditionally the month of starvation in my household. As I type this, I'm looking at an apple, a pear and a hot cross bun (no butter), which are to be my sustenance for the morning. Slim times (though not as far as my straining waistbands are concerned.)

More ballet.

I took my Mum and Nana to see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake at Sadler's Wells, it was their Christmas present. Nana had already expressed an interest in the production since she's very keen on male ballet dancer's torsos, but my mother had no idea what she was going to. She said afterwards (with a tear in her eye and a wobble in her voice) that is was the best Christmas present ever.

I, like my Nana before me am partial to a well-honed male torso, glistening with sweat, but that's not what this was about (so I've been told.) I was completely bowled over by how different this production was to other classical ballets I have seen. The male swans were powerful, beautiful and sexually aggressive, the set was underplayed; an ominous looming presence rather than a distraction from the dancing, which was almost scary in its intensity. Pieces such as the club scene were lively, yet often tragicomic interludes of modern dance which instantly updated Tchaikovsky's legendary score. Clichéd as it is, I laughed; I cried. Ah me.

I'm not going to bother rehashing the shining praise for Matthew Bourne and his powerfully moving production which recreates, almost subverts classical ballet. I am just going to tell you that you have to go and see it. If you have already seen it, please go again. I will. You have until the 24th of this month. GO!

Watch the trailer here.