You sit down in a restaurant or bar and you know, you just know. Something doesn’t feel quite right, you’re not going to enjoy it. They’ve put you on the table by the door, men with triple winsor knots are laughing – competitively, there’s pictures of the food on the laminated menu.
You can either get out now or brave it, this place got 3 and a half stars on View London after all.
Then they bring the bread. And this, bar very few exceptions, is the acid test. As a pretty good rule of thumb, the quality of bread is going to be proportional to the food. If it’s really good, you’re going to have fun times. If it’s fucking amazing, served with > 1 type of butter then double check the price per head …you could be in trouble.
It is one of eating out’s great truisms, I assure you. Beware the stale loaf or don’t say I didn’t warn you.
In the absence of bread order a bloody mary and apply the same logic. Fail safe