Children in the restaurant?

"Is it OK for us to bring the children?" Asked Sarah. "Of course." I replied. And then a thought. "How old?" They were 3, 5, 5 and 7. The first minors to dine at the NRR but I hope not the last.

Yes, there were a few challenges to chef's eardrums: the not at all annoying electronic-65th-birthday-cake-singing-candle (cheers Grandfather!) being removed from a highly indignant fist, was the most memorable. But I also got to enjoy the heat of high praise. I am, apparently, THE best chef in THE world. That's not all. My raspberry pavlova is THE best thing that guest had EVER eaten. The fact he was five years old is immaterial. It was a valid opinion.

They look happy don't they? They do.

Of course choice of food is an issue with children. I detest the notion of children's menu. Yes, detest. All part of the chicken-nuggetisation of our world. Not a phrase I bet you thought you'd read today. I'm a fan of taking kids to eat out. Forget dinner, too late and too expensive and peopled with young lovers, diners who have a notoriously low threshold for the all too audible broccoli protest. Talking of which, I have found, ahem, that one way to get your kids to try a new vegetable is to present them with a Michelin starred version of it. Not an everyday option I know but the parents get to have a nice meal too and there's the possibility of getting a bit tipsy in the early afternoon. But no, do lunch. Often it's a set price and set much lower than evening fare.

OR... just to tout for business for a mo: home restaurants are an ideal way to take young children out to eat. There are no other diners to worry about. They can play away from the table, and best of all, we have our own naughty step!

The best food in the whole world! No really.

This is Sarah, wot booked the gig.

And this is her Mum. Happy Birthday.

Birfday Pavlova being lit