Restaurants where we used to eat
Rocinantes, later Quartier Vert, most sadly missed;
Heatherley’s, where we misbehaved once (badly pissed);
Floyd’s Bistro, owned by Keith, the drunken TV cook;
Okra, a cut-price Moro (much easier to book);
Red Snapper – not bad, unfussy, fishy, as it sounds;
Zorba’s Kebab House – meaty; a Lebanese, called Sands;
Howard’s, where once they poisoned us with rancid fish;
Michael’s, down Hotwell’s Road, so dark you couldn’t see the dish.
Oh yes, another long forgotten name: remember Bistro 21?
And Lettonie (the first place, in the 80s, that we ever broke a ton)?
Markwick & Hunt, of course, fine dining way back when;
and after M and H fell out across the stove, what then?
Markwick’s and, in addition, Hunt’s, not very far
apart. (A shame they couldn’t split the Michelin star.)
And finally, in ancient times, almost beyond recall,
the Berni steak-house, gastronomic daddy of them all.