The kitchen at Galvin La Chapelle. Photo: Galvin RestaurantsMy weekly round-up of the national restaurant critics is live at iStarvin.
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Food, mainly
The kitchen at Galvin La Chapelle. Photo: Galvin Restaurants
The office Christmas party. What larks.
Harvey's, Ramsgate. Seemingly hated by all. Photo: Caterersearch.

Bit of a celebration this week: I was published in print for the first time. That is, if you don't count the school magazine (restaurant reviews), the student paper (ditto) and some journo work experience, unaccountably overlooked for the Pulitzer. But the inaugural issue of Fire & Knives - 'new writing for food lovers' - just trundled off the press, and I've held my copy and smelled the pulp, glue and ink, and known that it represented a small landmark in a germinal career.
Sketch's website. A glimpse into madness. Photo: Sketch
A fly and some soup. Photo: Flickr
A crushed Stella tinny. Photo: Sonny Meddle/Rex Features
La Rueda, Clapham. Photo: La Rueda
A burrito being assembled at Daddy Donkey, Leather Lane Market, London. Photo: PR
Cider-braised pork belly at The Princess of Shoreditch, one of this week's round-up.
Roast chicken is the greatest cliché in the kitchen. The trussed, homely, tits-up bird, fatted, auburn and steaming, stickey-out calves and oysters in its back, sleek skin pocked and follicled: brown thigh, ivory breast, muscle speared, sliced and gravied. Everyone knows it, everyone has a Proustian chook. Ask five strangers what their favourite meal is and I bet one of them will say roast chicken, probably their mum's. It's the first thing you roast when you're learning to cook: it's a culinary chapter heading, a gastronomic phylum, and if you do it half-right (and though difficult to do perfectly, it's easy enough to do acceptably) it'll seal, settle and fix something inside you that you'll take to your grave.
The buffet at Taybarns.