Hot date.

Jane and I had cocktails in the city on the weekend. She chanced upon a bar called Dr Gimlette which looked pretty cool, so we decided to suss it out. It was good.

Somewhere between the dirty martini and the Theriac’s Remedy (gin, amontillado, dry curacao and citrus syrup, a cure for the Bubonic Plague, apparently) we decided we needed to eat and so decamped to Alba, a Spanish place at the other end of the city. I don’t know what possessed me to order a plate of chillis.

But I did.

My dinner.