Making a Pigs' Ear of it

I am on canape detail for a charity dinner where a bellyful of critics cook for chefs, restaurateurs and Action Against Hunger. It's humbling, chastening even, and, by my next review, I will know proper cooking is so hard that I will never write a word of negative criticism again.

When I rang Herbert Berger at 1 Lombard Street, who is hosting this year's dinner, to discuss my canapé moment, I confidently detailed plans for a smoked eel, beetroot and horseradish thingy, and a white truffle risotto on a spoon thingy.

It's easy to invent a couple of canapés and then whip up 250 of them - with the help of a finely tuned professional kitchen and a Michelin chef. Without them, well, let's just say there is such a word as can't.

When I did a dry run of the smoked eel thingy, hours of refinement and fiddling produced something that tasted right enough but looked completely crap. Ta da! A tray of miniature pigs' ears - my signature canapé.

Speaking of Pigs' Ears, that's the name of the new pub from Simon Cherry and Jamie Prudhom with Westbourne co-owner Olly Danaiud. They've taken over the Hooray favourite, the Front Page in Chelsea.

They've kept the period pub as it is, but dusted it up with rich greens, reds and thickly lacquered wood and on the stairs up to the dining room there's Guinness-Is-Good-For-You wallpaper which looks fashionably vintage. Pigs' ears are the signature bar snack.

The mark of the Westbourne - one of the most successful stars in the gastropub universe - was that, despite being fairly rough-and-ready foodwise, people would travel there and make-believe it was their local.

The same will happen here. The old locals walked in once, saw there was no telly, said, 'Bloody hell, where are we going to watch the rugger now, chaps,' and stomped off into the Thomas Pink sunset. Taking their place are cute young chain-smoking Chelsea-ites and normal people looking for cool atmosphere.

There's a simple menu downstairs in the pub with oysters, charcuterie and the odd special such as fillet of veal. Upstairs things are rustic posh French.

The dining room is small and nicely dark, with quirky bits of art, random mirrors, and in the middle of the room is a big round table holding all the bread (good, soft, fragrant with rosemary, rock-salt crust), service paraphernalia and a big vase of flowers. Bold statement as this is, it hogged the small space. I need space to spread out and so does Prada Elaine, with her big perfumed hair and a space-invading, floor-sweeping Clements Ribeiro coat.