In fact, despite being dispatched to Michelin star-laden spots right through 2011, I ate some of my best meals here, perched on a wonky dining chair beside an overflowing bin, wearing a bobble hat, scarf and thermal knickers, huddled beside an outdoor heater, eating juicy bacon burgers, and wiping ketchupy, mustardy fingers down my 60 denier tights. It's an experience more hobo than gastronomic, but the queues prove that there are many others like me who couldn't give a stuff about cutlery, cruet and a mid-course sorbet.