galvin anthenaeum food blog
Let’s cut to the chase here; the under-appreciated Galvin at the Athenaeum may not have Michelin stars of its own, but it has knocked some of my more recent Michelin-starred meals out of the park.

The sophisticated hotel’s ground-floor Galvin is the brain child of chef brothers Chris and Jeff Galvin (who you may recognise for their own trademark French-inspired Michelin menus). At the Anthenaeum, however, the double act have dedicated their seasonal dishes to all things British.

We’re talking local produce and independent farm faire with a haute cuisine mΓ©tier.

The doorman greeted my dinner date and I warmly on arrival, walking us over to a tragically deserted restaurant. I was intrigued but dubious. With such inherently hospitable service and the Galvin name behind it, why was no-one having dinner at their more affordable outpost?

Unless their bottomless brunch is keeping them afloat, I still can’t be sure.

Absolutely everything was perfect. The fresh Glastonbury farmhouse-buttered wheat bread and champagne (menu-perusing mates at their best). The lasagne of Dorset crab with Nantais butter sauce (an intoxicating cloud of seafood). The Galvin cured smoked salmon, Burford brown egg ‘dust’, sour cream , and caviar (the pinnacle of quality DIY starters). The Iron Bark pumpkin risotto with seared Orkney scallops (the most flavourful and balanced risotto I have enjoyed in any restaurant). The Rose county beef rib eye with green peppercorn butter and chunky chips (because what is a British menu without one?).

By the time we were half-way through our mains, we were in a cacophony of culinary coo-fare with our table neighbours. So much so I considered offering up a spoonful or two in exchange for theirs.

Nonetheless, I licked my own plate clean and geared up for a expertly-curated selection of English cheeses (served with grapes and celery) while my date cast an inquisitive line into the depths of a warm rice pudding (with macerated prunes and praline, respectively) like no other.

Galvin have done the Great British Menu and then some.



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I live to share the places I love with anyone who may feel the same.

But I suppose that’s pretty obvious from these travel blogs, eh?

Nonetheless, I have so many destinations on my hit list I very rarely allow myself to visit the same place twice. Weekends away are the one opportunity I am able to turn a manic work schedule in my favour.

With just a weekend to spare and my passport burning a hole in the pocket of my Winter coat, a trip to Jersey promised to be the perfect escape.

Short flights practically ascend to descend from London and – after falling in love with the Channel island during a Christmas getaway – I knew Jersey had an intimate, foodie-friendly offering that felt just right for my loved one’s introduction to Saint Helier and beyond.

A post shared by Lela London (@lelalondon) on


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warhammer quest whq
It was 3am, the room was thick with adrenaline, and Warhammer Quest had taken hold of me.

Had I been asked prior to my first twelve-hour marathon, the dungeon-based RPG – now twenty years out of production – would have been the last thing I expected to consume my bank holiday.

Yet, there I sat. Filled with caffeine, whisky, and an incredulous sense of collaborative competition.

It was an arguably ridiculous scene; four proper adults frenetically rolling dice to move plastic miniatures around Old World dungeons so old their haggard cardboard floors struggled to slide into their respective plastic door frames.

Except we weren’t proper adults anymore. We were a barbarian pit fighter, a wizard, a wardancer and an elf ranger. Embarking on a tabletop Tolkien tirade at the fate of dice mortality. With a lantern-wielding Level One leading us through the calculated corridors of a mathematical god.

The itsy-bitsy warfare is exhaustively human. Our wild warriors stood no and every chance from the outset. We could fumble our way through new experiences, discover our individual strengths, armour our weaknesses, do everything we can to defeat evil, and only truly survive by doing so together.

Ultimately, you’re fighting to stay alive. And Warhammer Quest has a knack for harvesting hell in a playbook. You could be potion-rich and heavily weaponed – even magical – and lose everything in the appearance of a single black dot.

But you survive. Sometimes, you even thrive. You save your ambushed friends, you share your wealth with those in need, and your proactive resilience leaves you stronger than ever.

As the thirteenth hour of gameplay set in, I looked up from my Adventure Record Sheet at my sleep-deprived comrades and smiled. We had all fought through pain. We had all forged glory.

We were warriors.

(Thank you to the inimitable Josh Thornton for being the best drunk photographer of all time.)

warhammer quest whq
warhammer quest whq
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spring fashion
One of my favourite things about moving is rediscovering my wardrobe. Especially the things that never end up in my weekly dress-reliant rotation. The faux fur gilets, the suede shoes, the jeans.

After a week of box-hauling and inevitable yet unforeseen expenses, I hopped out of the shower and straight to the wardrobe to shake things up from the norm; untamed hair, that ‘difficult’ wardrobe item that never seems right for the day’s occasions in the morning, and a wine-phobic pair of white jeans that managed to survive the day.

What I Wore:
White skinny jeans from Paige
Faux fur gilet (I’ve had for three years! Similar here)
Gold heel boots (similar here)

spring fashion
spring fashion
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California has, without a doubt, been one of the most consistent food destinations I have ever had the pleasure of visiting. My last trip to LA alone felt like a constant stream of fresh, innovative and health-conscious delights. When ‘neighbourhood’ restaurant Pomonas suggested their new menu could offer the same in its impossibility rich London postcode, I was dubious.

Nonetheless, executive chef Wolfe Conyngham‘s eclectic menu hinted at well-considered food play and I am not one to ignore the latency of culinary surprise.

My date and I settled into the restaurant’s uber West Coast (yet unfortunately empty) belly with open minds and a dish of smoky Salamanca olives.

Tf ‘Californian food’ doesn’t get you from the outset, Pomonas’ dedication to sustainable, nutritional and seasonal produce surely will. At the end of the day, Pomonas serves food that is as good for you as it is for the planet. With zero forfeit on flavour.

I perused the menu over a lovely little Ford Martini (gin, lillet blanc, benedictine) but felt so spoilt for choice I left the decisions up to Conyngham and co in their open kitchen.

Grilled halloumi with burnt salsa, goats cheese croquettes, and soft shell crab with guac arrived alongside a slim plate of cucumber bed crispy duck ‘rolls’ with plum sauce, spring onion, and sesame seeds that I haven’t stopped craving since.

We then split a perfectly-cooked welsh lamb rump, quinoa/avo/broccoli/pea/cucumber/mint/parsley salad, street-style South American pork, and Indonesian chicken curry which challenged every misconception I had about curries having to be sweat-spurring spicy to be worthwhile.

With a bottle of 2017 Schroeder Malbec β€˜Alpataco’ for a healthy balance, natch.

By the time we broke the sponge of the chocolate fondant, my date and I were pawing through our calendars to find dates we could return for our second meal.

Pomonas is truly as California as London gets.


pomonas london
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