Food waste is a global problem.I’m doing my bit for climate change. It’s cold and not as soft as its siblings, but I couldn’t leave it there. It’s lonely inside the little white dish, ringed with oil that I can see seeping up through the dough, absorbing it like a sponge. The wine is almost gone and I’m down to my last cube of focaccia. It gets grainier as it cools, a sacrifice I made in the name of asking for chilli flakes. I have somewhat of a lemon obsession at the moment, centring entire menus around it, each dish on a ranging from subtle hint to juicy burst on the citrus scale, so this is A-okay with me.Īgain, I try to eat slowly but the dish is working against me, the cooling parmesan congealing the chewy spaghetti strands and making it harder to twirl around my fork with each bite. If you don't like lemon this is not the dish for you. The cheese is unsurprisingly rich, but the sheer volume of lemon makes it light(er) and bright. It arrives, a pile of milky yellow strands with a few tiny hints of green basil. I’m not as au fait white wine, but that's what I've ordered as it seemed appropriate to go with my impending pasta – Amalfi lemon, basil, and three-year-aged Parmesan spaghetti. The empty Peroni bottle – the authentic type with brown glass and Italian wording on the label – is now a paperweight, anchoring the wine list I requested. Six Australian girls with accents so thick could almost be at home. I pop it in my mouth as I eavesdrop on the table next to me. There's more Foccacia left and I can’t stop staring at it. The aubergine is now done, you can see the tell-tale tracks of bread swiped through the oil, straight lines that curve when they meet the plate's edge. Oh and the wine list when you have a sec. Why yes thanks, I'd love a beer to start. Now I fucking love it (thank you therapy!) Yeah, I'm ordering a starter AND bread AND pasta. I used to fret that people were looking at me, judging my plates, what, or how much I ate. I've never been thin, and after being called 'fat' a few times too many - I mean, once is enough - your relationship with food, especially in public, and especially when you're alone, becomes complicated. I didn't always love going out to eat by myself. That’s one great thing about eating alone, you can spread out. I take a swig from my bottle of Peroni, the glass they gave me untouched in the farthest corner of the table. Carnaby is a vibe even at 3 pm on a workday. I keep forgetting how old I am, still (accidentally, I promise) giving my age 2019 age. When was the last time I ate out? Was it last week or last year? It’s hard to tell, my concept of time racing the past year. The delight in just being outside, in public, at a restaurant, is close to overwhelming, in case you couldn't tell from this self-indulgent soliloquy about lunch. I try to look up every now and then, take in my surroundings. I’m trying to eat slowly and eke out every second, I don’t want them to take my plates away and move me on to the next course, or worse, the bill. I put the saltiest cube in my mouth, the crystals of salt congregated within one square of herbs. Tiny spikes of rosemary criss-cross the top like delicate latticework. It’s perfect, light and springy on the inside with a chewy golden crust on top and bottom. Sunshine yellow cubes focaccia, yellow in part from the dough, part from the streaks of olive oil that track down the sides. Even pre-pandemic my memory was an unreliable historian and so The List also serves as a way to remember if I, in fact, have been to that cult dumpling place that started as a stall on Broadway Market and now has a bricks and mortar site down some hidden back alley. It catalogues every restaurant, bar, cafe, food truck, hole-in-the-wall, residency or pop up to have crossed my radar, organised by borough and dutifully ticked off and moved to the 'been there' section at the bottom once visited. The List is one of my most valuable possessions an inexhaustive wishlist of London’s food & drink accumulated over the six years I’ve lived here. I’m sitting in Pastaio in Soho, a small Italian restaurant that has been on The List for quite some time. The shards of torn mint are unexpected, sitting daintily on top of the shiny mess on my plate, cutting through with a dose of freshness. Studs of green capers and golden pinenuts peek out, adding zing and texture. My fingers are oily already, slick and stained red from the plate of aubergine caponata, a pile of earthy reds and browns, the soft flesh almost melting to the edges of the plate.