The Duchess, revisited.

My father's first wife was referred to, in hushed tones, as "The Duchess". Black hair with a widow's peak, milky skin and blue eyes. The small town Vivien Leigh of the sixties. I think of her whenever I look at the silhouette portraits on either side of The Duchess of Wisbeach's front door.

Our dinner there last September couldn't be faulted.

So last night I went there with those juicy Karoo Lamb Chops foremost on my mind, my belly growling.

Alas.

There were only two, not three. The jug of velvety mint sauce is now a tiny dish of watery green. The chops themselves were small and lackluster. My companion to the right remarked that his spatchcocked baby chicken may have been run over, so plentiful were the splinters of bone.

Ah well, nothing that another glass of wine wouldn't remedy. And on the bright side: the french fries are still seriously good. We shared three desserts with many spoons - all delicious. The service was excellent, if completely eccentric.

The mood was light and jovial.

Thanks friends, for a lovely evening.