I own Valentine’s Day. Mrs Del Monte never knows what’s hit her (note: Not me!). Flowers? Tick! Chocolates? Tick! Card? Tick! Stifling flatulence that one day a year? Maybe next year. Tall order, you’ll agree.
Because I’m so great, I’d decided this year to allow you, cherished reader, to benefit from my munificence. By which I mean, here are some great restaurants which I think are romantic.
Wow her with toothsome grub and the grand setting then try and sneak into a hotel room and make sweet love on her before security evict you.
If you must venture to the East End, then you can do a lot worse than this place: intimate, excellent food and service and pork that tastes like frikkin beef.
Try not to order too much garlic infused food, but definitely order prosecco and murmur sweet nothings (sweet nothings = unexpurgated filth) in their ear. Dehesa is so intimate that only my long range microphone will pick up your voice.
Of course, it’s too late to book anywhere for this evening so you’re screwed. And if you had any balls you’d brazen it out at a Wild Bean Café.