Until this week I’d never been to Barrafina. Although I’d like to pass this off as the ice-cool evasion of what, for everyone else, had been the hottest thing since Josper grills, it really was just the significant failing of a professed restaurant buff. I couldn’t even recount a visit to Fino, the bigger, restaurantier brother of Barrafina, by way of consolation either. Both Michelin starred Frith Street and the younger Covent Garden joint (it’s more like Charing Cross), which opened last summer, have eluded me for reasons entirely unknown. So when an old friend, (now a chef saddled with those famously antisocial working hours), proposed an early dinner one Monday evening, the chance arose to alleviate the Sam-and-Eddie shaped monkeys from my back…