Stab in the dark filled me with choi

Anna relishes being back in a restaurant after months at home

As soon as I heard restaurants could open again, I was so excited that I panicked. Where should I go to mark this momentous moment?

What should my first meal out after months of bottom-ofthe-fridge omelettes be?

I scanned around my favourite websites, bloggers and Instagrammers. They too seemed to be saying, “Aaaaaieee”, “Waaaaah” and “Bring me all the food immediately”.

The choice became overwhelming. But Lychee Oriental cut through the noise. It had been on my radar since its makeover last year, as an award-winning, reasonably traditional Chinese restaurant that uses proper ingredients and takes the odd risk among the prawn toast and duck pancakes.

Plus, Carb Boy loves dumplings, rice and noodles – the clue is in the name – and I like seeing him smile. A table was duly booked.

It’s a small, dark spot off Mitchell Lane. The set-up, small tables between lacquer screens – make social distancing a doddle. The screens have been filled in with perspex, making mini booths of every table. The staff, in visors and masks, are muffled but efficient.

There is a general feeling of abandon. One booth orders so many starters and drinks that they barely touch the impressive-looking main courses, mounds of rice and piles of chilli and salt fries that come next.

We have all been there. I have had to be moved to a bigger table to accommodate all my extras. This time, we were more restrained.

Well, that’s what we told ourselves as we hoovered up a complimentary bowl of high-quality prawn crackers.

A mixed starter platter got round the problem of filling up on nibbly fried morsels. There were two of each – lots of tasting, no fighting.

Chicken satay is a classic for a reason and this was a proper finger-burning skewer of thigh meat with a fragrant peanut dip.

There was also a pot of home-made sweet chilli sauce to go with the prawn and pork wontons. These were agreeably crispy, although lightly filled. The pancake rolls were more substantial, although more of a vehicle for the excellent sauce than a taste in their own. In the dim light of the dark restaurant, I failed to identify the filling.

Honey wings were sweet as advertised and the ribs, although not the meatiest, had a gnawable caveman charm.

It also felt great just to sit in a

restaurant and be brought things. Chilled water? Jasmine tea? A glass of wine? Keep it all coming.

Carb Boy, who is on Deliveroo to order an electric yellow chicken curry as soon as I leave the house of an evening, was feeling adventurous.

He kept with chicken, some things are sacrosanct, but had it cooked in a claypot with Chinese sausage and cloud fungus.

I kept my last encounter with the chewy Spam of the east to myself and smiled encouragement. What arrived was enticing, full of bamboo shoots, water chestnuts and the dark brain-like cloud mushroom. If a morel mated with seaweed, this would be their squeaky baby.

The sausage was a bit too challenging for me. With that picked out, it was really good.

Taking a spoonful of Carb Boy’s fluffy egg fried rice made him so anxious, I let him finish the bowl and got pak choi in oyster sauce to go with my Thai chilli rib eye beef.

Rice might have worked better – this was basically a luxe steak stirfry, loaded with red peppers, onions and straw mushrooms.

And while the sauces at Lychee

Oriental are a world away from the sticky horrors in less fastidious restaurants, I had quite a lot of it to deal with.

The pak choi came with its own heavy coating of oyster sauce, while the steak was in a sweet dressing not a million miles from the dipping sauce of the first course. It was good but a bit stultifying on its own.

My fault for not bowing to the superior carbohydrate wisdom at the other side of the table.

But it was a treat to eat a restaurant meal that realises carnivores also like vegetables and included so many interesting ones.

By dessert, Carb Boy was complaining he didn’t like lychees. Unless they are chilled and I’m on a beach in Koh Samui, I’m not wild about them either. But I do like a mango sorbet and this one had evidence of real fruit flesh.

I’d have held off on raspberry sauce which brought nothing to the dish. But after four months of kitchen labour, pink skoosh could not ruin the joy of eating exciting, fresh food cooked by somebody else. And not having to wash the dishes.