Restaurants James Pembroke

CAFÉ ST HONORÉ, NEW TOWN, EDINBURGH SUFI, LONDON W12

Taking people out to dinner has become such an unrewarding experience that I am now considering dispatching £50 John Lewis vouchers instead.

Everyone’s become so fussy and spoilt. In London, no one will travel more than three miles save for the West End; in the country, no more than ten miles to a restaurant, and they’ll ask about parking for days before. When they arrive, they invariably let slip, ‘We had a dreadful dinner here once before’ or they’ve given up half the items on the menu. If you’re lucky, a begrudging ‘thank you’ is slipped into a postcard from Italy, which mainly deals with the ‘simply unbelievably good food’ they’re eating, all their fads, allergies and ‘isms’ having been eradicated.

However, there is one band of would-be diners who would peel potatoes for a month to rest their elbows on white linen: Starving Students, that happy band whose alcohol: food spending ratio stands at 99:1. If a Jehovah’s Witness were to discover he was one of the 144,000 chosen few (of all time) to pass through the Pearly Gates, he could not demonstrate the humility or gratitude of a student faced with a menu.

Just before Christmas, I took My Very Spoilt Son out to dinner in Edinburgh with two whey-faced mates, through whom solids have only passed in the wrong direction since the start of term. I booked Café St Honoré, which is situated in a pretty, cobbled lane, and is the sort of candle-lit Gallic bistro we last saw in South Ken in 1975.

Even the spoilt one started to say thank you, albeit only every five minutes. The drooling began the moment they saw the Scotch Beef Flat Iron Steak. Mindful that Cobbett had defied anyone to agitate a fellow with a full stomach, I thought this trio might indulge in a 50th-anniversary re-enactment of the 1968 student riots if I guided them towards the £20 set menu. They devoured everything à la carte; I didn’t dare go to the loo for fear of losing

my venison. And during the chocolate fondant, I was serenaded with panegyrics not heard since the Trojan War.

My top tip for Greater Londoners this winter: on a cold night, go to your car and turn on the heating half an hour before you want to set off. Then head down the Westway, and turn off at Old Oak Road towards Askew Road.

There, you will find snug Sufi, the very warmest of restaurants and a long-term favourite of our family. The beaming owner is a celebration of Persian hospitality, and, when he’s off-stage, the bread oven up front will keep you as warm as, well, toast. The dishes come from all over Persia. Try to go on a Thursday or Friday because those are the only nights they serve kuku sabzi, a better-than-tortilla-like dish with herbs.

We always have the combination platter and the fresh herb platter, which comes with feta cheese and walnuts. My children always go for the skewers of grilled chicken, lamb and/or minced lamb, but the stews are where Sufi stakes its claim to being London’s best Persian restaurant. There are all sorts of combinations of chicken and lamb with a variety of aubergines, split yellow peas, dried limes and pomegranates. You can’t go wrong. Never leave without baklava and their saffron ice cream. Students will want both.

Café St Honoré, 34 North West Thistle Street Lane, Edinburgh EH2 1EA; www. cafesthonore.com; 0131 226 2211; two-course lunch/dinner £14.50/£20.

Sufi, 70 Askew Road, London W12 9BJ; www.sufirestaurant.com; 020 8834 4888; mains £12-£14.50