Please Boris, save me from another night of chickpeas

I AM as fond of animals as the next person (well, nearly). But really Boris, zoos? Is reopening them a top priority in turbocharging our economy and giving us back our lives? I don’t think so, especially if you still can’t visit the reptile house which, as everyone knows, is the most exciting place in a zoo. No, it’s restaurants we need back. And quick.

Although I have always enjoyed restaurants, it has taken coronavirus to make me realise quite how much I love them. Restaurants are one of life’s great pleasures for so many reasons, possibly the least of which is actually the food.

Our household is beginning to suffer severe home-cooking fatigue. Or to be more accurate, I am, since 99 per cent of the cooking is done by me. In usual times, I reckon on producing dinner about four nights a week, while the others will be taken up eating in other people’s homes or going to restaurants. We’re not a TV-dinner-on-a-tray household and always sit down around the table to eat. And I enjoy the process. But this current situation is making demands way beyond my pay grade. My repertoire is exhausted and my enthusiasm for working out a new way with a can of chickpeas is diminishing by the day.

Yes, of course we indulge in the occasional takeaway, but we share the view that they usually deliver more disappointment than satisfaction.

The pizza is lukewarm and the base has gone soggy, the noodles are overly clammy, and the Middle Eastern meze tastes nothing like it does at our local Persian.

How I crave that sense of occasion that eating out brings. The delightful feeling of walking into a warm, bustling spot knowing they will take care of us. Which is what the best restaurants do. And by ‘best’, I mean the