I only ever seem to come to littlefrench in December, and while I’m sure it must be equally good in other seasons, why mess with a good thing? And what a good thing it is. The olives, marinated in anchovies and other secret ingredients, are my favourite in Bristol, practically melting in the mouth upon touching the tongue. An oyster just for me (the pros and cons of Raph broadly following a kosher diet), straight down the hatch and a rush of flavour as it goes. We get to share, though, the truffle and comté croquettes, a density of richness to rival a black hole. All this before our actual starters! A twice-baked cheese soufflé for me, drowning in its own cheesy juices, an absolute treat. Generous slices of duck breast on a bed of bread sauce made with a base of bone marrow, enriched by an armagnac jus and lightened by cabbage and kale is a very handsome main indeed, topped off by the piece de resistance, the aligot, Raph forced to endure my videoing of him raising the spoon to watch the cheesy elasticity of it in action. Dessert is - what else - a chocolate mousse, the second best in Bristol. What a warming winter treat.