Pre-theatre dining at its most convenient. Something for Alasdair, something for Mum, you know what you’re getting, job’s a good ‘un. An American Classic on a Romana base for me, please, and throw in some garlic butter for good measure. I have some of Alasdair’s doughballs, eschewing his vegan garlic butter for my own. Considerate of the timing, I do not get a dessert, which does unfortunately mean we are thrust into London on a Saturday night just after Christmas with vague notions of killing time walking round Covent Garden and Piccadilly Circus, which is obviously a nightmare. Maybe the chocolate fudge cake, next time.