December is a time for traditions and one of the best traditions in the Robsribs household is the Annual Christmas Weekend away. Two days filled with London, musical theatre and a whole lot of food. This year, whilst Mrs P, The Child and I were enjoying our most festive of yearly treats, Mrs P turned to me and said ‘So where have you booked for dinner?’ I replied nonchalantly and with total confidence; ‘Booked? I don’t need to book, there will be loads of places open on a Saturday night. Besides, restaurants in Soho don’t accept bookings anyway. Everyone knows that.’
Fast forward 6 hours and there we stood in the dark, rainy, miserable London streets, 16 failed restaurants later having walked half a mile and yet still only ending up 20 yards from where we had first started hurling silent curses at each other. The more discerning of our readers will know from their own personal relationship experiences that this type of ‘adventure’ (let’s call it that for The Child’s sake if nothing else) very rarely ends with anything other than an inappropriately priced, overcooked steak or burger from a money swallowing, faceless chain of corporate construction. And it was with this inevitable conclusion looming large in our minds that we found Le Bab.
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