The search for a great English meal...

The food in London so far has been, frankly, better than I expected.

We have eaten well most days so far, admittedly while also spending quite a bit of money. Most of what we've eaten is on a par with what we might expect at good restaurants back home: fresh, simple food, well prepared.

Probably this is because we (well, I) have been to two of the branches of the Carluccio empire. When Sandy was in Paris I decided to make a food pilgrimage to the Neal Street Restaurant, which I believe was Antonio Carluccio's first restaurant in London. For £20 I chose two courses from a set menu. First there was a lovely salad of fresh asparagus, quail's eggs, prosciutto and greens in a tangy dressing. Next was a rabbit stew in a tangy sauce of tomatoes, capers and green olives, with creamy mash. I am not an expert in the cooking of rabbit, but I have to say parts of my bunny were either over or under-cooked; a little stringy, anyway. Other parts were very tender though. The waiter suggested a side order of green beans; these turned into courgettes when they arrived, but they were delicious and garlicky so I just went with it. An Italian rose went very nicely with everything, and I was a happy girl as I watched the dance that is a really well-organised restaurant going on around me.

Neal Street seemed to me to be a Prego-ish sort of place. It was relatively formal, but relaxed, and the staff were friendly and welcoming. I felt comfortable lunching alone and observing my fellow patrons, who were really varied in age and attitude. We had a WAG-in-training with a tanned muffin top spilling over her jeans. A couple of Aussie chicks seemed to be entertaining company for three English blokes; they spent a long time debating what a chicken Kiev should consist of. The staff seemed to all be Italian. I watched them gracefully manoeuvre plates out of a huge dumb-waiter which sent the food upstairs from the kitchen. I asked my waiter what was in the large copper pans I saw being ferried to other tables; papardelle with mushrooms and sausage. "You must try, next time you come", he said in his cute Italian accent. "It is very good". "I will", I said, and I do believe I will, next time I go there.

After lunch my plan was to visit the National Portrait Gallery; I am keen to gaze at the Tudor monarchs since this is a period of British history I find fascinating. But after two glasses of Rose I lost the urge, strangely enough, and preferred to wander Neal St in the sunshine.

A similar feeling of wellbeing was inspired by another Carluccio's cafe, in Castle street. This was more casual and cheaper than Neal Street, but had a similar friendly, buzzy feeling. Sandy loved the atmosphere and so did I; we felt pretty smug when a queue (again!) formed at the door about half way through our lunch. Once again we had good restaurant karma by arriving just before the main lunch rush.

I ate a perfect bowl of spaghetti alla vongole. The clams were tiny and bursting with flavour; the pasta was garlicky and studded with loads of fresh parsley and mild chillies. Sandy had a good piece of grilled tuna in a buttery sauce with "courgette jam". We shared a bottle of Rose and watched the hungry people in the queue eyeing us.

On either side of us were mother and daughter combos. On our left the conversation seemed to be about an upcoming trip or possibly a wedding. Their accents were posh. On the other side, bizzarrely, both mother and daughter read while they ate their meals. As soon as their plates arrived, the mother pulled out the Daily Mail, the daughter a TV magazine. I couldn't get over this. It would be rude at home to do that during a meal, except maybe at breakfast time. At lunch in a nice restaurant it seemed really strange. The daughter had very round, poppy eyes and when I smiled at her she opened them even wider. Maybe too much TV watching.

Downstairs from our hotel is a Pret a Manger, or "Pret" as they are popularly known. This is a really good chain of places that sells sandwiches, salads and coffee; basic cafe fare really. It's a huge success in the UK, and I can see why really, since the cafes we are familiar with in NZ don't seem to exist in great numbers. We've eaten very nice, fresh sammies and pastries, and had really decent coffee at Pret. This was great to discover as I had heard the coffee situation here was dire.

For dinner with my cousin Ana and her boyfriend James, I found an Italian restaurant called Arturo near our hotel. We walked to check it out early in the day, and in what I took to be an excellent and serendipitous sign, it was right opposite the Jimmy Choo boutique! And I wasn't even looking for that! (Jimmy was open by appointment only. I had to be happy gazing through the window). The food was basic Italian; not bad, not great. the design of the restaurant was cool though. Modern, clean, stylish. Quite Kiwi really.