It's been a while since I blogged about Manchester. Too long! My apologies, for I have been on my holidays and, thus, have neglected my duties as a promoter of Mancunian food. Not to worry, for as soon as I finish this ditty about Brighton, I shall return to my home town, continuing my ventures in all things culinary.
Brighton is a god awful place for somebody who drives a car. As everybody drives a car, one can jump quite easily to the conclusion that Brighton is a god awful place. But stop! That's a bit unfair. Many good and wonderful people tell me Brighton is their favourite place in the world. The world! Better than Paris? Better than Berlin? Better than Chorlton? Indeed. With its beach, its cute alleyways, its endless supply of jewelry shops, its kooky vegetarian shoe shops, its sex shops (where one can buy the most graphic lampshades), its comedy clubs and night clubs, what more could you desire? A good restaurant? That would be my response; and fortunately, Brighton can deliver.