Musée d’Orsay

I’ve been meaning to go for ages, I mercifully missed the crowds, and it didn’t disappoint.

A beautiful building with some stop-you-in-your-tracks stuff that wakes you up and slows you down.

Bouillon Chartier, 7 rue Faubourg Montmartre

Effortless fine dining in Paris is one of the Great French Myths. It’s up there with ubiquitous stripy jumpers, berets and the romantic notion that Provence is Paradise.

In truth, packed McDonalds and heaving Starbucks are easier to come by than truly decent places to eat in the capital.

But when it’s good, it’s bloody brilliant.

At Chartier, they don’t care if you’re a tourist, a local, eating alone or in a group of 10, rich or poor, friendly or terse, articulate or completely gibbering insane. I went on a recommendation, as I hope you will, and I was eating alone. Despite the many empty tables (it was getting on 3pm), they sat me opposite another guy also on his own. Not to everyone’s taste perhaps, not really to my taste, but here it just seemed like the right thing to do.

Now the place itself is marvellous. It opened as a workers’ canteen in 1896 and shows no sign of really changing. The entrance is just off the busy rue faubourg montmartre in a little courtyard. The food is brasserie basic and pretty unremarkable but a half-bottle of decent house red at 2 euros 60 actually made me laugh out loud.

It may have become a sort-of tourist trap but the waiters, most of whom must have been there since it opened, don’t seem to have noticed. It wouldn’t want to change for the world, and the day it’s a Starbucks is a black day for us all.

Churchill Chutney

This was a bit of a George’s Marvellous Medicine. In fact, if I wasn’t so damn humble, I’d call it Nathaniel’s Marvellous Chutney. So treat it like that, and if you notice something on the shelf that you think might be nice, whack it in. Just don’t go too mental, and keep the base the same.

The apples are picked from a Cambridge orchard across the road from my girlfriend’s house, but if you haven’t got the time to drive out there, bramleys or other crisp varieties will do just fine.

Roughly chop four or five onions then peel and chop your apples – about 10 for 4 or 5 jam jars’ worth. Put them in a big pan with a knob of butter, half a pint of vinegar, two cups of brown sugar, a couple of glugs of pineapple juice and cider (I used Scrumpy Jack from the offy at the end of the road, but if you have something posher, hark at you) and a pack of stoned, roughly chopped dates – maybe a few raisins. Spicewise, some cinnamon, ground coriander and allspice, but again you might want to perfect your own blend.

Keep it simmering for 2 to three hours, stirring to stop it sticking to the bottom of the pan. It’ll turn dark as it makes the house smell beautiful, and you know it’s ready when you run a spoon across the bottom of the pan and the liquid doesn’t immediately fill the tracks.

Fill up some sterilised jam jars and mature ‘til Christmas.