Restaurant review, The Blacksmith & The Toffeemaker, St John Street, London.

Anyone who has ever worked a shift anywhere knows the interminable agony of the Final Hour. You've been in since 9am, but these, the final 60 minutes, have a habit of dragging out. Much of that hour is spent plotting the conviviality to follow: a glass of Sancerre, a fag in the sunshine, an online catch-up with The Apprentice, perhaps. What you want least of all is some corpulent goon calling up 20 minutes before home time and asking if he can delay your exit. Today, that goon is me.

My girlfriend and I fancied an early dinner. We have been meaning to go to The Blacksmith & the Toffeemaker for some time, noting its attractive façade, intriguing name, and prime location. So I rang up at 5.40pm and was told that on this day the kitchen would be shutting at 6pm. Fine, I said, we'll come immediately: we want an early night.

I wish we hadn't. The place is empty, save for a small bunch of families on a long table. The chef comes down to enquire as to whether the final order has been made, and is reminded of this late-arriving couple, who happen to be staring at him in the hope that he'll say that he's got some burgers left.

Read more at http://www.independent.co.uk