Alice Hancock

The first thing you should know about Montenegro is that it is wildly more dramatic than you might imagine. It would be frankly rude not to pull up on its precarious mountain roads and gawp. In summer the Adriatic shines; in autumn the mountains compete with New England for glorious, rich colours. The second thing you should know is that there is a relaxing lack of big-hitting sights. And anything you do want to do won’t take long. Even the most beautiful and Venetian of the tiny Balkan state’s towns take an afternoon at most to peruse, leaving plenty of time for lingering coffee stops and long fish lunches in the family konobas strung along the coast (which, if you were pushing it, you could drive end to end in around three hours).

Many things about Belgium are impenetrably mysterious to the incoming foreigner: the commune system, which language to use, how to politely eat moules. But few are as cryptic as the menu of sauces that accompany Belgian frites. Ketchup, tartare, barbecue and mayonnaise seem fine. But what is Samourai? Andalouse? Mega?  Unlike many great Belgian things that have successfully been exported (Trappist beer, chocolate, Tintin, speculoos biscuits, Audrey Hepburn), frites can only be experienced on home turf. And my, aren’t they so Belgian. First, the friteries or fritkots in Dutch – chip shop kiosks found wedged on to street corners and in city squares – are totally egalitarian and the service is totally grumpy.

What makes a kebab a kebab and why do we like eating things on sticks? That is the important question I have been mulling as we hit the steamy barbecue season. The debate was inspired not by kebabs, in fact, but by yakitori, the typically refined Japanese version of kebabs that essentially involve cooking every body part of a chicken on small skewers, and which also seems to be London’s most recent Japanese love affair following sushi, ramen, udon, and so on.  Yakitori though is really the extreme of food on stick eating. Take the menu of Junsei in Marylebone (excellent, by the way), which breaks the chicken down into ten elements ranging from gizzard to wings and cooks them to dripping succulence on half size kebab sticks.

Why was it that when lockdown haunted our doors we all rushed out to buy pasta? Dry wheat in a bag in a funny shape. Cheap, yes, and ridiculously easy to cook. And, if the supermarket cheddar didn’t run out, very good with cheese. But still, pasta. Shouldn’t we have thought of something more inventive? Yet a spate of restaurants popping up round London with new enthusiasm now that we’re out and about again suggests that the Italian carb is enjoying a gourmet renaissance. Stevie Parle, founder of the fresh pasta restaurant Pastaio, speaks of pasta-making as an 'obsession'. The satisfaction of 'extruding pasta through bronze dies' and 'slow cooking delicious ragu' that he refers to when we speak sounds practically religious.

It seemed a bit rough – and very American – when in 2006 That 70s show actor Wilmer Valderrama described (then) teen girlfriend Mandy Moore’s efforts in bed as good but not 'like warm apple pie'. Yet on an austere January evening on the other side of the Atlantic, I do wonder if nothing can really beat the comforts of a truly excellent pie. The anticipation of pushing a fork through the pastry. An oozing middle revealed. The steaming aromas that furl out. And that’s even before the embrace of the first mouthful, succulent savoury or sweet. As Margot Henderson, co-proprietor of Rochelle Canteen, one of London’s finest pie-making establishments, says: eating a pie is 'a little like unwrapping a present' and gosh in January there is a dearth of presents.

Contrary to the title of this article, do not spend 48 hours in Rome on your first attempt. Unless you have legs of steel, high levels of determination and a desire for non-stop sightseeing. The two pivots about which the city’s history turns – the Vatican and the Roman Forum – are best taken a day each and visited early, fuelled by €1 coffees and sweet, crumbly pasticcini off sticky local bar counters: 48 hours, done. But to focus on these titanic monuments of European history alone is to miss the real chatter of the city: couples meeting for Monday drinks by the Ponte Sisto, watching the sun go down on the Tiber from the Isola Tiberina, lingering under the vaults of (some) of Rome’s more than 900 churches.

A funny thing happened in lockdown. Bars shut but they seeded a growing crop of bottle shops that, since freedom has been declared have either turned back into, or become, bars in their own right. And now that we can, there is pure pleasure in twisting bottles around in the light, mulling labels and wine lists first hand instead of squinting at them online. There is also a comforting intimacy to wine bars that sits at odds with the clatter of a pub: an air of sophistication, even if you have no idea what the sommelier is talking about.

The great British summer is upon us. And, since few of us are venturing abroad, now might be the time to enjoy this season’s round of 'makeaway' boxes and bring something special to those long overdue barbecues. Upgrading the supermarket burger and sausage shop to fancy charcoal-griddled kebab part prepared by a catering professional has never been easier thanks to the array of cook at home boxes emerging from shuttered restaurants during lockdowns. Plus, it’s a mighty easy way to impress pals not seen for many months. All you need is the requisite Pimms, enough firelighters and a few sun dances.

The reopening of pubs is not only good for those of us that have been gasping for a pint. It’s also great news for Marmite. Supermarkets were running low on the sticky brown condiment last month because of yeast shortages while breweries lowered production during the pandemic. During the first national lockdown last year, Marmite had to suspend production altogether. My local supermarket shelf was still suspiciously empty in early May. Oddly, however, the shelf below was packed with a new Marmite upstart: Dynamite Chilli Marmite. No longer is Marmite only a slightly niche savoury spread your granny layered on toast. Or what Nigella puts on spaghetti. Oh no. Today you can buy Marmite hummus and Marmite cream cheese.

Have you been watching Shtisel during lockdown? Or maybe you are just one of the hundreds (thousands?) of us eyeing vaccination rates and realising the obvious candidate for this year’s summer holiday green list: Israel. Land of mountains, sea, multiple religions, ancient and knotty history, and copious amounts of houmous. Whether the 8,550 square mile country, just a fifth of the width of England and its widest point, can fit us all is another matter but if you are searching for more or less any type of holiday, it’s likely that Israel can provide. Historic city break The Western Wall, Jerusalem (iStock) No prizes for guessing Israel’s most storied city. Legends, tales and parables seem to hum from Jerusalem’s old town walls.

Brixton offers one of London’s most exciting and eclectic food scenes. The main hub of restaurants is to be found in Brixton Village and Market Row, but there are plenty of other great places to try further afield. Here’s a guide to the best of them… In the Village Mamalan (Getty) Salon Brixton If Salon was my local restaurant, I’d be broke. Not because it’s wildly expensive (in fact it’s very good value) but because it demands repeat visits. There’s one menu – offering either four or seven courses – and it changes monthly, with weekly tweaks. When I visited in spring, octopus with monk’s beard and rhubarb sorbet were the order of the day (plus house nduja croquettes).

Islington sprawls. Strung out along Upper Street and the many streets off it, it boasts the best variety of restaurants outside Zone 1 (I am happy to be challenged on this). To secure a table at a decent Upper Street eatery on a Friday night, will require booking ahead or a willingness to queue. Things can get pretty rowdy as the evening progresses, so for a less frenetic experience head towards Clerkenwell or adventure into the side streets around Canonbury.