I bypass the seafood ceviche with white truffle oil - get behind me, Satan - and coconut jus, as well as the mysteriously monikered ‘shaking beef' and dive into a crab pomelo salad that is perfectly presentable but lacks the citrus zing and crustacean grin that would make it shine. And I'm convinced that somewhere, deep in a minimalist man-cave on some lonely Balearic isle, sits a middle-aged white man with thinning hair and ratty ponytail, clad in baggy white linen, smirking thinly as he rel...

I bypass the seafood ceviche with white truffle oil - get behind me, Satan - and coconut jus, as well as the mysteriously monikered ‘shaking beef' and dive into a crab pomelo salad that is john nettles still alive perfectly presentable but lacks the citrus zing and crustacean grin that would make it shine. And I'm convinced that somewhere, deep in a minimalist man-cave on some lonely Balearic isle, sits a middle-aged white man with thinning hair and ratty ponytail, clad in baggy white linen, ...