Saturday, February 14, 2026 |
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Valentine's Day always does this funny thing where it makes me both deeply romantic and deeply suspicious. I love the whole idea of it – the wine, the butter, the grand gestures, the sense that we're all briefly agreeing to take love seriously – but I also can't shake the feeling that the calendar has been weaponised. If you're eating out tonight, may your table be spacious, your neighbours quiet and your bill vaguely proportionate. If you're staying in, congratulations: you've accidentally chosen the option that tends to feel most like real intimacy.
Part of the reason restaurants can be such a minefield on 14 February is that dinner isn't just dinner – it's a personality test conducted under low lighting… with knives. Which is why I've been thinking about the dating behaviours that quietly kill attraction. Some are obvious (rudeness to staff is still the one that unites everyone in horror), but others are unnervingly specific: the first-date spaghetti trap, the overconfident fish-filleter, the adult who doesn't understand napkins, and yes, the well-done steak order that sends certain people into an instant spiral. Romance is optimistic; dining is forensic.
All of which feeds neatly into my own stubborn refusal to dine out on Valentine's Day, even as someone who makes a living out of restaurants. It's not snobbery – it's the way the night turns good places faintly uncanny. Set menus of oysters-steak-chocolate appear like clockwork, dining rooms feel either too hushed or too frantic, and you can sense everyone trying to perform "Special Night" rather than simply having one. I'd rather save the meaningful meal out for a random Tuesday and keep tonight for the messier, sweeter rituals at home.
If that's your plan, the French-at-home menu we've pulled together with Sorted Food is basically a cheat code for romance without the surge pricing. It's bistro-style cooking that looks impressive but behaves like weeknight food: chicken and mushroom fricassée, croque madame pasta bake, harissa eggs cocotte with dippy potatoes, fennel-and-sausage cassoulet, pork fillet with pommes purée and a prune-and-apple gravy, plus chicken chasseur with a baguette for mopping up. Minimal waste, minimal washing up – which is, frankly, an aphrodisiac in long-term relationships.
And if you want something you can bake, tear apart and eat with your hands while pretending you're not trying too hard, Ryan Riley's black olive, feta and honey twists are the kind of small pleasure that feels like care. Puff pastry, tapenade, feta, mint, a kiss of honey, plenty of black pepper, served warm with cold lemon-thyme yoghurt for dipping. It's party food energy, but in a way that suits a quiet night in.
For anyone whose Valentine's mood is more "comfort and heat" than "candles and restraint", Dan Toombs – the Curry Guy – has the fix. His advice is wonderfully unsexy and therefore useful: get the base sauce right (that oniony, curry-house stock that everything builds on), stop treating recipes like scripture, and let time do the work. Slow cookers, he argues, aren't just convenient; they make cheap cuts taste glorious, because flavour can't be rushed.
If, on the other hand, you'd like your dinner to be gloriously ridiculous, Big Mamma's world is back in full theatrical swing – all towering lasagne, truffle-slick pasta, pecorino-wheel carbonara and a lemon pie that looks like it arrived from a cartoon. It's maximalism as comfort: reassuringly unfashionable, proudly excessive, and a reminder that not every meal needs to be virtuous to be memorable.
Then there's the question that's been hovering over half the nation's flat whites: if oat milk was never really milk, what exactly are we drinking? The Supreme Court ruling on Oatly's "Post Milk Generation" slogan didn't change what's in the carton, but it did expose how much meaning we load onto food language – "milk" as shorthand for nutrition, familiarity and health halos. The truth, as ever, is messier: oat drinks can be brilliant, but they're also processed by necessity, and they sit in that awkward space where modern wellness meets modern manufacturing.
Finally, Michelin. The awards in Dublin on Monday 9 February felt less like shock-and-awe and more like the guide choosing to hold the line: 20 new one-star restaurants, two new two-star arrivals, no new three-stars, and all the UK's three-star restaurants staying put. The cheering bit was the geography – Sheffield finally landing a first star with JÖRO, Brighton ending a long drought with Mare – proof that the story of brilliant cooking in Britain and Ireland is bigger than the capital, even when Michelin's instincts are conservative.
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The five Valentine's Day dining icks that guarantee no second date |
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From well-done steak orders to cutlery crimes, Hannah Twiggs unpacks the dining behaviours most likely to derail your Valentine's Day date – and quietly ensure there isn't another one
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Ionce sat opposite a man who ordered his steak well done. That was probably the first red flag, though I've been told to be less of a snob. If you like chewy, tasteless beef, you do you, babe. He then looked down at his plate for a beat too long, leaned forward and dribbled on the steak before cutting into it. A long, stringy glob of drool – the kind infants do accidentally. Except this was not an accident.
I was so horrified I didn't say anything. Nor did he, which made it worse. We sat there in silence, him eating, me trying not to gag. I didn't touch much of my own food, partly out of shock and partly because I couldn't unsee it. Years later, he's now coming to my wedding – to a man who understands that saliva is not a condiment, I might add. Growth is possible.
Everyone's got a dating horror story. Everyone's got an ick. You dump them, you marry someone else and you tell the story at dinner parties. But with nearly half of Brits planning to dine out this Valentine's Day, I feel it's my civic duty to warn you that dinner has become the most unforgiving of personality tests. Which raises the question: what are the fastest ways to fail it, and what, exactly, should you avoid if you'd like to be asked out again?
Your order
Spaghetti remains the great first-date folly: too slippery, too Lady and the Tramp, too liable to end up redecorating your chin or your shirt (which I hope you've ironed). Anything that requires wrestling is risky early on – ribs, unwieldy burgers, seafood platters that demand tools, confidence and facial expressions you'd probably rather not debut on a first date.
It can be fun, if that's your thing. But asking about exes or hobbies while cracking crab legs or gnawing meat off the bone with your teeth is not intimacy: it's a test of dexterity and multitasking. Which, on second thought, could be useful later on.
Read the full article here
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Curry Guy Slow Cooker: 50 Simple Curry Favourites is a warm, soulful guide to taking classic curry-house flavours home with minimal fuss. Dan Toombs breaks down 50 slow-cooker recipes that transform humble ingredients into rich, deeply spiced dishes, all with less washing up and more time around the table – think tender meats, creamy dhal and proper comfort food that tastes like your favourite takeaway, only better.
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