Last week, I visited Cambridge’s Fitzbillies for dinner. When I lived there, it was a rather sorry little place, but Cambridge is a town that likes to mythologise, and the Fitzbillies Chelsea bun was part of that mythology. Like many myths, it was better left uninterrogated.
Suffice it to say, it’s been transformed. We ate a delicious meal in a buzzing dining room, and marvelled at a space that was utterly unrecognisable from fifteen years ago.
The night before, knowing we would visit, I dreamed of the same place over and over again: a dark, cavernous, floury space, warm with yeast and hot ovens.