No one can be expected to know everything. Still, you’d think a critic might be sure how to pronounce the name of the restaurant they were reviewing. “I’m off to Da-keese,” I announced chipperly to a colleague. “Da-kwies?” they replied. “The Polski place?” Uncertainly, I nodded. “Oh, I love Dar-kwiz,” chimed another. The name — take your pick, or cycle through them hazily, as I’ve taken to doing — is a synthesis of sorts, original owner and certified old softie Mr Dakowski having melded his name with that of his wife Louise. Not natural bedfellows those words, it has to be said. And why order them that way? Loukowski would have been an elocutionary cinch. Bloody patriarchy.
David Ellis on Daquise: the culinary equivalent of having one’s hair stroked
