David Ellis reviews Don’t Tell Dad

But the heat of busyness is not the same as the heat of brilliance; not everyone can perform in the glare of a spotlight. Don’t Tell Dad is a bakery by day and a restaurant by night. Quite a good-looking restaurant: a murmuring open kitchen, marble table tops, plates and cups with bistro-ish red rims. Candles, their light rippling softly across zellige tiles. On the menu is a gag about smoked trout, a cartoon of a fish with a cigarette (good for fishy, vapes are naff). But the cocktail glasses look like Gü pots on stilts, the seats are too low, and banquettes unattractively upholstered in forest corduroy. Here’s a tip: if you’re marketing somewhere as a mischievous den “where anything goes” — and they do — don’t dress it up as an ageing history professor.