Not every restaurant I go to has been intentional. I grant you that’s the case most of the time. Sometimes, though, you start going for a run and then your ankle starts playing up and you think that, actually, the sensible thing to do is to stop running, so as not to damage your ankle any further, and instead go and eat some food instead. I’m not hungover from the gig the night before, just very tired, and that triggers similar instincts in me that what I really want in this moment is Eat A Pitta. The best falafel you can find in Bristol. I have my usual order - 6 pieces, some hummus, some grilled halloumi - and as I’m eating in at the Clifton spot rather than the stall at St Nick’s, I have a The Yellow One to drink. This all very much hits the spot, especially in contrast to the above St Nick’s experience of it travelling the 10 minute walk home before being enjoyed. The halloumi is delicious, because it’s impossible for it not to be. The tahini sauce enhances the hummus and falafel nicely, and ultimately, I’m just glad to be eating something fried. Is that so wrong?