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Chiltern Firehouse, London restaurant review | Marina O'Loughlin

'Nobody's here for the food. Colonel Sanders could be doing the catering and still they'd come'

The place seems to be almost permanently accessorised by Kate Moss. Outside, paparazzi loll and glower, ready to pounce on the luminaries who swarm like candle-crazed moths to this former fire station in Marylebone. Which of its fans are we going to be hobnobbing with tonight? Keira? LiLo? Bill Clinton? The snappers look at us, then look away again, dead-eyed, bored. We're nobodies.

I don't think the Daily Mail has ever been so overexcited about a restaurant opening. Rarely a day goes by without somebody papped at Chiltern Firehouse's imposing black gates because, of course, this is where we are for the Sidebar of Shame. The day I go, the restaurant rejects a booking request with the immortal line, "There is a reservation lockdown till September." Translation: don't dream of plonking your civilian behind on one of our banquettes any time soon.

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