Dining out posh is a glorious treat, like a scene from Gatsby – until the bored and privileged shatter the illusion

When I grew up in the 1970s, we never ate out at restaurants. But now that global cuisine is available everywhere, has eating out lost its magic?

Roll with it: everyone is chasing the lobster bap nowadays (Getty)

When I was young and living at home in the 1970s, we very rarely went out to eat. After all, what was the point in restaurants? My mum was a really good cook and having spent time abroad as an army wife she was as capable of rustling up virtually any cuisine.

We lived in the north of England, where occasionally my grandfather would treat his Fylde coast dynasty to lunch. This would mean dressing up properly in our best clothes and sitting nicely while eating a three-course meal, which for a greedy girl like me was utter heaven. I’d go for the prawn cocktail, followed by the gammon with pineapple and a garnish of parsley with half a tomato cut into a zig-zag shape.

Pudding would be some kind of gateaux or sherry trifle (never as good as my Aunty Aileen’s) and then we’d all go home, groaning that we were so full we were “never going to eat again”. Because saying that was part of the ritual too.