Córdoba is the first port of call in Andalucía. It's famous for what would have been the world's largest mosque (the Christians buggered that up), and for a smooth gazpacho. It is absolutely crawling with tourists. A pleasant place to visit and, perhaps, to eat.

Strange. I'm dining fine in Australia, yet the menu isn't French, Italian or Mod-Oz. Some of the staff and chefs speak a cuisine-appropriate language, but are most likely home-grown. The cuisine is usually regarded as meat-heavy and conservative. George Calombaris's very modern food successfully marries cutting edge with Hellenic tradition at The Press Club. It's hard to imagine you could leave this restaurant without a serious dose of gustatory satisfaction.

An inconspicuous old redbrick building in the Berkshire village of Bray bears a sign of a webbed foot, a feather and a duck's bill, all with cutlery handles. This is The Fat Duck, Heston Blumenthal's restaurant, closely associated with the molecular gastronomy movement. Join me for a description of the four-hour lunch you might experience. You'll need an open mind, a tolerance of theatre, and a good credit limit.

What do you do when you find dinner too enjoyable? How is an irritable, jinxed diner like me to cope with a meal which delivers no disappointments and offers barely a scrap to quibble about? I felt embarrassed at how effusive I was. I sat through the meal thinking of all the people I needed to tell. I was dining at one of Melbourne's most avant garde restaurants, Interlude.