Anyone who came here looking for a Cinderella story will be disappointed: The lead character in this Covent Garden tale is less an Eliza Doolittle than a Danny Didmuch. His fall from grace is revealed on a cold and rainy Thursday in December, when the former food critic of a major daily newspaper and the author of seven books is spotted peddling potato pancakes to posh patrons dashing to the Royal Opera House for a performance of Tchaikovsky’s The Tsarina’s Slippers. The London latke lad cannot get too worked up about the ballet shoes of a Russian princess when his immediate needs are Neoprine wellies and an Astro-Thermo underwear suit.

When news of Didmuch’s predicament reaches as far as the California coast the response is swift and sympathetic. The food editor of a major metropolitan daily sends him an urgent email:

Dude, if it’s come to that, you really need to write for us more often. We’ll keep you off the street.

The story should conclude with that happy Hollywood holiday ending, except that the frozen-toed Didmuch gets great satisfaction serving his crisp, golden, King Edward potato pancakes to the cosmopolitan throng passing through Covent Garden piazza. The chance to feed London lunchers as well visitors from some 15 countries brings out his inner Jewish mother. The Japanese tourists in particular are wild about his latkes. Several come back for seconds, knowingly spooning dabs of sour cream or applesauce atop their pancakes like the old hands they observe doing the same. He cannot bear the thought of disappointing anyone who might return from noon-8pm on Thursday 10th December or Friday 11th December – the first night of Hanukkah no less – and not find their beloved latkes. (Latkes are cooked in oil and customarily eaten at Hanukkah to commemorate the miracle of the oil, when one night’s worth of sacred oil burned for eight nights.)

For his penultimate and grande finale performances outside of and downwind from the Royal Opera House Didmuch (aka youngandfoodish, né Daniel Young) is to offer the option of a deluxe Covent Garden latke topped with sour cream and crowned with pearls of salmon roe. He may not care much about the Tsarina’s slippers, but he does fancy her daddy’s red caviar. He invites you to join him on Friday at 4pm for a Hanukkah candle-lighting and lots of latkes for all to eat.

Mmmm, Mmmm, wouldn’t it be loverly?