That means finding something that suits their under-formed palates and then drinking it for the taste

That means finding something that suits their under-formed palates and then drinking it for the taste. In extreme moderation.The first step in teaching children about sensible drinking is not to let them have sweetened drinks with alcohol in them. These are not natural drinks invented by humanity for its own pleasure, but recipes created by companies selling alcohol to people who wouldn’t drink it otherwise. Thus, while the younger Ehrlichs are encouraged to taste whatever wine their elders happen to be sipping, they are forbidden pre-mixed drinks. I hope to form Rebecca’s view of alcohol before that cynical guy in marketing – you know, the one who drives a BMW and never drinks anything except Dom Perignon – gets his hands on her.Once Rebecca had expressed an interest in fizz, it was one step to Champagne. In her case a half-glass from a clever item on offer at Waitrose: Piper Heidsieck in cool-looking 20cl bottles, sold at £20 for a foursome.

The size is good – around a glass and a half – for people who live on their own and just want a taste. She liked her sips, and recognised the difference between cava and champers.Of course, it’s not all plain sailing. I recently tried her on Lenswood’s wonderful Nepenthe Semillon 2000 (£9.99, Oddbins and elsewhere). She wouldn’t have it, and probably with good reason: some wines really are for grown-ups But there’s time And I’m patient Next stop: a good sweet wine. Who knows – maybe she’ll even start asking questions about wine, and then I’ll get to bore her senseless.While I hope to keep Rebecca (and her sisters) away from manufactured alcoholic crap, I might make an exception for a liqueur called Tuaca Despite the name, it comes not from Brazil but Tuscany. Its importers (responsible for the world’s most irritating website, danesltd.co.uk) claims it dates back to the 16th century Maybe. But Tuaca is good stuff whatever its provenance, brandy flavoured with vanilla and citrus.

It has 35 per cent alcohol, and is delicious in the form of a Tuscan Mule: Tuaca, lime, and ginger ale to dilute. The retail options are limited so ring 01273 674 022 for details (it’s £17.99) But don’t tell Rebecca I might let her try it She has to get through Syrah and Chardonnay first *Drink what you like in moderation And teach your children to do the same. There is no flavour whatsoever Nothing. Not even a bad flavour, an offness, or the presence of something Just an ab-sence, a hollow, where flavour should be. I take another bite of the langoustine in the hope that the flavour has somehow slipped down to the tail Nope

There is no flavour whatsoever Nothing. I had seen the crustacea cabinet on the way to the table, looking like a no-room-at-the-inn aquarium without the water, and knew I just had to have the seafood platter.

But more of that later.Electric Brasserie in west London’s Notting Hill has been a scene since day one, with all sorts of people spilling out on to the pavement next to the Electric Cinema, which has been renovated/restored by the same owners at astronomical cost to look as ugly as it did when it was first built.It’s all a bit new, especially for the staff, who are good-tempered but have been known to be a bit dippy Witness this exchange:”What name?”"Campbell For two.”"I’m sorry?”"Campbell. For two.”I have to point out the name on his clipboard before he says, “Oh, sorry, Campbell.”He then leads me to a table set for six people. “There you go, Mr Heffernan.”Honestly, if critics got as many things wrong as restaurants, we’d be strung up at dawn without any breakfast Luckily, we never do Not ever. So here I am at the Gas Bistro (ha ha), latest handiwork of Nick Jones (Soho House/Babington House) and Peter Simon (founder of the fashion chain Monsoon).The best thing about the place is the menu. I could feast on the words alone, assembled as they are with an almost Conran-like devotion to the brasserie concept.