 Red with meat, white with fish. But which wine is the perfect accompaniment for huge, ravening, ferocious, multi-fanged dinosaur? Before you write in, I know that, technically at least, crocodiles are not dinosaurs. But just look at them, for heaven's sake. Jurassic Park relics too lazy to get up and walk on their hind legs like any self-respecting prehistoric monster. And anyway, these brutes have been around since before T Rex was a twinkle in Marc Bolan's eye. Now I know that revenge is not generally a good basis for dining out, but I have watched David Attenborough. Squadrons of doe eyed baby zebra and wildebeests queueing up to take a dip, only to be serially whacked by a grinning hit squad. And come to that, why do they have to look so hugely pleased with themselves? If I made a living from slaughtering cuddly baby animals I would at least have the decency to wipe the grin off my face. Why this sudden interest in matters reptilian? It all started at a family function a couple of weeks ago when my brother approached me with one of those all-too-smug looks on his face. 'You like your food,' he said. 'Guess what I was eating last night.' Let's see. Wombat? Dodo? Wookie? Were-wolf ? You've guessed the answer. Turned out he was entertaining clients from his Ellesmere Port-based business and he had taken them just round the corner to Jabula. Now I'd never heard of this place - wrong side of Chester for me - but an African restaurant I had to see. So it was that, on arguably the foulest night of the year, we found ourselves aquaplaning down the M56 through a curtain of spray kindly supplied by those knights of the road in their HGVs. | 
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