The morning of February 7 was as icy as they come. I hankered for something warm. After some six weeks of soup and salad I had developed a superpower. I could, once a week, consume twice my own bodyweight in a 20 minute sitting. This day was such a time to flex my gastronomical fortitude.

I was in want of a monstrous portion. And where better to find one than the aptly named Green Dragon? I conducted some preliminary research and found the South Street inn had a 4.5 star rating on Trip Advisor, a good sign. I rang ahead before making the short walk from the office.

I entered the Dragon's lair and approached its bar. The atmosphere was relaxed, and the patrons friendly. One man stood against the bar, fingering a selection of cheeses and chutney. He turned to me and said 'She'll be with you in a moment.'

And in a moment she was.

Now your author must apologise for over the course of my lunch I failed to learn whether the bubbly hostess was in fact the boss. So in place of the relevant noun excuse my usage of the third-person pronoun.

I was handed a menu and took my seat at the back of the restaurant. The decor is what I, somebody who knows nothing about decor, would describe as modern rustic. There was bare brick wallpaper, varnished woodwork, and an arrangement of oldy-worldy clocks.

One made an audible, though subtle, ticking sound. On this there is something of an intersection between myself, Captain Hook, and the primitivist ecophilosipher John Zerzan. We all dislike clocks. As Zerzan wrote in Time and its Discontents:

"Time necessarily flows; without its passage there would be no sense of time. Whatever flows, though, flows with respect to time. Time therefore flows with respect to itself, which is meaningless owing to the fact that nothing can flow with respect to itself. No vocabulary is available for the abstract explication of time apart from a vocabulary in which time is already presupposed."

I don't know what that means but I don't like the ticking noise especially.

I ordered the slow roasted beef rib, served with caramelised onion mash, with green beans and a port and red wine gravy. A red J20 kept me company while the food was cooked.

The genius Paul Morphy once said: "The ability to play chess is the sign of a gentleman. The ability to play chess well is the sign of a wasted life."

I took out my phone and played a quick game of online chess at the table to pass the time. My subsequent defeat at the hands of Jonsku500, of Finland, proved nothing but that his was the wasted life.

Before long my food had arrived. The serving was as massive as I'd hoped. A great beef rib sat atop a veritable hill of caramelised onion mash. And the meal was as tasty as it was large.

The beef rib was tender and rich. The meat came off the bone without a struggle. The mash was exceptionally good, with strong caramel notes. The red wine gravy was spot on, and the green beans cooked to perfection.

The enormous ribs were far more of a fight to finish than the Empire State Burger I had taken on the week prior. Like the hero of Jabberwock fame I took my vorpel fork in hand - One two! One two! Clicker clack - and with belly full I went galumphing back.

My beef ribs at South Street's Green Dragon were, without equivocation, the best lunch I have so far enjoyed in Wellington. At around £13 I consider the meal great value for money. You would, from my experience, struggle to find better quality for less - though you could with ease come across much less for far more.

For anyone who fancies a nice hearty lunch, I can't recommend the Green Dragon highly enough.