It’s a peculiar fact that the people who most influence our lives are often those we only fleetingly encounter.
Such was my reaction last week on hearing Joe Allen had died. Not an instantly recognisable name this side of the pond, but a legendary figure to anybody who ever worked in Manhattan. Owner of the famous restaurant on West 46th Street that bore his name, Joe saved my bacon during a J1 college summer a long time ago. Having fruitlessly trawled the familiar Irish pubs in search of a job, a girlfriend suggested I “shoot the moon, give Joe Allen’s a try".