TOOTS was champing at the bit to get out.

She had had enough of the snow storms and was eager to get out to see her public.

"Darling I haven't been out in days, people will have forgotten me," piped up her ladyship.

This gal could give the dowager from Downton Abbey a run for her money on the society circuit.

Not to be outdone by her pals, she had been dropping hints all week about trying the latest on trend place.

Porter and Rye had just opened on Arygle Street in Finnieston and the word had already spread that it was the place to be.

A quick call to one of my contacts and we were in.

Getting a table on a Saturday night at this joint was no mean feat, but anything for the Moll.

The Buick was off the road, so we rolled up in a taxi. The driver couldn't have got us any closer and Toots didn't even get her Manolo Blahniks wet.

We huddled in the doorway while we waited for our table to be ready.

A warm welcome from the host went down well and we could see the poor guy was rushed off his feet.

There was not a seat to be seen, but we were soon ushered up to a rather cosy booth on the mezzanine level.

I sat down and almost slid under the table. The seats certainly took a bit of getting used to.

Our server Greg explained the deal us.

Porter and Rye was the latest place to go for the small plates phenomenon. We could either have a selection of small plates or a main meal.

He left us for a while to master the art of ordering at this joint and I had a quick scran scan.

For the Moll it could not have worked better. She can never make her mind up and this way she didn't have to.

Going for the small plates, she opted or scallops, venison and beef carpaccio, while I stuck with an old friend and went for a sirloin steak well done.

Our orders soon in, we sat back and took in the atmosphere. There was no doubt this was the place to be - it seemed half of Glasgow had heard about it and had all turned up on the one night.

Greg approached us with a pretty lethal looking set of knives. I began to panic a bit until he explained they give the diners a choice of blade. I went for the Bowie knife replica - it would handle my steak pretty well.

A stylish selection of plates was making their way towards us. One after the other they were plonked in front of Toots who couldn't wait to tuck in. I had to hold her back until the cloche was lifted from the carpaccio to release smoke to flavour the beef.

My steak looked divine and the specially selected knife came in handy.

Toots looked to be in seventh heaven.

She demolished the delicate beef, and savoured every mouthful of the venison haunch with blackberry sauce. She saved the best to last and declared the king scallops on beetroot pickle a triumph.

My steak hit the spot. Even though I do like mine a little on the well done side, it was still tasty. My side of fries was an excellent accompaniment.

I really didn't see how we were going top that and dessert would not have done it justice.

So we passed on that after what I can only described as an elegant sufficiency.

The bill was that part of the evening which could reduce me to tears.

I couldn't put it off any longer and when it came in at around £60 - I had to admit it was well worth it.

Porter and Rye might be surrounded by competition, but judging from our first visit they are already leading the way.