It is with intrepid hesitation that I arrive at today’s restaurant choice, its conveniently located for a spot of after theatre dining, so I visit on a Tuesday evening.The clientele are a casual bunch, stylishly pale and mysteriously sombre. I should hazard a guess that most punters arrive ravenous and leave feeling pretty much the same. One gets the sense that eating in an establishment such as this, is an experience closer associated with survival than pleasure but the seating is comfortable and comes with fully adjustable back supports and partition curtains for those craving that extra degree of intimacy. The decor is intimidating- a courageous blend of utilitarian and clinical influences, stark and modern with a post apocalyptic 80s twist.
The service is slow but efficient, I wait a total of 12 hours for my main course, by which time I have totally forgotten what I’d ordered. Sausages and broccoli apparently. One suspects that the sausages had indeed been cooking since then. The broccoli arrived moist, tender and distraught. No sorry, it was me that was distraught. The Broccoli was just moist and tender. Dogs noses should be moist, lovers should be tender, broccoli however, should be neither.
I am disappointed to find myself seated next to the loo, a real pet peeve of mine whilst dining. But given the fact that it was strapped to my waist and threaded into one of my orifices, I wonder if its unfair to point the finger, so I remain silent. Will I be coming back? Probably, I can’t move.