A quiet evening meal…

I’d just had a slurp of the finest Chateau Boef de Fwarp rosé wine – 1995 – as advised by the maître d’, a vintage year he kept gushing. Delicious tangy fruitiness with just a sharp kick at the point of swallowing. Not at all bad for £8.99 a bottle. We’d ordered three just to be on the safe side. There was only two of us eating, but we thought it would be a good idea just in case the food didn’t live up to its reputation. You know what these ‘fancy’ restaurants in hotels can be like.

My companion for the evening was already on their second glass. They couldn’t be dreading their meal this much could they? But wait, what if it’s the company? What if my reputation had proceeded me? I had another slurp of this tasty wine, and poured myself a second glass too. I  also gestured to the waiter for another bottle, just in case…

Luckily, the waiter was heading to our table anyway, with a couple of menus. I smiled at my companion, who smiled back, but hastily looked at the menu.

On the table behind us, the group of sixteen ‘hens’ were already giddy. Shrieks and L plates, plastic body parts and other items were being emitted at regular intervals. A plastic body part narrowly missed my glass as it had been catapulted by one of the guests. I don’t think that she had intended it to reach our table, but the lady who threw it had gotten herself a little over-excited. One of her friends came and retrieved it. It wouldn’t have been correct for me to hand it back to them saying ‘Is this your body part?’, would it?

We ordered the soup for starters. You can’t go wrong with soup. Generally.

Twenty minutes and two bottles of wine later, we were still waiting for the soup. Was it tomato? I couldn’t remember, but I was sure it was tomato.

We’d finished the soup by the time that I remembered that I thought it should have been tomato… it was celery. I have no idea why I ordered celery soup (or why I thought it was tomato for that matter) as I don’t like celery soup; although I enjoyed that one. Mind you, I would have probably enjoyed anything, I was that hungry.

More shrieks from the table behind us welcomed another large party into the restaurant. A birthday party. A twenty first birthday party. The hen party spontaneously burst into song with their jazzed up version of ‘Happy birthday’ to the birthday boy, who blushed immediately. His party joined in, and before long, the maître d’ had made everybody stand up and sing happy birthday to him. It sounded awful, but I must admit, it was good fun too! I’ve not sung like that for a few years!

For the main course, I’d decided to play it safe. A simple roast chicken dinner, with roast potatoes, baby button brussels sprouts, carrots, other seasonal vegetables, and a dribble of gravy. It was a dribble too… and the chicken was dry. Tasty, though, but luckily the wine was there when the dryness got too much. I remember thinking that they must have bought that wine in in a job lot; everyone was on it. My companion had ordered a sizzling lamb platter with spicy vegetables. I wished that I’d ordered that, I always think everybody else’s  food looks so much better than mine. The downside to this sizzling platter was all the smoke that had come from the hotplate it was served on. Lots of eyes were streaming in the restaurant, it was a little ‘too’ on the spicy side. At least the coughs stifled the shrieks for a short while. My decision to play it safe didn’t go exactly to plan though. Unfortunately, my aim was slightly off with one of the brussels sprouts, and as I went to cut into it with my knife, it sprang forth off my plate, ricocheted of the pillar that was just beside our table, and flew swiftly over my head and onto the hen party’s table behind. To a chorus of shrieks once more. Well, revenge is sweet, but I never thought it would take the shape of a sprout.

And, on to the sweet… I’d ordered rhubarb crumble with custard for dessert. I’d not had that for several years, and it leaped off the menu when I saw it. The menu described it as ‘freshly picked rhubarb, served covered with delicate golden crumble, and lashings of traditional custard on the side’. When it arrived, it was three pieces of slices of rhubarb and a spoonful of what looked like crumbled digestive biscuit, and a tiny jug of lumpy custard. It tasted pretty nice though, although I could have done with more. I had a vision at one point of me asking for some more like that character in that Oliver Twist story, although I wasn’t really that hungry at that point…

I’d had enough of the shrieks though, and my companion and I decided it was the best time to ask for the bill. Just as we tried to get the waiter’s attention, the room was plunged into semi-darkness, and a waitress walked through and around the room with a lit birthday cake. We all had to sing ‘Happy birthday’ again. I noticed one of the girls on the table behind slip something onto the cake as the waitress walked by, although I couldn’t see what it was, and four of the girls erupted in laughter again.

We managed to leave safely after paying, with the final bottle of wine intact.

Not the quiet evening meal we had planned…