I’ve been to some really lovely restaurants lately and have been raving accordingly… to the extent that I might seem perennially positive about all eateries. Not so, dear friends. I’ve just been lucky but luck always runs out. And yesterday it did.
I used to work for a publication that never printed a bad review. If they didn’t like you they simply didn’t mention you. I’m of the same mindset. Mostly. Because life is short and there’s so much good out there, why focus on the bad? Or even the less impressive? Today I’m making an exception, yet will refrain from naming the establishment. Suffice to say that I’ve been meaning to go there for some months. And expectation is a frigid mistress.
The menu seemed enticing enough… colourful, unusual combinations and we so wanted to have a great lunch that we were a bit slow on ordering our mains. But we were absolutely starving so ordered two starters immediately. This isn’t really about the food, though. It’s about the waiter…
Handsome, cool, relaxed, slack, absent, overly familiar… Dude, what were you sinking? Just because we’re not in our sixties and from Frankfurt doesn’t mean we don’t need service. I do mind getting up to order water for the second time, getting my own salt, pepper, olive oil, vinegar, wine. And when I ask you to PLEASE bring us some bread because I’m STARVING while I can see the neighbours tucking into their bread baskets, I don’t want to hear ‘I’ll bring it with your starter’. That’s too late. Why you holding back on the bread mister? At one stage my friend made a frightening ‘Waar’s die f*****n brood’ face. Pity I didn’t capture it on camera. I would have posted it right here. All gnarly lips and squint-eyed…
The food was fine. Somehow lacking in oomph and passion but FINE. Not on par with Bar Bar Black Sheep (scroll down for review) or DW Eleven-13 (further down), two vastly different establishments but each super enjoyable for what they are. Maybe I was disappointed because of the proximity to the oh-so-sublime Rust en Vrede restaurant, the roof of which I could have hit if I’d tossed my pepper grinder with enough disgruntled chutzpah… I took photos of the food but won’t post them because, like my waiter, I just couldn’t be bothered. And don’t invite me back because, like Brad, I never go back. Deal with it Jennifer.
This estate’s wine is fantastic and I was so looking forward to tasting the award-winning blend, but with all the legwork between table and service station I just wasn’t in the mood. Too bad. In this valley, there’s always more. The tourists can have this one.
Praat maar...
(No, it’s not Overture! I can’t throw a pepper grinder THAT far and although I’ve never been to Overture, I’d very much like to go as I’ve always heard great things… so, keep guessing… or look at a map)
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