Valentine's meal

“Excuse me”, said the guy at the next table, as the elderly waitress rushed past, “Could I have some salt?” The waitress paused long enough to say, “You’ll have to ask the lady looking after your table.”, before brushing through the swing doors to the kitchen, situated just next to his table. The reaction was one of consternation, not just at his table, but also at other tables within earshot. This insignificant exchange summed up our Valentine’s dinner.
Disappointed with the quality of restaurants in our town, we still venture out from time to time, with hope in our hearts, to try a new venue. So, I had booked a table at a hotel we had passed a few times. By coincidence it was the 14 of February. On the telephone, I had been told there was a special Valentine’s menu. The hotel from the outside looks old, with its large sash windows and turn of the century architecture, but it had recently undergone a renovation, so we were keen to give it a try.
Our arrival was not auspicious, we missed the button by the front door which had to be pressed to gain entry. A guest opened the door from the inside, when he spotted us struggling. The reception area was empty, so we passed through into a bar. Some antique, and very uncomfortable looking hi- backed chairs were arranged around two marble topped, and equally old looking tables. Several couples were in the bar, drinking and nibbling crisps. The conversation was hushed, like a funeral. Suddenly a tall, thin and rather fraught looking woman appeared and welcomed us. “We’ve booked a table”, my wife told her. “Oh, is it eight o’clock already?” was her response. I had not been given a time when booking, but it appeared that we were early. She installed us on two of the, we were able to confirm, uncomfortable chairs and gave us a drink and bowl of crisps. We chatted and took in our surroundings. The hotel had clearly had a lick of paint, but the high, cracked ceilings, with candelabras and mouldings gave away its age. Gradually more people began to filter in until, at what must have been eight a clock, there was a rush towards the doors at the end of the bar. No signal had been given, but this was clearly the moment to grab your table. We followed the mass into a room packed with tables, mostly for two people. A musical duo was installed at one end of the room and had started playing their repertoire of classic French easy listening. We were informed that we could choose where to sit, and judiciously headed away from the band.
There must have been thirty, or so, tables in the room with not a lot of space in between for the waitresses, or intimacy. We were served a second champagne cocktail and another bowl of crisps. We then witnessed a debate, between two waitresses, about who was serving which part of the room. This was conducted over the heads of a couple, which represented the dividing line between the two territories. We were unfortunately consigned to the older of the two waitresses who, we soon realised, was out of her depth. First, she forgot who she had served aperitif drinks to, then, she handed out the wine menus and began taking orders from those closest to the kitchen doors. We were lucky not to have chosen a table further from the kitchen While others had still not been served their aperitif, she made empty handed trips to and from the kitchen. She wrote down wine orders but left the menu on the table instead of handing it to another couple. The other waitress had meanwhile grabbed a tray from which to serve the aperitif, instead of two at a time like ours. Everyone in her section was soon served. There was however no loyalty, and she did not come to the aid of our hapless waitress. This performance was made all the more amusing as the menu was set, and the only choice we had was the wine. Our wine arrived very cold, and we were not offered the chance to taste the wine. As the evening wore on, she became more nervous, muttering to herself and seemed truly lost. The unhappy, salt demanding, couple were offered a compensatory glass of champagne by their waitress. Some brave souls from our sector asked for more bread, which when it finally arrived was completely different from the bread we had eaten before, and so hot it had obviously just been defrosted.
The antics of the waiting staff would have been amusing if the food had been good, sadly the foie gras was too cold and the beef too tough. The overall impression was of a restaurant out of its depth. There were sixty five people in all, many of who had paid for a package, with a night in the hotel. I just hope their rooms were good. As soon as we had finished we scuttled out the door, as many other couples did, while the duo played their easy listening mix. All in all a Valentine’s to remember, and I forgot to get any flowers!