Ladies Who Lunch - Or Not…
Good morning dear reader and welcome to life in the Yorkshire Wolds. We are blessed with a beautiful sunny morning, as the saying goes ‘a day stolen from Spring.’ I hope I find you well wherever you are in the world, on the cusp of new adventures in a new week.
Last week my friend Joan and I decided we would celebrate my birthday, albeit a little late but that couldn’t be helped at the time, as we were both snowed in and lunch was definitely off the cards. The weather eventually improved and we decided to really push the boat out and booked lunch for two at a very smart local restaurant. Dressed in our best gladrags we parked up and walked up the path, through the pretty garden and into the foyer to be met by a portly Maitre d. who enquired our names and booking time.
So far, so jolly good - only it wasn’t. The Maitre d. frowned as he consulted his booking register and lo and behold, our names were not in it. He looked up and glared at Joan disapprovingly. ‘There is no booking in that name, Madam.’
I was looking and feeling crestfallen and ready to try the next available coffee shop, but Joan is made of sterner stuff and was having none of it. ‘Nonsense,’ said she. ‘I made that booking a week ago and we will not be turned away because of you or your staff’s inability to record a booking properly. Lunch we booked and lunch we will have.’
The Maitre d. glared at Joan and she glared fiercely back very much in the manner of - this matter is not up for negotiation mate. The Maitre d. got the vibes and inclined his head. ‘Please wait a moment and I will see what I can do.’
We loitered in the foyer for a while, whilst the Maitre d. went about his ‘seeing what he could do’. Eventually he returned and gestured magniloquently towards the dining room. ‘Come this way, ladies, your table awaits.’ RESULT! Ah, but never count your chickens … they might never turn into hens.
A fresh-faced young waiter brought us a menu. I opened mine and looked up questioningly. There was not a lot to choose from. ‘Small, but beautifully made Madam’, he said. Really? Joan studied the choices. ‘Sea Bass,’ she announced. ‘I’m trying to eat healthily.’ I’m not and decided on the Toad In the Hole with the onion gravy. Dear reader, do not be alarmed, no toads were harmed in the writing of this blog. The actual dish is cooked sausages set in a beautiful risen Yorkshire pudding batter.
The waiter took our order and trotted off to the kitchen. We settled back in our chairs and studied the wine list, contemplating a white for the fish and a red for the sausage. The young man returned with an apologetic look on his face. ‘I’m very sorry, but the chef’s burnt the sausages and the Sea Bass is finished. Would you like to make other choices?’
Oh dear, this was not looking good. ‘Give us a few minutes,’ I said and re-opened the menu book. Although why they put that flimsy sheet inside a folder I can’t for the life of me think. ‘Vegan Mushroom, Chestnut and Cranberry Tart,’ said Joan. I decided on the Roast Goose. Off the waiter trotted again - wait for it … yes, indeedy … no goose, no tart!!! It might have been quicker just to ask him what the heck he did have left. After all, our lunch booking was not late in the day - what about the other diners coming after us?
‘The Prawn Linguine is still available and also a Mushroom Bourginion and Roast Belly Pork.’
Hmm, fatty pork or pasty pasta? Neither really appealed. Joan looked at me and I looked at her and we both knew this was not going to happen. ‘Thank you but no thank you,’ we said and handed the menu folders back to the young man. He looked as crestfallen as I had done at the start of this outing. ‘I’m so sorry, ladies …’
‘So are we,’ we chorused and made our way back to the foyer. The Maitre d. was fussing over some new arrivals. He had obviously located their booking details and was ready to show them to their table. He looked askance at us. ‘Ladies ..? You’re not leaving?’ ‘Fraid so,’ said Joan. ‘It’s not what we expected; burnt sausages, no nice fish, no goose, no tart. We’re off to the pub, they might even manage a juicy steak pie. I hope so, I’m ravenous now.’ I trailed out behind her. ‘Might even manage a few chips with it.’ I said hopefully.
We went to the pub and feasted on the best steak pie and chips in the world. Not high end dining after all, but very good all the same. Maybe we’ll look for a different birthday venue for next year and hope we don’t get snowed in again.