I was induced to take lunch here by the pleasant group of tables laid up in a little courtyard at the front of the restaurant, but as they were all booked I went inside. An old boy was operating a pizza oven and he waved me to a table. That was my last human contact for quite a while. A group of men hung around the counter in front of the pizza oven talking to our old friend, and occasionally one of them would take a pizza over to a table; but they did not seem to be waiters, more hangers-on. Then a chap with a motorcycle helmet entered, put his helmet on the counter, and poured himself a coke. He, too, helped out from time to time, but was clearly not an employee.
I'd obtained a glass of wine by now, and having placed my order I thought I'd pay a visit to the loo. The Mens had been combined with The Disabled Toilet - presumably to comply with the law - but the extra space provided within had been colonised by the two enormous steel lockers. Several essential components of the porcelain were missing. Some bare wires poked out of the wall. There was no flush. I searched vainly for 2 or 3 minutes for a chain, pedal, handle or something that looked as if it might release a stream of water. Eventually I spied a button under the towel rail, one and a half metres distant from the toilet bowl; I pressed it more in hope than expectation, and to my astonishment, the toilet flushed. There was no hand drier and the paper towel dispenser was empty.
I took a deep breath and decided I'd run for it. But to my dismay, my Antipasti had been served in my absence and one of the hangers-on was waiting to shepherd me to the table.
The food was as good as the toilets. read more