"Let me tell you a story to chill the bones
About a thing that I saw
One night wandering in the everglades
I'd one drink but no more..." -Iron Maiden, Dance of Death
When a girlo invites you to a meal in the Radisson Blu, you gotta take up the offer regardless of paranoid negative skeptical expectations. But I am not here to discuss the complexities of women.. I a here to talk about the food.
The voucher my accomplice for this yelp operation had acquired entitled us to a free set menu two course meal. Nevertheless, we dressed accordingly. However, due to the flimsy nature of the more regrettable choice of female undergarments and 'summer wear', my partner's 'tights' sprung another petite hole only big enough to squeeze ones tongue perhaps... However, it began to expand at an exponential rate. The increased fear of being seen partially naked in public began to bubble and fume eventually becoming unavoidable in the mind of my terrified sidekick, so much so that the sweating and pink coloration of her now raspberry like face became overwhelming. She attempted to slip a fresh pair from her 'Tardis rules' lady wallet, but I saw the hand go under and expected as much based on my awareness of her visibly increasing panic levels. Suddenly she glitched and return to a normal sitting, I whipped round and saw that the waitress was coming our way and my petite pink raspberry's discretion was about to be tested..
The waitress talked a load of bolox as usual but thanks to a recent research into the benefits of meditation, I was able to employ my new found wisdom and tune out her high pitches Missouri accent and focus on the reading of the menu without her knowledge. A simple nod and yes/no can convince any women that you are fully listening at all times, but occasionally you must throw in the last few words they said repeated back to them or they will try to trip up your cunning ploy to reveal your true bordom. We ordered and I waited while a fidgety Mr. Bean at the beach episode was being rehearsed across the table from me.. Eventually She changed her tights and the show continued as normal.
Pre-starters came with the first of many glasses of wine that would follow before retirement. A practical piece 'du pain, and a whole roasted garlic cut length ways was a simple and satisfying but inviting choice of aperitif that would be betrayed by the latter..
Next, our starters came out and so did a laugh I could not contain followed by the held back tears of disappointment as the reality of the situation became known.. My pork belly on a green lentil bed looked more like a small cube of bone pale jelly being carried by a mouthful of commando beetles. I did my best to extend the sustaining power of this sad 'meal' by cutting it into even smaller cubes but I was still not even close to refueling. I glanced across the vast white tablecloth expanse full of pointless obstacles that stood in the way of my woman who looked equally distasteful- mirroring that expression of one who has been sucking on a lemon. Her soup was forged from celery of which we all know is the Judas of the vegetable kingdom. 90% water, we might as well be eating bowls of lies with the large wooden spoon Bono would rejoice at handing to us given the opportunity.
It eventually our riveting conversation that was to be the sauce that made the meal bearable. And so we began again our patient waiting with glass number nine at this stage of Chardonnay for the final battle of Man Vs. Dinner.
The pitiful sack of terrified bones that called herself a waitress wobbled over to us on her bulimic inflicted Missouri heels and smiled with the tension of a thousand medevil thumbscrews. Her hands that looked like clingfilm stretched over wire dangerously balanced two plates. On the right, my 'medium' steak balance on no more than 6 grease soaked chips in a feckless americanized attempted tower upon which perched high above the plate, the 'alternative' beetroot paste looked down at my bemused expression. On the left, A duck confit in the form of a cylindrical potato column mounted by a batter skin engrossed meat-assumed to be the duck. The situation soon became exacerbated by my curvy dining partner due to a dissolved appetite following prior starter dissipation. The over indulgence left her with a full pink belly and an unfortunately avoidable forfeit in the game of food.
I continued on alone and ate all of my six chips, the steak which looked like fresh salmon on the inside and the beetroot paste which could have passed for shredded christmas cards. I also salvaged what I could from my accompanying gorgeous food fanatic's plate- whom I know will not persecute me after she reads this now as she understands my mannerisms are not distastefully intended....However, i have run out of space to write the end of this review so must conclude, if it were not for alcohol and good company, I would have left the Radisson unfulfilled, and would have to of written a bad review. ** read more