What a crying shame. This is one of our most convenient, proximate 'locals' and we've had at least half-decent experiences here previously. But tonight, attending for a low-key, pre-birthday dinner, while things might've been worse, they couldn't have been a whole lot worse and they sure as hell could've been a whole lot better. A bit of history. On moving to the area (or nearby Brookvale), we noticed this old school place, which sports any number of very favourable reviews on its street-facing pane, including one, as I recall, from the SBS eating guide, albeit from some years ago. Still and all, these are enough to intrigue, entice and recommend trial and, on the couple of occasions we'd been there, we found a relatively congenial host, tasty, 'traditional' (in the sense of occidentally familiar, straight-down-the-middle, some would say pedestrian), if over-oiled & over-priced dishes and brisk service.
Admittedly, our return was on a whim and busy Saturday evening, anticipating an imminent exodus from a homeground footy match, but we were quickly accommodated at a capacious table, with immediate view to the dingy DY streetscape. Ordering took a little more time and required hailing our waiter (perhaps this is why a complimentary bowl of prawn crackers is presented); a necessity across the duration of our repast. On the strength of at least one of the aforementioned emblazoned reviews, I'd long since been curious to try the lamb pancake, which we did. While not really living up to the expectations raised by the journalist, it was no bad thing: quite yielding lamb mince in a heady gravy, redolent with five-spice. It was wrap your own, which might've been inherently theatrical, but, nonetheless, messy and the pancakes weren't entirely thawed. Tea had to be ordered twice (my impression the waiter hadn't listened carefully enough proved correct), our salt 'n' pepper tofu eventually arrived and, having craned my neck time and again to attract and recruit service, enquired about our accompanying order of Chinese spinach with chili and garlic. By the time it came--without apology--we'd finished the tofu and had little remaining appetite, especially given the loud, forced laughter and (admittedly, good-natured) competitve macho banter from the footy fans behind us. We wanted to leave, so enquired as to whether we might have the remaining rice and stir-fry 'to go'. By the time I returned form the bathroom (not an edifying encounter, to deploy gross, ironic understatement) a plastic bag containing a small takeaway container had been placed on the table. In it, a small portion of our food. I was going to let it go, but after years of like trivial disappointments, I thought, 'no, damnit, I'm going to say something'. The response? The most disingenuously delivered 'I'll give you extra, next time'.
Uh-uh. Next time? It's highly unlikely there'll be a next time. Important? No. First world problem? Yep. But, to my mind, these tiny transgressions of respect, hospitality and fair trade are emblematic of a much bigger, broader, more insidious, arrogant, utterly cavalier attitude, that's disseminating like a rampant virus: near enough is good enough; I can get away with it. It's penny-pinching; insulting; deflating. It ISN'T good enough. No way. No how. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never was. Never will be. Yes, the restaurant was busy. But not full. And if you can't stand the heat, don't be so greedy with covers.
This is the reward for making every endeavour to keep it local?! Guess I'll have to think local, but act global, from now on. What a crying shame. No crouching tigers or hidden dragons here. More's the pity. read more
