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| - Where to begin. I'll start with the positive: the waitress was nice enough and the wine we ordered was good. On to the negative: everything else. Upon sitting down, both of us were struck by an instinctual urge to leave, but neither of us articulated this vague unease strongly enough to instigate a positive, forward movement towards the exit, and so, in this stupefied state of indecision, we remained rooted in place as the waitress swept up to take our order. Our fate was sealed.
We both decided, in another mind-melded act of self sabotage, to order the steak frites. Both plates came with two slabs of indifferently cooked meat sitting atop a dollop of some kind of flavourless reddish sauce. A complimentary silver chalice of Heinz ketchup accompanied the cafeteria-quality French fries - I cannot bring myself to refer to them as frites, and I don't think the sad French fries themselves would, on their best day, have the audacity to grace themselves with that nomenclature. The steak itself - star of this culinary gong show - was tough, under-seasoned, and carefully prepared for maximum disappointment.
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