"Let me say before I go any further that I forgive nobody. I wish them all an atrocious life and then the fires and ice of hell and in the execrable generations to come an honoured name."
it was a rain soaked and windy summer's evening and my thinning hair needed refuge from the elements,so i made my way to the closest eatery to distract myself from the forlorn rags of growing old.
the restaurant lives up to its name, it's indeed local, but on this particular evening i wished they set up shop in the middle of the sahara desert.
i took my seat, as i often do, alone in the corner, with a view of two other occupied tables before me, it was close to closing time. after much deliberation, i decided to go with the chef's special written on the small chalkboard, which was some sort of fish atop a bed of risotto with your choice of house salad or the soup du jour, ginger carrot soup.
the soup tasted like it was of the canned or condensed variety, just a watery pool of orange, pepper was the only way to find some relief. the fish was overcooked and dry, service and space was nice, but can't make up for what they were serving.
of course, one must contemplate the merits of ordering fish on a menu dominated by sandwiches, but i'm of the belief that if it's on the menu, if it's coming out of that kitchen and given a price tag, it should be good, especially if it's a featured daily item.
the patio might lure my indoor complexion away from these walls for a pint in the summer, but as for now, if i saw it in the middle of the sahara desert, i'd say no thanks, i'll take my chances.