Tuesday, 21 June 2011

Bertie's Shed

When I told my Dad I'd be taking him to Albert's Shed for his Father's day treat, he responded with a long drawn out breath, followed by a loud guffaw, followed by something that sounded like a snort, followed by a sentence that roughly went as follows, "Who the fuck eats in a shed?"  Except, of course, there was no expletive.  That, dear readers, is my own, small embellishment.  Incidentally, never trust a writer who directly addresses his readers.
So Bertie's Shed is a lot more than a shed.  It's part of the Duke's 92 establishment and will, as chance happenstances, provide the food for my forthcoming wedding.  Impress it must, then, for I will not eat shit at such an important event; not in front of the world's press anyway.
Did it impress?  Did it manage to tickle my taste buds into a frightful frenzy?  Nope.
Leave it at that dear boy; leave it at that and never come back.  Incidentally, a writer who starts referring to himself as, "dear boy," has certainly taken a healthy dose of insanity pills. 
I have to say, I really do, when one is presented with a menu that looks like it was lifted from a Weatherspoon's pub, one gets really suspicious.  Then, when one realises the restaurant kitchen also serves the pub, one's suspicions are confirmed.  When one notices all this, one realises, before any meals have been served, the food is going to be nothing more than posh pub grub.  And that's exactly what it is; and it's unseasoned too.  Note, that isn't under-seasoned; that is UNseasoned.  My Venison, covered in port and Stilton (PORT AND STILTON!) didn't taste of a bloody thing.  How can a restaurant manage that?  The quantity of cheese in my Father's cheese pie was so great, he's been driven to the ugly world of veganism.  He has become a Vegon, spending most of his time defending the Neutral Zone.
On another hand, my dessert was delicious.  A chocolate volcano, erupting and pluming so much, flights in the vicinity were diverted to their alternate airports.  The chocolate was everywhere but, my god, yummy, yum, yum, as my nephew says. 
So, it's not all bad.  But what choices to make for my wedding?  Can we have three dessert courses each?  With Champagne?  I don't see why not.  Or will Albert have to try harder? 

"Try harder."

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