How a meal in a restaurant turned into a comedy of errors.
A couple of weeks ago we were invited out for a meal by my brother and sister-in-law who were staying the weekend in the Daresbury Hotel at Warrington, Cheshire. My sister-in-law was so appalled at the service in their restaurant she wrote a letter of complaint to the CEO of De Vere Hotels.
The Daresbury is situated just off Junction 11 of the M56 and is quite an impressive looking place. It boasts a conference centre and sports facilities and on the weekend in question they were hosting a business conference. You'd think they would make sure that their restaurant service matched the quality of their facilities, but sadly we found it be far from a quality service.
Here's why:
When they arrived at the hotel my sister-in-law inquired about booking a table for four for the evening meal. She was told that the restaurant was likely to be full up because of the conference. She distinctly felt that she was getting the brush off so she persisted and asked the receptionist to check with the restaurant. She was told that we could go along and they “might be able to fit us in”. When we got up there we found that the place was far from full and we had a choice of tables. So what was the problem?
Despite the fact that it wasn't very busy we had to wait ten minutes before being shown the menu. A group of women who were later seated at a nearby table had ordered before we even got to see the menu.
The waitress took our orders but didn't explain that the main courses didn't all include a choice of accompanying vegetables. The other three ordered steaks which apparently came with chips but I ordered an onion tart which was served (eventually) with about four bits of shredded salad greenery that wouldn't satisfy a baby rabbit. Surely the waitress could have asked if I wanted any vegetables or potatoes with my tiny tart and explained they would be charged as extras. I've never eaten anywhere before where they didn't serve these as part of the course anyway.
Our starters came quite quickly and after eating these we sat there with our dirty plates watching the women on the next table being served their steaks. We waited, we chatted, we waited some more. Our waitress ignored us. After about twenty minutes my sister-in-law called her over to ask if she'd turn down the very loud and intrusive piped music. We were told that she couldn't do this as it was being played to “create atmosphere”. We pointed out that it was the kind of atmosphere that we found annoying and where was our main course. She insisted she couldn't turn the music down and whilst she belatedly cleared our congealing plates she told us the delay with our main course was because they cooked everything from fresh and it would be along soon. It eventually came along fifteen minutes later, just as the women next to us were ordering dessert. All in all we waited thirty five minutes between courses.
The restaurant had a large open plan kitchen area behind a counter and was visible from our table. As we were waiting for our main course we amused ourselves by watching the (very young) chefs, one of whom was cooking the steaks on a grill. I noticed that there were about four steaks on the grill which burst into flames. The young lad in charge of these removed them and piled them on a plate. He then literally threw more steaks on the grill with his bare hands. When the plated steaks had cooled a bit he examined them by turning them over, with the same bare hands that had just touched raw meat, and then left them all on the plate to go away and put some pizzas in a large oven, wiping his hands on his stained apron before touching the pizzas. There was a hand washing sink in the corner but I never saw him use it. A little later he came back, picked up the now cold steaks and threw them back on the grill, presumably to warm up. I watched as these were placed on individual plates and apparently served to customers. Thankfully not us. Why we didn't walk out then I don't know.
Eventually, as I said, we were served. Famine turned to feast in more than one way as four waiters descended upon our table carrying one meal each. Between them, my three companions had ordered one well done steak and two medium rare. Needless to say that the well done one went to the wrong person. Meanwhile I was faced with the tiny onion tart and four leaves, realising this was all I was getting. It seemed pointless ordering anything else since the tart would be inedible before any vegetables arrived and, anyway, we didn't have all night. Throughout all this the wretched music was still playing in some kind of loop and the women next door were whooping it up as a birthday cake with blazing candles was brought to their table. I was feeling so hostile to them by then that I began to hope that they'd got the four man-handled, warmed up steaks.
We bravely soldiered on with our meal and tried to ignore all the jollity. The three steak eaters realised that they hadn't been given steak knives and the knives they did have wouldn't cut butter. Since the waitress had been asked to turn down the music she had done her best to avoid us and we couldn't see hide nor hair of her, so they had to make the best of a bad job.
We decided to forgo dessert and just have coffee and leave quietly. Having given up on our waitress altogether, I flagged down a passing waiter who looked about fourteen and asked if we could have coffee for four. By the look on his face you'd think I'd asked for something in Swahili. Eventually he twigged and slouched off to get it.
After about ten minutes he came back with a tray. Four cups and saucers and a pot of coffee. No milk. No sugar. No teaspoons. Once more we struggled to get the message across and milk and sugar arrived.
We settled back to enjoy the coffee which at least smelt quite good. Surely nothing else could go wrong. Not so. By the time I'd filled two of our cups with coffee I realised with sinking heart that there wasn't enough for four. We managed two and a half cups. I was ready to give up and go home but my sister-in-law wouldn't be beaten. She somehow managed to locate the erstwhile youth who'd bungled yet again and loudly insisted he bring another pot of coffee for which she was not prepared to pay. Poor lad. He scuttled off and brought the goods. I actually felt sorry for him.
We laughed about this comedy of errors afterwards (what else could we do?) but I still find it incredible that De Vere Hotels allow this to happen. I can only think that they have a policy of employing cheap labour and are too mean to invest in staff training.
