You know the term that was so popularly used when we were back in the army? Sai(2) gang(1)? Well I'm starting surgery next week and have been arrowed to do bowel decompression on this patient once/twice a week. What you do is you stick a tube up the poor person's arse to allow faeces to flow out, said person having difficulties emptying his bowels1, obviously.
So, literally, sai gang.
1Due to a long-standing medical condition - shall not bore you with the details. Or disgust you, for that matter.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Oxford Brasserie - Southampton
Horrible place - horrible service, horrible food.
Obviously what follows is a totally subjective review based on my first (and last) visit to this place.
First impression was not too negative indeed - reached the place an hour before we were expected, and were ushered in despite the staff still having their dinner in a corner of the restaurant.
I guess the downward spiral started when my dad asked for the waitress's recommendation for his starter. She didn't seem too familiar with the menu itself, but credit to her, some quick-thinking ("not a fish dish, since you're having a fish platter for your main" - then, on discovering more than half the starters eliminated, nailed down the smoked duck, perhaps her favourite dish?) saved her blushes somewhat.
Then the bread and the starters arrived. The bread was hard, and cold; the octopus salad that mum and I had ordered had bits of octopus, assorted vegetables and wedges of tomato, all soaked in oil, like a diassembled DIY model car someone had left abandoned on the porch. Interesting concept, with random flashes of inspiration (beetroot surprisingly goes well with octopus - pity they'd probably run out of it, with the meagre piece in mine) but I don't normally associate playing with food at the table as particularly flattering, to food and individuals involved.
Oh and the calamari dad eventually ordered for his starter was so salty I had to douse my pieces in the tartar sauce provided1.
Plates eventually cleared, mains arrived. We had ordered rabbit, fish and fancy-named chicken, and they looked rather decent, if not impressive2. Real pity, then, that the legs of my headless chicken were pointing ominously at me, when the chef had plainly intended otherwise3.
Small complaint, really, when compared to the atrocious taste of all our dishes.
The twin themes running through our dishes seemed to be salt and oil - someone had obviously thought that copious amounts of oil could make anything taste good, and stimulating the tastebuds in any way was good enough for most people. That was the pre-dominant complaint from my mum; dad left his dish unfinished, which says a lot, really. And my chicken - well it seemed as if the chef had thought 'exotic' influences from all over the world could somehow all fit in a dish, but failed miserably, resulting in the confused chicken drowning in its multiple personalities. Oh and the vegetables - someone had obviously failed to mix in the salt properly, sullying what could have been a highlight of the meal.
And so half the plates were still full when the mains were cleared. And still the waitress had the cheek to ask if we wanted dessert. And had the cheek to say there was no discount provided, when it clearly was stated in our brochure that we (as serviced apartment guests) were entitled to. And then when I clearly indicated my displeasure by pressing "no gratuity" in the payment machine had the audacity to ask if I was from southampton4.
Thinking about it, the ironic "thank you" I had said upon leaving the restaurant was perhaps lost on them.
Please, if you ever go to Oxford street in Southampton, avoid this place. (It's separate from the 'oxford restaurant' situated next door, which in contrast is a decent place with quite decent food.)
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1No the tartar sauce wasn't particularly good. Yes it really was that bad.
2Dad's platter of fish consisted of, well, various species of fish (and "king" prawns) drenched in oil, and placed unimaginatively on a plate; my fancy chicken was laid spread-eagled on the plate and smothered in sauce; mum's dissected rabbit was placed on a rather inviting bed of mashed potato. Vegetables came in separate dishes.
3There was an oriental-style carved flower placed near where the head might have been, together with some sprigs of parsley - even an amateur like me would have figured where that might have featured on the dish.
4Perhaps hinting that I did not know the rules of tipping - hell yeah like I would pay for rubbish service. Oh and in case you think I'm over-reacting, she had made no attempt at idle chatter right until she asked that question, after I had paid the bill.
Obviously what follows is a totally subjective review based on my first (and last) visit to this place.
First impression was not too negative indeed - reached the place an hour before we were expected, and were ushered in despite the staff still having their dinner in a corner of the restaurant.
I guess the downward spiral started when my dad asked for the waitress's recommendation for his starter. She didn't seem too familiar with the menu itself, but credit to her, some quick-thinking ("not a fish dish, since you're having a fish platter for your main" - then, on discovering more than half the starters eliminated, nailed down the smoked duck, perhaps her favourite dish?) saved her blushes somewhat.
Then the bread and the starters arrived. The bread was hard, and cold; the octopus salad that mum and I had ordered had bits of octopus, assorted vegetables and wedges of tomato, all soaked in oil, like a diassembled DIY model car someone had left abandoned on the porch. Interesting concept, with random flashes of inspiration (beetroot surprisingly goes well with octopus - pity they'd probably run out of it, with the meagre piece in mine) but I don't normally associate playing with food at the table as particularly flattering, to food and individuals involved.
Oh and the calamari dad eventually ordered for his starter was so salty I had to douse my pieces in the tartar sauce provided1.
Plates eventually cleared, mains arrived. We had ordered rabbit, fish and fancy-named chicken, and they looked rather decent, if not impressive2. Real pity, then, that the legs of my headless chicken were pointing ominously at me, when the chef had plainly intended otherwise3.
Small complaint, really, when compared to the atrocious taste of all our dishes.
The twin themes running through our dishes seemed to be salt and oil - someone had obviously thought that copious amounts of oil could make anything taste good, and stimulating the tastebuds in any way was good enough for most people. That was the pre-dominant complaint from my mum; dad left his dish unfinished, which says a lot, really. And my chicken - well it seemed as if the chef had thought 'exotic' influences from all over the world could somehow all fit in a dish, but failed miserably, resulting in the confused chicken drowning in its multiple personalities. Oh and the vegetables - someone had obviously failed to mix in the salt properly, sullying what could have been a highlight of the meal.
And so half the plates were still full when the mains were cleared. And still the waitress had the cheek to ask if we wanted dessert. And had the cheek to say there was no discount provided, when it clearly was stated in our brochure that we (as serviced apartment guests) were entitled to. And then when I clearly indicated my displeasure by pressing "no gratuity" in the payment machine had the audacity to ask if I was from southampton4.
Thinking about it, the ironic "thank you" I had said upon leaving the restaurant was perhaps lost on them.
Please, if you ever go to Oxford street in Southampton, avoid this place. (It's separate from the 'oxford restaurant' situated next door, which in contrast is a decent place with quite decent food.)
__________________________________________________________________________________
1No the tartar sauce wasn't particularly good. Yes it really was that bad.
2Dad's platter of fish consisted of, well, various species of fish (and "king" prawns) drenched in oil, and placed unimaginatively on a plate; my fancy chicken was laid spread-eagled on the plate and smothered in sauce; mum's dissected rabbit was placed on a rather inviting bed of mashed potato. Vegetables came in separate dishes.
3There was an oriental-style carved flower placed near where the head might have been, together with some sprigs of parsley - even an amateur like me would have figured where that might have featured on the dish.
4Perhaps hinting that I did not know the rules of tipping - hell yeah like I would pay for rubbish service. Oh and in case you think I'm over-reacting, she had made no attempt at idle chatter right until she asked that question, after I had paid the bill.
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