I love so-called "poncey" food but I loathe pretentious restaurants. I find that I will have a better night at a restaurant with average food but excellent service than I will at a restaurant with good food but abysmal service. Which is perhaps why, unlike the rest of London, I hate the restaurant Hakkasan with a passion. Admittedly, my sole dining experience there was almost two years ago, but it left such a bad taste in my mouth (figuratively) that I have no desire to go back.
Hakkasan is a fusion Chinese restaurant and has held a Michelin star since 2003. My former employer decided it would be a good place to impress its new recruits (of whom I was then one) with a wine-and-dine extravaganza. There were about 30 of us who dined in an area screened off from the rest of the restaurant by decorative screens. We had an 8 course meal which was okay. To be honest, Chinese cuisine is never going to be one of my favourite cuisines. Perhaps that reveals my own philistine nature; however, I'd much rather have a good Vietnamese, Thai, French, Japanese or Italian meal any day. Apart from the fact that I'm not a big fan of Chinese food, I can't fault the food. But I can fault the service.
It started off with someone from the firm (who most likely had a title such as "business relations promotionalist") trying to take a photo of the group for the firm's internal publicity purposes. Photos at these sort of events seem mandatory, most likely so that they can be posted on the firm's website and the firm can pretend that its employees enjoy socialising with one another and do so voluntarily and frequently. Unfortunately, despite paying for 30 people to eat and drink as much as they could stomach, the firm's employee was quickly stopped from clicking her camera by an overly attentive waitress. The waitress rushed over with a distressed expression. "You can't take photos in Hakkasan - we usually have celebrities in here and so we don't allow photos". The fact we were screened off from the rest of the restaurant's patrons, who subsequently were assured of not being in the photograph, didn't seem to allow for an exception to this rule. None of us made a fuss, however, and the employee slipped her camera away, looking embarrassed. I think the atmosphere of pretentious restaurants, and the attitude of the staff, means that unless truly liquored up, polite people never complain as they are seemingly embarrassed or intimidated into silence.
Not being able to be in a photograph was, however, the least of my worries. The only way I could bear an evening of stilted and polite chitchat was to drink a lot of the very fine wine on offer. This of course meant I had quite early in the evening to inspect the facilities.
The ladies' and men's loos are (or at least were) in a corridor, behind two identical and unmarked wooden doors. Outside the doors is someone whose sole job seems to be to indicate to guests which door to enter. On the night I was at the restaurant, this important position was filled by a young woman who clearly wasn't born to work in the service industry. As I walked towards the doors she gave a dismissive flap of her hand in the general vicinity of both doors. I looked at each door in turn and, on realising there was no marker as to which was the men's and which was the ladies' loos, I asked the young woman if she could please tell me which to enter. Again, she mutely waved her hand. This hand wave was no better than the last. Her hand looked like a dead fishing, flopping about with its last bit of life, and did nothing to indicate which door I should walk through. Again I had to explain that I was terribly sorry but I had no idea which door she was indicating I should walk through - would she just tell me please where to go. Again, she uttered no word (aside from an exaggerated sigh) and did her fish-like hand wave. At this point, I snapped, and quietly but firmly told the woman that I was sorry but she would have to either make more pointed hand movements or simply tell me which toilet was the ladies'. She then barked "that one" back at me, finally pointing at one of the doors.
After all of that, not even the most sublime food could have won me over.
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