1 /5 Justine Wright: Romantic pre-Valentine’s dinner… if your love language is passive aggression
After a long day at work, I met my boyfriend here the night before Valentine’s Day, thinking we’d have a cosy little dinner. Instead, we got what can only be described as “The Hunger Games: Paper Straw Edition.”
First highlight: I brought my own water bottle (wild behaviour, I know), and they genuinely tried to charge me for a paper straw. A paper straw. For water I brought myself. I didn’t realise we were entering a black-market hydration economy.
The place was completely empty, which in hindsight should have been our first clue. Despite this, our food took an impressive amount of time to arrive. When it finally did, it was… someone else’s. By the time we realised and considered re-ordering, it was too late unless we fancied celebrating Valentine’s Day 2027 instead.
There’s no table service, so you have to go up to the till to order which would be fine if you were allowed to actually finish a sentence. The staff repeatedly interrupted us mid-order to chat with a group behind the counter. Nothing says “valued customer” like being treated as background noise in your own transaction.
And the ambience? Immaculate. By which I mean a trolley being wheeled back and forth constantly, clanging like a Victorian workhouse bell, while they hovered nearby as if timing how long it would take us to vacate the premises. Nothing enhances digestion quite like subtle eviction energy.
Overall, if you enjoy dry service, Olympic-level impatience, and being charged for breathing near a paper product, this is your place.
