Imagine the scene; a busy reporter finishes work in the middle of Edinburgh, the busy city. Rushing to meet her boyfriend in an Italian restaurant for a romantic meal. Or so I thought. Wining and Dining at Bar Napoli on Friday evening could have easily been mistaken for feeding time at the zoo. Situated in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by families with young children and rowdy rugby fans; it was far from the 'dream date' I had imagined hours earlier while I was in the office.
Hands up anyone who has felt sheer frustration when they just want a quiet meal after a long day's work, but instead get the equivalent atmosphere of being trapped in a school canteen, surrounded by children.
It was unfortunate enough that the city was going to be filled with crazed and possessed fans of the violent sport that is Rugby during the weekend for the England vs. Scotland game; never mind swamping the restaurant with their England-clad sportswear. Don't get me wrong, I like to enjoy a meal with my friends and family, and there's nothing more enjoyable than being able to roar with laughter; however, would you howl like a wolf inbetween your starter and main course? No. I didn't think so. Imagine my delight when I waltzed down the stairs to my table. Rushing out of work, I headed straight to the toilets to immaculately preen my polished locks and reapply my lipstick; you know, making an effort. Then. With each step I took, a loud holler erupted from the gorillas in the corner. Why had I even bothered? Cheers lads, but I'm not a piece of meat.
Now for the restaurant... It's located in 'the heart of Edinburgh' - well that's what the advert said. Bearing in mind, I thought it would be easy to find. It wasn't. Described as 'a minutes' walk from Princes Street' - the biggest understatement of 2012 so far! It was a hike. My walking boots would have been a much more practical option than my Carvela's. Arrive at Bar Napoli - windswept. Carefully balancing my way downstairs - it's in a basement by the way! Apparently the restaurant's been running for years. It could do with a lick of paint. Or two. The poor interior design and the difficult location could possibly be over-looked if they had the added benefit of friendly staff. But they don't. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the 'don't believe the good reviews' comment.
The waiters were all men. Now, I've got nothing against men, I just wish they wouldn't wink at me. I can't get my head around why you would wait to catch someone's eye to wink at them, but ignore then when trying to order a drink. Wouldn't that be a benefit to them? It wasn't enough that they were ignorant, when I tried to order they spoke in fluent Italian so that I didn't understand them at all. Obviously my degree in French wasn't satisfactory.
Taking in the atmosphere of the restaurant was hard to stomach. Never mind trying to translate the menu. It was written in Italian with no description as to what was in the dishes - or what was meant to be. I searched the menu for a Chicken Kiev pizza (original I know), but it was nowhere to be seen. It was worse than when I was 11 years old and discovered Santa Claus didn't exist. No Kiev pizza was almost worse than no Santa!! It was only when I picked my coat up and was about to leave that the waiter found it within himself to compromise, and add five measly pieces of chicken to a Margarita pizza. Customer service or what?
The wait for our food was lengthy. I felt like Jesus in the desert for 40 days, and the devil tempting me resembled Dial-a-Pizza's number that was saved in my iPhone. Now there was a thought! At this very point I could have been at home in my pyjamas, making as little effort as possible and it wouldn't have even mattered. It was touch and go at one point that we thought we would ever get served, and after the incident when ordering, I wondered what may be in my pizza.
It finally came. Stone cold. Although the chicken was succulent - all five pieces - that was the only compliment the meal could receive. It seemed that several trips to and fro our cluttered kitchen at home wouldn't have been so bad after all. Even if that did mean having to wash a mound of dishes after a meal that lasted twenty minutes. It would have definitely been quicker. And probably more relaxing than sat in a restaurant full of morons.
So Ladies and Gentlemen, next time you're thinking of eating out, think twice. A Takeaway may seem more appealing, and the only thing you will regret is opting for the garlic sauce.
Hands up anyone who has felt sheer frustration when they just want a quiet meal after a long day's work, but instead get the equivalent atmosphere of being trapped in a school canteen, surrounded by children.
It was unfortunate enough that the city was going to be filled with crazed and possessed fans of the violent sport that is Rugby during the weekend for the England vs. Scotland game; never mind swamping the restaurant with their England-clad sportswear. Don't get me wrong, I like to enjoy a meal with my friends and family, and there's nothing more enjoyable than being able to roar with laughter; however, would you howl like a wolf inbetween your starter and main course? No. I didn't think so. Imagine my delight when I waltzed down the stairs to my table. Rushing out of work, I headed straight to the toilets to immaculately preen my polished locks and reapply my lipstick; you know, making an effort. Then. With each step I took, a loud holler erupted from the gorillas in the corner. Why had I even bothered? Cheers lads, but I'm not a piece of meat.
Now for the restaurant... It's located in 'the heart of Edinburgh' - well that's what the advert said. Bearing in mind, I thought it would be easy to find. It wasn't. Described as 'a minutes' walk from Princes Street' - the biggest understatement of 2012 so far! It was a hike. My walking boots would have been a much more practical option than my Carvela's. Arrive at Bar Napoli - windswept. Carefully balancing my way downstairs - it's in a basement by the way! Apparently the restaurant's been running for years. It could do with a lick of paint. Or two. The poor interior design and the difficult location could possibly be over-looked if they had the added benefit of friendly staff. But they don't. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the 'don't believe the good reviews' comment.
The waiters were all men. Now, I've got nothing against men, I just wish they wouldn't wink at me. I can't get my head around why you would wait to catch someone's eye to wink at them, but ignore then when trying to order a drink. Wouldn't that be a benefit to them? It wasn't enough that they were ignorant, when I tried to order they spoke in fluent Italian so that I didn't understand them at all. Obviously my degree in French wasn't satisfactory.
Taking in the atmosphere of the restaurant was hard to stomach. Never mind trying to translate the menu. It was written in Italian with no description as to what was in the dishes - or what was meant to be. I searched the menu for a Chicken Kiev pizza (original I know), but it was nowhere to be seen. It was worse than when I was 11 years old and discovered Santa Claus didn't exist. No Kiev pizza was almost worse than no Santa!! It was only when I picked my coat up and was about to leave that the waiter found it within himself to compromise, and add five measly pieces of chicken to a Margarita pizza. Customer service or what?
The wait for our food was lengthy. I felt like Jesus in the desert for 40 days, and the devil tempting me resembled Dial-a-Pizza's number that was saved in my iPhone. Now there was a thought! At this very point I could have been at home in my pyjamas, making as little effort as possible and it wouldn't have even mattered. It was touch and go at one point that we thought we would ever get served, and after the incident when ordering, I wondered what may be in my pizza.
It finally came. Stone cold. Although the chicken was succulent - all five pieces - that was the only compliment the meal could receive. It seemed that several trips to and fro our cluttered kitchen at home wouldn't have been so bad after all. Even if that did mean having to wash a mound of dishes after a meal that lasted twenty minutes. It would have definitely been quicker. And probably more relaxing than sat in a restaurant full of morons.
So Ladies and Gentlemen, next time you're thinking of eating out, think twice. A Takeaway may seem more appealing, and the only thing you will regret is opting for the garlic sauce.
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