From an introduction which basically gives the reader a bollocking for closet schadenfreude to his iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove takedowns of Marco Pierre White, Marcus Wareing and Brian Turner, this collection of exquisitely negative restaurant reviews sees Rayner at his take-no-prisoners finest. Some choice cuts:
“At Cocoon, hate springs eternal. I hated the thumping music. I hated the wispy flounces to net hanging floor to ceiling, which, like shower curtains, reached out to grab you. I hated the ceiling centrepieces of red ruched fabric pushed into a central hole, which decorated every one of the separate spaces and looked like cats’ arses. I hated the clipboard Nazi at the front door, and the bar area with its crumb-crusted seats from the previous occupants and the floor-walkers with their earpieces who still managed to run around like headless chickens when we tried to get shown to our table.”
“The Marco Pierre White Steakhouse and Grill, formerly Lanes, is a big airy pale cream space, at the heart of the City, and sells food aimed at red-blooded hedge-fund managers who are down to their last million and crying for Nursie.”
“The view from the dining room over the Loch is gorgeous, but when dusk has fallen you are left with the dining room itself, which is a grey space with all the charm of a dentist’s waiting room without the promise of anaesthetic.”
“A king prawn makhanwala was sold with the optimistic legend: ‘Go on, don’t be shy, lovely jubbly’. No, it wasn’t. A bath with randy scorpions would have been lovelier than this.”
“Langtry’s does indeed celebrate British food, but only in the way a murderer might dance upon its victims’ graves.”
Delicious!