The Soft Launch

Last month, I took Mrs P for a posh birthday lunch. And by posh, I mean extravagantly expensive. Far more expensive than I’d choose for my own birthday meal. To be fair, I smoked for 32 years and would struggle to discern any notable difference between a £15 Prezzo pizza and a haute cuisine £50 pizza. Posh grub is somewhat wasted on me. But Mrs P has never smoked and has fully functioning taste buds. So we did posh.

She wanted to be surprised. So I whipped out my iPad, logged on to the Times and had a look at whatever Giles Coren has reviewed lately. He does posh. And he does surprisingly entertaining restaurant reviews. Like any good writer, he tells a good story, and fits the subject matter in where and when he can. No need to let a mediocre bowl of soup get in the way of a good yarn.

I found just the place quite quickly. There was a recent review of a fish restaurant in Hampstead, London towards the top of the search result. Mrs P likes fish. Mrs P likes London. About £50 a head. My bank balance doesn’t like £50 per head, but it could tolerate it. Although it prefers the 2 for 1 deal I normally get at Prezzo. But this was Mrs P’s birthday. We needed posh on the menu. And that’s £50 per head. 

We arrived in good time, but they were too busy to seat early arrivals. So we went away and had a leisurely walk around the block, returning for the actual time of our reservation. Our table was still occupied, and the occupants didn’t look like they were in a hurry. There were heartfelt apologies, some temporary seating in a communal area was found, free glasses of Vinho Verde were administered. Which kept us firmly onside. The waitress was exceptional. They were absolutely overwhelmed because of something to do with a recent newspaper review. I smiled, rolled my eyes and commented how this must be great for business, but poor old us, the local regulars. I don’t think she bought my lie. But her exceptional service didn’t miss a beat, and she graciously went along with it.

We both had fish. It was, after all,  a fish restaurant. There weren’t many non-fish options. None, in fact. The fish was rather good though. I’d go so far as to say it was delish. But this is where the literary talents of myself and Giles Coren diverge, somewhat wildly. He’ll produce a witty word salad (pun intended), describing each morsel with exquisite finesse, leaving the reader salivating and – clearly demonstrated by the lengthy wait for our table – opening up the relevant online booking app. Moi? I refer you once again to my previous smoking habit. My appreciation of food is sufficiently basic to be covered by four staple acknowledgements: delish; not bad at all; ok but I wouldn’t order it again; I’ve had better. And quite frankly, you shouldn’t trust even these limited opinions. I recently polished off a large bowl of mussels that I had down as ‘delish’, but Mrs P insisted were rancid and would likely cause my death within the next day or so. Happily, she was wrong on the second part.

So I’ll never be a Giles Coren. But could there be a culinary niche out there awaiting my limited talent? Maybe. I’m thinking soft launch reviews. Is there anyone out there right now specialising in soft launch reviews? With a penchant for sarcasm and derision, when called for? I love a bargain and actively hunt  for soft launches. Indeed, I pay a £2 per month sub to have them delivered to my inbox. I’ll give anything a try. Which is good, because you can get some pretty wild stuff served up on a softie. I’ve been to some fabulous first weeks, but there’s a reason 60% of new kitchens are shuttered within a year. And some of those reasons are obvious on day one. 

Like the time that a hostess gave us so much time to browse the menu, we began to wonder if they were actively trying to pretend we didn’t exist. No amount of raising a hand, attempts to make eye contact or cough-coughing could get a response. And despite telling us to take our time choosing from the menu, they didn’t actually give us a menu. 

Or like the time I ordered the slow cooked lamb. Look, I’m so English that I could be served a tin of heated Pedigree Chum and be guaranteed to respond, “oh yes, it’s lovely” when asked. But not this lamb. No no. Slow cooked meat should attract a very specific type of vocab. ‘Fall off the bone’ and ‘melt in the mouth’. This was ‘needs a spoon’ type stuff. After an awkward pause, the waitress agreed that this particular lamb was all a bit ‘Cow and Gate’, and took it off the bill. Bless her.

Or like just this past weekend. The Chelsea edition of a new up and coming pizza chain that absolutely screams pretentiousness – so off to a bad start. But who doesn’t like half price pizza? Who doesn’t like a sunny afternoon in Chelsea? I thought the threat of a £10 charge for no-shows a little bit much for a pretty standard pizza joint. The Mr Whippy style foam dollops on the uber-cheesily named Leonardo Da Vincheese pizza was weird. But the waitress was lovely. And when she brought the bill, she even managed to explain, without howls of manic laughter, that whilst the tip was already included, we could include another tip if we wanted. Wtf? Why has double tipping become a thing? When did it become a thing? No, I’m not doing this. I’m one tip or no tip, and asking for a second tip is to nudge me closer to no tip.

I pondered on the way home from the pizza joint, how one would best rate soft launch restaurants when reviewing them. Marks out of ten? I think it better to give them a score of 1 to 12, each point to signify how many months I think they’ll last. Whilst pondering, I got an email from the pizza place, sad that I’d missed my reservation and a ping from my Monzo app telling me I’d been charged £10. As if the double tip and Mr Whippy foam cones weren’t bad enough. I gave this place a hard one on the scorecard….