We've been celebrating 38 years of marriage today (the long-service medals are on the table) with our pals from Heathbank. It's as well the company was excellent and the wine a pleasant Merlot, for the meal was possibly the worst I've ever eaten in a restaurant.
Garlic bread sounds like a safe and toothsome starter - no? Well, no. This gave me my first opportunity in about ten years to eat what Di called "duck bread" - white sliced, barely toasted, with a sad drizzle of pallid oil. The accompanying salad was naked. Not a vestige of dressing. And it should have been a tomato salsa - I've just remembered that. The lamb noisette was toughly tasteless, and the dish of vegetables (for four to share) would have served me if I'd been alone. To be fair, the waitress said "just ask for more" - so we did, immediately, and ended up with a reasonable quantity. There was no decaffeinated coffee on offer.
In the end, having complained, we weren't charged for the starters. I've eaten at The Pier on several occasions and thoroughly enjoyed it, but I won't be returning. There was a definitely slapdash atmosphere about the whole operation, right down to the missing tiles on the loo wall. We emerged to a beautiful, midge-laden evening, with a wonderful sky over Loch Eck. My phone camera doesn't do justice to it. And Mr B is confirmed in his high opinion of my cooking. Here's to the next 38 years - or maybe not!
