No, I'm not talking about myself for once, but Raymond Blanc's Brasserie in St Albans. Six of us road-tested it last night for the lovely Kate's birthday.
It looks fantastic inside and out and they have banished any memories of Harry Smith's by the decor and the layout. The food was great but I feel the staff training is more than a little bit lacking. We had a lovely, smiley waitress who didn't really have a fucking clue about anything. When you are paying quite expensive prices for food and booze you don't expect to have a waitress who brings a bottle of wine over saying "I've never opened a bottle of wine before". Seriously. Jan and Emski were luckily on hand to instruct her in the finer working points of her corkscrew before the Manager saw her and gave her a bollocking. When I was smiling encouragingly at her as we asked her to explain the puddings she said "Do you really want to know what the puddings are or are you just taking the Mickey?" Oh dear God. As we paid the bill I said to her "It's a really good job that you're pretty," and she took it as a compliment. Bless.
The great and the good of St Albans have obviously decided that this is the latest place to be seen and it was packed out with generally well-dressed expensive looking couples. Ralph took exception to the gentleman at the table next to us who had his collar standing up and the men at our table followed suit for a few minutes. Personally, I had more of an issue with the fact that he was doing a crossword under the table. You're not in your fucking kitchen mate!
Anyway, we had a great champagne-filled evening. I'm beginning to come to the conclusion though that these celebrity chef haunts can do one out of my life and, out of choice, I will be eating in Freddie's for as long as he will continue to let me.
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