IT WAS a long drive back from Cornwall and when I finally arrived all I really wanted was a hot meal and a nice long drink.
So my fiance and I ventured out into the sunny streets of Brighton to eat at our favourite bar/restaurant.
On arrival our senses perceived changes all around.
Apparently it had undergone an overhaul including a fresh lick of paint, new lighting, new waiting staff and a new head chef.
With my tummy grumbling like thunder and salivating like Homer Simpson dreaming of rich, creamy butter, I ordered a tempting fish dish from the new menu, which held all the promise of gastronomic perfection.
Baked sea bream with ratatouille AND mango salsa. Yum!
Especially since I’m great fan of the Pixar animation Ratatouille.
But when my eagerly awaited meal arrived I was taken aback.
Mon Dieu!
Not only was the fish portion ridiculously small there was no sign of ratatouille anywhere on the near-empty plate.
And so I called on the waitress to query my missing ratatouille.
Dutifully she whisked it back off to the kitchen only to bring it back explaining: “The chef says it’s a ratatouille OF mango salsa.”
“Excuse me, what?” I replied.
“The menu clearly states AND mango salsa, not OF.
“Can you run that one by me again please?”
I had no idea such a thing existed.
To my knowledge ratatouille is a French peasant dish that mainly consists of tomatoes, aubergine, courgette and onion.
I kindly returned the dish to the waitress and asked her to ask the chef to fill my plate with what was written on the menu.
Lo and behold it re-appeared along with another waiter who appeared to be slightly more senior than the last, still maintaining that the chef was insisting I was wrong and he was right.
At this point I blew a gasket.
Now, I'm not normally someone who makes a show of myself in a restaurant but this was taking the Mickey
So I demanded that he got the menu and read it out loud to me.
At this point he realised the error of his ways – and indeed the chef downstairs – and apologised profusely, saying he would take it back and get it made properly this time.
Twenty minutes later it came back with what appeared to be a squashed lump full of frozen peas and olives with what appeared to be a few cold lumps of mango drowned in the strongest chilli oil on the planet.
My veins were practically protruding from my neck and I was ready to punch the wall.
I’ve never been made so livid about a plate of ratatouille before!
After battling with hunger pangs I decided that I was too hungry to find another restaurant or order another dish so I ate the fish and left the bizarre concoction of mango, peas and olives in protest
The chef behind my dish of ratatouille was certainly nothing like the Pixar creation – a talking rat with a creative genius for food unlike no other.
Although as it turned out, he was a bit of a rat in the end.