The plan was to take my Mum and enjoy a Puccini at the theatre. We go to this theatre about 3 times a year: it's clean, it's happy, it's convenient....in short, it's always a wonderful day out. There's also a nice restaurant there where it's informal dining -- that's informal, not casual. It's noticeably more posh than the cafés with the headwaiter seating you, handing out your lap napkin, etc. And the food, while slightly more expensive, is certainly worth it.
At least, that's the experience my family has enjoyed over the last 10 years or so. You can probably tell from the title of this post that last weekend's experience didn't go so well. It was so bad, I gave myself a blog account just so I could talk about it!
We're an organised family, so we tried to ring ahead at our favourite restaurant a week ahead and book a table. The first time we rang, there was no answer at all. The second time it was the answering machine, so instead of saying we wanted a booking and having them ring back at an awkward hour we decided to ring back. Finally on the morning of the excursion, we managed to book our table.
To reach the theatre and its neighbouring restaurant, we must drive for about an hour from the outer suburbs into the city. There's a single 2-lane main road that forms the main road from my home to the theatre. A single lane was closed, the result being a good 500 metres of stop-start traffic. And why was the road shut? So the contractors could lay tiles on the traffic island, where previously there had been some nice wild grass.
We arrive at the theatre carpark. Mum has a mobility impairment so we park in the disabled parks near the lifts that go up into the complex. Too late, we discover that the lifts and the neighbouring stairs are closed and the signs are asking us to use the 'pedestrian access'. Well, where's the pedestrian access? Myself and a dozen other patrons are wandering around aimlessly in an effort to discover that very answer.
Our first effort is to go past the nearby entrance and go to the other main entrance about 50 metres away. It is also closed and advises us to use the mythical pedestrian access. Finally we find a set of stairs that lead out of the carpark. Note stairs: no lifts are working, but fortunately no-one's in a wheelchair -- although I shudder to think what would happen if we did have a patron in a wheelchair.
We reach our restaurant. The ambiance and service is wonderful; the headwaiter advises of how the food's going to help guide our orders. Easy as. Drink orders are taken: they are no longer selling Coca-Cola. Now, I respect that people may prefer Pepsi but unfortunately I loathe the stuff. I settle with a lemonade and we order mains: I'll have a medium steak, Mum will have the barramundi.
As a complimentary appetiser, they bring out an eggcup of cauliflower soup with truffle oil. I'm not really a soup person, but I certainly want to be able to boast about eating something with truffles in it. I manage one spoonful: it tastes of cauliflower-flavoured garlic.
Now, this restaurant is owned by the same people who run the theatre. They know the patrons come in 60-90 minutes before the show starts, and so they get the meals done so people can eat, pay & leave in time to get to the theatre. At least, they used to: the new chef is an artist and nothing will rush him through his cooking of the meal. Not even patrons with a mobility impairment who are starting to look rather impatient. No, they must wait at least 50 minutes after ordering before their food will arrive! And they will like it!!
My 'steak' is two pieces of beef that together could cover my palm. They have the grey colour of beef that has been boiled -- apparently it's been steamed in Chef's state-of-the-art steam cooker. It has the texture of a steak, but the complete lack of any flavour whatsoever. The
And Mum? Her steamed fish is nice and hot with crispy skin, and an interior that tastes like cold fresh fish. The fish comes with pumpkin
After paying the bill (twice what the portions were worth, based on size alone) comes a quick stop in the restaurant's facilities. One of the cubicle doors is out of alignment and won't shut properly, which extends our wait. The soap dispensers are infra-red activated: hold your hand in front of them and the foam comes out. Try the first hand drier: it's powered by a 747 engine. Try the second hand drier: wave your hands and an amount of paper towel comes out. Not necessarily bad, but quite hilarious.
The deserts at the restaurant looked tempting, but with time and the main meals on our mind we decided it was best to raid the vending machines for overpriced M&Ms. They not only cleansed the palate but provided our only nourishment. Finally it's time for the show.
The opera is Puccini's The Girl of the Golden West. If you like excruciatingly slow plots, sets that have more character than the characters and male leads who aren't even trying and therefore dragging the rest of the show down with them, then I strongly recommend it. The first act I caught myself lying down on Mum's shoulder: she didn't mind as she was already asleep, and apparently the lady next to Mum was snoring.
(Health warning: weak of stomach should skip this paragraph.)
Golden West is in 3 acts, and somehow we survive to first interval. We went to use the facilities: the theatre's facilities, not those we used after lunch. As soon as you pass the outer door you can smell it: the overpowering stench of....of....someone who didn't close the lid after 3 days' worth of steaming Number Twos. That's the only way I can describe it. I've done volunteer work at old folks' homes and I've never smelled anything like that before. Still reeling from the facilities we returned to our seats and tolerated Act 2 of Golden West. This time there was at least enough to keep us from nodding off. Second interval arrives and we again raid the chocolate supplies.
Mum: I guess we have to go back in.
Me: Or we could just go home.
Mum: Are you serious?
Me: [Nods quickly with a look of fear and desperation.]
Mum: Let's go.
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