Of Dear Beer and No Deal Meals

With this weekend being our last single weekend, TOOMA and I decided to live it up in style.

So Saturday night, when all roads led to some or the other watering hole, we trotted smartly to Sevilla, an upscale Mediterranean restaurant at a centrally located luxury Hotel. A friend had only the highest praise and very positive feedback about it, which only bolstered our resolve to make it the venue for our last single rendezvous.

We drove into the long, winding, graveled driveway, stepping out to let a smartly-liveried valet to assume full responsibility for parking our pair of wheels.

The view that awaited us was breathtaking, to say the least.

It was almost like stepping into an ethereal wonderland.

The similarity to what you see as you turn the glossy pages of glossy fairytales, was unmistakable.

Tastefully decorated tree houses with private seating areas, complete with white drapes, fire marshals, the backdrop of a serene waterfall as it gushed peacefully nearby – all added to the classy, magical ambience.

A waiter stood unobtrusively in the background, waiting for you to usher him towards you.

Tasteful ambience – tick.
Soothing strains of music – tick.
Waiters who didn’t hover over your head like bloodsucking mosquitoes – tick.
Comfortable, low couches that begged to be seated upon – tick.

And that’s when the ‘Ouches’ started.

What started as an innocuously declared, ‘Sir, we do not serve regular water H-E-R-E,’ by a disdainfully-expressioned waiter, didn’t just end with that…

After handing you two heavily-embossed menus - one with a select menu, comprising chiefly of Spanish, Asian and Italian cuisine, and the other promising a ‘heady’ session, he slinks away.

Our breaths were collectively taken away once again – though this time the feeling was anything but pleasurable, thanks to the exorbitant rates that spelled themselves out in bold, italicized lettering.

The steeply-priced Heineken didn’t help much to digest what was brought to our table in the name of Arabic goat chevre (cheese), and it was only with restraint that we kept ourselves from choking and spluttering.

No kidding – the miniscule portion had five slices of tomatoes spread carefully over what looked like an abundance of some exotic herbs. Three eye-shaped cheese pieces stared at us quizzically from between the tomatoes.

Upon my indignant questioning to the attendant as to whether he had forgotten to put the remaining three-fourths of the cheese into the portion, I received a cheeky reply that it was but a starter.

For whom, pray? Fairies? I wanted to ask.

Thank God the ambience was faultless, which sort of made up for the way too exorbitant prices the diners were expected to cough up.

What is it with ridiculously overpriced restaurants, main dishes that resemble appetizers, side dishes that would do a frugal saint proud, and starters that would barely suffice even for a chronically anorexic individual?

Some food for thought this…