HOW TIMES CHANGE – JUST ONE MEAL AT THE ROYAL HOTEL, THURSO IN 2010.

Recently my wife and I attended the reopening of the Royal Hotel and had a thoroughly good time where we enjoyed good food and rink expertly served. It was all different thirteen years ago under different owners then of course. Things can only get better!!!!!!

Blackpool has its illuminations to become a landmark, but the Royal Hotel, Thurso has discovered incompetence, amateurish and pitiful service as a way of becoming memorable. In a parallel universe, somewhere, held in great respect, as one does for the dearly departed, The Royal would be known as the Bizarre Inn on Weird Street. It wasn’t that the food was bad; in fact, it was passable and defined the term “average” perfectly. It was just the fact that the service was unbelievable in being so unprofessional that it made visiting a charity coffee morning a cultural event! Cold plates are perfect for placing food designed to be eaten that way and that have emerged from a fridge, but surely someone could have “twigged” that hot food needs hot plates. It is like buying a car without wheels, a simple omission with drastic effects. It is all in the detail. I never leave home without checking my zip on my trousers is secured and someone in the kitchens at the Royal needs to check his or her brain cells are connected before commencing work in future.

Overhearing the argument between the Under Manager and chef as to what one can or can’t do with a chicken set the tone of the evening perfectly. As time progressed it became clear to me that I could do with a chef and a chicken! Waiting at the bar for drinks, I am sure Easter passed me by and Christmas was nearly here when the order was finally completed. Truth was that the order was left unconsummated by virtue of a virgin cash till! Technology is wonderful and the perfect excuse for a human to hide behind. “Sorry guv, nothing to do with me. It’s all the fault of that lump of plastic and metal over there!” Well, that’s enough about the Hotel Management! Still, they do know their stuff as the word arose time and time again. That’s the word, “NO” and not, “KNOW”! , in the context of; No change, No lemon, No right glasses, No more trifle, No ice cream other than strawberry, No pineapple and no return customers?

The table was set perfectly and far enough away for the bus party as to make clear we weren’t pensioners on a cheap souvenir grabbing tour sponsored by Zimmer frame international! Understanding the menu was challenging to say the least as part was handwritten on a page from a notebook. Thankfully, a doctor had not penned the information, thus the words were readable, if not clear. Gammon was just that, without any decoration. No medals here. Minimalist maybe has its place, but not here in the Royal and as one diner pointed out, the Co-Op is still open. Still, the bread was good and if one had been served the soup by the Salvation Army after sleeping rough on the streets all night then, this too would have gone down well. It became obvious from handling the bottle of red house wine which was so cold that it would have benefited from being warmed up in the fridge; there were no “Marigolds” in the kitchen. I suspect thermal gloves are compulsory, used for carrying the main course plates back and forth. No surprises that the fish had been frozen, probably shivering with nerves of being presented to such a discerning audience, one that’s recognises common sense by its absence. The same sense of absence that one notice about peas. Scenes of “Oliver” came to mind when one was heard asking for “peas.” The waitress may have thought we were beggars in requesting such fundamentals in broad daylight, but again this is just common sense and a detail. It seemed as if the scampi won the day and was soon gobbled up. Well, it would have been if the sauce had arrived early. Perhaps this was sourced (pun intended), from the Co-Op. It’s a shame then that whoever went there for such sauce, they didn’t buy some extra trifles as to finish the meal with the availability of just one helping of this desert is short sighted in the extreme. Still, this gave an opportunity to free acne covered Richard from the kitchen and lo behold, “spotted dick” arrived. This at least proved it wasn’t just the chef and manager who was acting potty! This action shares the same customer “blindness” that was on offer, (or not) at the bar, where a request for a “Black Bottle” was met with the retort, “bottle is empty.” Yet a bottle was clearly left in the optics. For God’s sake man, take year bottle down when it’s gone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Attempting to participate in the local tradition for paying the “bill,” I discovered the Manager and barman sitting on the floor behind the reception desk counting bags of money. Ill gotten gains from the Thurso drugs barons no doubt. This would explain the vagueness of trying to calculate how much we owed as a six-person group enjoying a three-course dinner. WE owed? Surely the reverse was true and, in an effort, to speed the financial transaction, in case we clashed with breakfast staff, I requested a complaint form which cleverly is known as “customer feed back. Food back would maybe have been more accurate. Yet my meal was acceptable and if one regarded the service as a cabaret then quite comical. Negotiations on the price reduced the costs to a very respectful £50 which was less than £10 per head. Could it be the credit crunch or are other parts of customer service just waiting to feel the pinch and most importantly was that “spotted dick” the only one in town?

The “Royal’s” advance dinner reconnaissance team had recommended the venue and given a glowing report. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any glowing this time, even the fire was unlit, and the curtains left open. The event was memorable though and we will return. Who will be most scared? The Royal or the guests is open to debate!