Decked by Deckers

We ate out at Deckers last Thursday. A traditional end-of-holiday meal with the outlaws, and their choice of restaurant. I suppose it does me good to eat out somewhere that isn't Indian, Chinese, or Thai once in a while (read: once a year), but their menu is a little on the bland side.

It's well done though, in the main. Nikki had the Hunter's Chicken (which I'd had last year), Neil ordered battered cod but instead received what looked like poached cod with a few juniper berries arranged on top in an effort at nouvelle cuisine (which, given that it's now around 20 years old can't really be called "nouvelle" any more, can it?), Shirley ordered the lamb, thereby avoiding any chance that she would stretch the bounds of predictability, and I had a peppered fillet steak, medium rare.

For once, having ordered medium rare, when the steak arrived it was medium rare. Full marks.

So it should have been a perfect evening. Why then did they spoil it at the last minute? Fall at the final hurdle? I mean, what restaurant in their right mind serves raspberry pavlova with SQUIRTY CREAM??!?!?!? You know, that plastic, processed crap that pretends to be cream but comes in an aerosol can for instant delivery on to the dessert of your choice. Where my choice would be: none.

For a restaurant trying to deliver a cordon bleu experience this just screams chav. It's indicative of piss-poor attention to detail and attitude and it would normally be enough for me to write a restaurant off and never set foot there again. Unfortunately, as this is one of Shirley's favourite places, the luxury of high dudgeon isn't available to me, so I'll just have to breathe a sigh of relief that we won't be dining there again until at least 2010.

And in case anyone from the Decker's kitchen happens by, this is what a raspberry pavlova should look like (courtesy of Flickr):