New friends at Casa De Carli

Its gratifying that when Night Rider gives a bad review to a restaurant or other establishment, it usually means that they will close their doors soon after. The LS Club was the first "casualty"; they in fact banned Night Rider from darkening their doors. It seems criticism was too much for the owners to tolerate and I gather the main chap has now moved onto a dodgy website marketing cut price offers from other establishments around Prague that are finding it hard to drum up custom. Its called Gin & Tonic or something similar. The next to go was the overpriced Italian Restaurant, Ameci Mei. A trap for the naive tourists wandering by, I guess. Having heard it was no more, but now another Italian "Casa De Carli" it was with some trepidation that we gave the valuable Saturday lunchtime slot. Turns out that the Owner Chef is Matteo De Carli and his partner ( in both senses ) Lenka Hermanova runs the front of house. I had no idea who she was when I walked in unannounced and tried to decided whether to eat inside, or outside, on one of their pavement tables. In the end, went for an outside table. My experience with most restaurants with outside tables is that service immediately suffers, but this was not the case with Lenka doing a great job from start to finish, well backed up by her competent staff. The menu is pretty simple, but none the worse for that and best described as country Italian with a few twists added by the Chef. Both my fish dishes were perfectly presented and my only regret was that having my car with me I could not sample the wine list. But I shall return soon and put that right.

The Bungalow, NYE in Cape Town

Bit of a dodgy name I thought when invited to the opening party of "The Bungalow", just before Xmas 2011. Bungalow to me still has the resonance of retired persons final dwellings in say places like Bognor Regis or Folkestone - shabby genteel at best. Perhaps I am prejudiced as during most of my school days, my parents lived in one !

However, Cape Town's leading restaurant entreprenuer ( or should I say, moghul ) Paul Kovensky ( standing reluctantly with me above ) seemed to have no such misgivings in naming his new creation. Perhaps because along the next few beaches at Clifton, only the richest can afford the famous "bungalows" which dot their landscape.

Recruiting a good Chef with international experience was a good move by Paul and its cuisine far surpasses the only other beach club type place on the front, wrongly named "The Grand". The Grand ( in name only ), manages to get just about everything wrong that The Bungalow gets right. Food terrible, service poor and a security manager that seems to delight in fighting with would-be guests.

But having been to the Bungalow's opening party, I had little hesitation in booking it for the NYE celebration to welcome in 2012.

It lived up to expectation and despite having only been open for a total of 10 days or so, food, service and overall ambience far exceeded expectations. My only advice to Paul for next NYE's party - double your prices and let your chef deliver a more memorable feast.

A true master chef : Heinz Winkler

Near the Bavarian Sea, lake Chiemgau, nestles the fairytale village of Aschau, in which Residenz Heinz Winkler is located.

This is a true signature restaurant, a member of both Les Grandes Tables Du Monde and Relais & Chateaux. The restaurant and the dining experience is the raison d'etre of this fine establishment. That it has plush rooms to stay in and, a La Prairie spa is almost incidental. The food and service was so sublime, it almost seems churlish to criticise either.

I arrived there almost too late for lunch last weekend. Lunch, the Residenz "bible" in our suite, told me is served between 12 noon and 2pm. It was already 2.20 pm and the stand-in blonde was busy with her "stuff" in the bathroom. Requests to hurry were rebuffed with explicit advice. So I took off alone to the dining terrace.

I asked a young steward if he could find me a table to two for 2.30pm. He said he could and I duly arrived back with the blonde at this alloted time. However, my way was blocked by an imposing Maitre D'. "Sir, we only serve lunch up until 2pm" but my riposte was prepared, "Your colleague has already prepared my table" and walked straight past him. "Then you will just be having a snack then" he managed to impart. A mean spirited and worthless remark, as we were shortly presented with the full menu and proceeded to order a full three course lunch, which kept us mesmerised until about 4pm when we retired to our suite once more. Needless to say, the food was sublime, the service excellent and even the great Heinz Winkler made an appearance and did his round of the tables.

Herr Winkler is a discrete and likeable host. He kindly consented to have his picture taken with your scribe, standing by his establishment's front door above. Despite the skirmish with the Maitre D', all his staff are impeccable in their turn out and their approach. I could not fault them; but they not only did things in a very efficient German way, they did it with a smile, a warmth and dedication that hard to match anywhere in the world. So Herr Winkler is not only a celebrity Chef of the highest order, he is also one of the best team builders in the business. Reminds me of San Lorenzo, Knightsbridge, in its hey day.

In Vino Veritas - Loisium Hotel and Spa

Don't be put off by the neo-brutalist minimalist architecture, that looks as if was covered with industrial packing plastic wrap.

As we arrived, there was a sharp intake of breath from the blonde as she took in full ghastly impact of the facades. She muttered something like "you must be joking", before I could encourage her to descend from the Bentley and reconnoitre the interior.

Inside, brutalism is toned down considerably and, the warm welcome from the reception staff turned out to be just a taste of the excellent service we had throughout our stay. Staff attitude and training is the hardest thing to get right these days; I see this across Europe, from the top hotels in London to the fanciest restaurants in the South of France. The hospitality industry has much to answer for; little of no training, poor pay and conditions and no interest in fostering career development. But in the Loisium, try as I might, I had trouble to fault any member of staff and with Night Rider being one of the most demanding and difficult clients they will encounter, that's amazing.

Now I should point out that the whole experience revolves around wine; the hotel and spa are in the middle of the vineyards of Langenlois ( Austria ), the Aveda spa has many wine related treatments and a couple of hundred metres away is a kind of "World of Wine" building where wine tastings and sales are happening all the time, along with educational displays and wine paraphanalia. In short, a great place for wine-lovers.

Probably, like me, you might have thought that the Austrians only produce good white wines; I was wrong. They have started to produce some really excellent reds; but they are pricey. Expect to pay around 35 Euros for a good bottle of red, or more, in the Loisium restaurant and about 60% of that price, from their "Wine World" cellar priced establishment.

The spa experience is pretty average, and although branded by Aveda there is little evidence that they play much of an ongoing role. The treatments are expensive and pretty much what one would expect from similar small hotel spas around Europe. But it seemed that all the guests were at least pretending that they were using the spa, as the garden and pool areas, were a sea of contended burgers, enjoying the sun and all dressed in their white spa robes. It almost felt like being part of some new religious cult, where the wearing of this uniform like attire was obligatory. I guess the Austrians like this sort of thing.

Rating:
5 Star - Died and gone to heaven
4 Star - Rhapsody in white
3 Star - Wine lovers convention
2 Star - Cheap and cheerful
1 Star - Blott on the landscape

No prizes for guessing: its 3 Stars, if I am being kind

Bearing all just outside of Prague

This august establishment, in Klokocna, a village about 30 minutes drive south east of Prague has quite a reputation. But be warned, its a firm favourite with the locals and they travel for miles ( I should say kilometres ) to try the tasty fare of the Sapikova family, so booking is essential.

I have to say that the immediate countryside around Prague suffers from a dearth of restaurants worth driving to. I am usually so disappointed with what is put on their tables, they don't even get review space; yet alone any praise. The Sapikova establishment interested me for two reasons; firstly the head of the family has apparently cooked at Prague Castle for some of the great and the good and secondly, for a week or so in February, bear was on the menu. Yes, that's right bear.

Now in England, I suspect that even if you could get the bear past the Health and Safety gestapo squad, you would end up being picketed and having your windows smashed by some animal rights campaigners. Which is why I cannot remember AA Gill or Michael Winner writing about bear enhanced menus. Well guys, this was my big chance to pull off a review "coup" and write about the eating the brutes.

A couple of my colleagues went for bear soup, which looked pretty boring, but they pronounced themselves satisfied.

I went for the full monty of Bear a la Russe; bear Russian style, which seemed to be accompanied by some pretty Czech looking dumplings. As you can imagine, old bruin is a pretty tough beast to render into a state in which the human can chew and digest it. Sapikova's solution is the pretty obvious one of slow cooking and then, smothering it with a rich sauce to, how shall I put this correctly, take the bearishness away.

Well they pulled it off - just. I could have been eating the poorest cut of beef, horse, aged venison or possibly even ostrich. It had a gamey tang, but the rich brown sauce and my hunger, made it edible. Would I recommend to the ladies - definitely not and one certainly needs to be a lover of well hung game to derive any pleasure at all from the dish ( leaving aside the ethical considerations, which others are far better equipped than I, to comment on. )

A robust looking chef, whom I assume was the leading light of the Sapikova family, rolled into the main dining room as we were halfway through our meal. I assumed he would work the room and at least, enquire how bruin was going down. Not a bit of it; he sat own at a table with some of his mates in the corner and apart from a couple of shifty looks around the room, I assume to check that none of the great and the good had strayed from Prague Castle to visit him, was completely anti-social.

So no picture of Night Rider being embraced by a fat chef; perhaps just as well as after the rather rich bruin, a bear hug might have had undesired results.

Worth a visit again ? The jury is still out.

Dinner with Paul Day.........Sansho to take off shortly

Not able to try Dinner with Heston Blumenthal in London this week, I was still feeling miserable from Valentine's Dinner at Amici Miei, that only memorable for their outrageous bill, as commented below. However, a saviour was at hand. A call out of the blue from Paul Day, to invite me to sample the fare at his new lair in Prague, shortly to officially open its doors.

With blonde in tow, I duly turned up on Saturday evening to be warmly greeted by our host and his small collection of charming young staff. I left the food to Paul to select and he duly obliged with a degustation of numerous small courses. Outstanding were the pork ribs, cooked slowly and derived from some ancient breed that melted in the mouth; the surf and turf of stone fish and some very spicy thai style beef.

The house wines were worthy of a more distinguished title; a Cremant sparkling white that could have been mistaken for Champagne and very smooth red from the Languedoc Cote D'Or region. Restaurants in Prague so rarely get their house wines right, perhaps to encourage diners to go for the more expensive options. Not in this case, where I would have been happy to serve these two, at a private dinner party at home ( unless it included wine snobs ! ).

I look forward to the doors opening officially and revisiting some amazing dishes.

Amici Miei - no friends of mine !

I am one of those people who make social arrangements at the last minute, so this Valentine's Day found all my favourite haunts in Prague booked out. Had often walked past the Amici Miei restaurant in Prague's old town and close to the much frequented Lamborghini Cafe in Vezenska Street. Looked at its website and it was generally impressed, but hard pressed to find any of my friends who had actually eaten there. That should have been warning enough, but with little time left to make a reservation for the evening I put doubts aside and risked it. Laziness is rarely rewarded and sure enough, I got what I guess was fully deserved.

Prague is a beautiful City and as well as the mass tourists who wander its old streets through all the seasons, it has a fair number of well heeled visitors from east and west. Pariska Street ( Prague's Bond Street ) can be seen bustling with wealthy Russians, rubbing shoulders with the local rich and affluent Westerners. But for all its sophistication, rip offs await the unwary. Taxi drivers who charge treble or more, currency exchanges that take more in commission than you can imagine and there are always new ways being dreamt up of parting people from large amounts of cash. The inappropriately named Amici Miei restaurant decided Valentine's Day was a good moment to boost their bottom line and hit me with a bill, that I might have expected at the new Heston Blumenthal's new place at the Mandarin Oriental in London.

To start with they dreamt up a special menu for the day, which the maitre d later admitted was priced up considerably higher than normal daily dishes. I started with a mediocre seafood salad, poorly presented and lacking in any real excitement. Followed that by a Dover Sole; it was fresh enough and only slightly over-cooked but the roast potatoes with it were soggy and clearly had sat under a warmer for some time before making their way to our table. The desert, described as warm chocolate cake turned out to be a very small and again unmemorable souffle - not too bad but worth 15 Euro ? No way.

But the serious rip off came with the drinks, with over 20 Euros a glass being charged for a very standard house champagne and a very small glass ( 0.2 dl ) of house red wine, barely drinkable 12 Euros a glass.

The end result was a bill of well over 300 Euros; at least double what it should have been for a meal and drinks of this quality.

No friends of mine and not suprisingly, less than half full. The other denizens of Prague have been caught before ?

Le Mas Candille

Le Mas Candille is an 18th century "farmhouse" nestling in four hectares of mature grounds clinging to the side of old Mougins Village, just outside of Cannes. Its views are towards Grasse and Les Alpes Maritimes, rather than to the sea which perhaps accounts for its modest room rates. I say modest, but not cheap, because this fine establishment is a 5 Star boutique hotel, accredited to the Relais & Chateaux collection and boasts a One Star Michelin restaurant and Shiseido spa.

I booked a double room through their website for the night of January 1st - or so I thought ! It seems that my booking appeared at the other end as one for New Year's eve, as their vigilant reception manager, Francoise kept inviting me for a special gourmet New Year's Eve dinner at 500 Euro per head.

So when I duly rolled up in very dirty Range Rover, at 6pm on January 1st, they claimed I was one day late ! This should not have mattered since they had plenty of rooms empty and some "walks ins" that arrived 5 minutes after us, were promptly shown to their quarters; but the blonde and I were kept waiting for more than 15 minutes while they decided what room to give us. In the end, as my patience was nearly at an end, they showed us to a small suite in what I guess could be termed their "spa annex". While a good size, these suites are now looking tired and the bathrooms in particular, need a complete refit. Our bathroom had a tiny old style tv, which only had a few channels and set at an angle it would be hard to view it from anywhere, except standing in the doorway between bedroom and bathroom; quite weird.

Keen to see if our palates could be refreshed after the dismal fare in Andorra, we quickly changed and rushed to try out the Michelin Star restaurant, run by Chef Serge Gouloumes. First impressions were not good; we were given a poor table and had an aperitif cocktail list thrust at us, without any enquiry as to whether we wanted one. The decor of the room is shabby genteel in the extreme, with a carpet that must have been designed by a colour blind anarchist and the room draped, tent-like with what looked like my late grandmother's grey shawls. To add to the sombre effect, there was no music and the mixed bag of middle class eurocrats dining there, observed an almost funereal silence as if waiting for the priest to begin his sermon.

After being left on our own for ten minutes, we eventually got to see the menu and the wine list. There is no a la carte, but just a choice of a few dishes. The wine list hardly had a bottle below to offer below 60 Euros, but I spotted a 2005 Cote de Rhones around this level and it arrived with a pleasant chap, whom may have been the sommelier or perhaps, the Maitre D'. Anyway, he was far more pleasant than the wine, which I had to send back; it may not technically have been "off" but certainly was one of the worst Cote de Rhones I can remember in a lifetime of drinking hundreds, maybe thousands of them ! I settled instead for an excellent red wine from Chinon at around the same price.

The practice of limiting wine lists to just highly priced, well marked up, old favourites should be frowned on. Frankly, its a rip-off and almost insulting when their are plenty of fine wines available in any supermarket for less than 20 Euros a bottle. The sommelier or chef should start by promoting some of their personal favourites, from little known vineyards, preferably in the region and offer some personal recommendation for their choices.

I am afraid the food was a disappointment also; the sort of haute cuisine that I came to know and expect 20 years ago in France. I chose asparagus and caviar as a starter; over elaborately put together with various sauces, garnishing and timbales, but with so little caviar I might have well missed it altogether. Next I thought a beef fillet would erase the memory of the terrible one from the Hermitage Hotel the night before; sadly not. While the German beef was fairly tender, it was not properly aged and drowned in some heavy sauce which I can only imagine had been cooked up through a number of "reductions", it was so poignant. I asked the Maitre D' ( or sommelier ) chappy why they did not serve a steak from a good French animal, such as a Charolais and he could offer no explanation; quite stupid not to source meat in particular, from local trusted suppliers.

Desert was some sort of baked apple extravaganza; vivid green and not sure which parts to eat and which were either there just for show, or full of "e" colouring. Pity to mess up a tasty baked apple in this way when there are so many opportunities to embellish it simply and tastefully. This one had some "gingerbread" ice cream on the side; delicious, except the shame was it had melted by the time it was put on the table.

So we retired to our old fashioned suite and watched a 12 Euro movie that must have been at least ten year's old. Another example of an irritating way some hotels chose to make a few bob more from their guests.

There next money making opportunity came in charging for breakfast, which I naively thought would have been included in our room rate. At about 25 Euros each, for a cold buffet, not exactly a bargain. But at least here the hotel at last excelled. Their spread of fresh local produce, including their own breads etc was quite quite fantastic. Some music now enlivened the restaurant and the pleasant staff, the great view towards Grasse made us linger longer than usual before setting off to the Austrian Alpes - but that's another story.

In summary; a place that will please the traditionalists of, how can I put this politely, of a certain age and background. For those seeking a cutting edge sense of style, ambience and cuisine - just a sense of deja vu and then, a gentle let down. It was ten years since I last stayed at Le Mas Candille; it may well be another ten, to give it time to re-invent itself.

Fantastic French chef and then on to Fawlty Towers in Andorra

Deciding to drive somewhere for the New Year's celebrations, the blonde and I thought we would try something different - a short winter sports holiday in Andorra. With most of Europe covered in snow, the Maserati was left in the garage and the Range Rover Sport complete with winter tyres and a brand new set of snow chains was bought into service.

Stopped on the way in Baden Baden at the charming Belle Epoque boutique hotel; its small. shabby genteel and the staff are the best you could find anywhere in Europe. We laughed over breakfast, as an Indian "Mr Grumpy" with his fat wife and fatty kids tried their very best to goad the staff, one after the other with a series of pathetic complaints about their omelette, their porridge and anything else that they could think of. The Germans won hands down and gave a show of polished politeness straight out of the best hotel school. Hats off to them. But I wished I had Mr Grumpy with me a couple of days later.

Next stop was the small but perfectly formed establishment of Frederic Carrion, in the village of Vire not far from Macon. Chef Carrion has now added a few suites to his Relais de Montmartre restaurant. If anyone is deserving of one or two Michelins Stars its this fine chef and his Degustation Menu based on truffles was simple but splendid. He kindly posed for the photo above.

Now for the main event; we finally arrived at our New Year's Eve destination, the Sport Hotel Hermitage & Spa in Soldeu, Andorra.

Although costing a king's ransom and claiming 5 stars, this modern wooden edifice has no Porte Cachere, and no "set-down" area delineated on the main street; so we were forced to park in the street and shlep the 100 metres or so up the hill back to its glass entrance doors to announce ourselves. A porter then had to make the same trek down the hill and back up again with our baggage. Its now 5 pm and having had a long drive from Macon I was looking forward to relaxing in our suite before taking dinner. Sadly it seemed the suite had not been cleaned, and we had to "relax' with a beverage in the bar.

The whole hotel is modern and well appointed, but someone seems to have bought Tesco's entire stock of room freshener and sprayed it throughout the whole place. Our suite flattered to deceive, with no functioning internet, a bath that would not empty except over the bathroom floor and a cubicle for the toilet that had no ventilation.

We chose to try out the so called Fusion restaurant. Fusion is something that works well when you have a chef of my friend Paul Day's talents in Prague ( Paul was ex Nobu ), but when you have the local chaps trying out what's really quite a complex bit of chemistry it not suprisingly fails badly. I have to leave my main course unfinished, despite having missed lunch. The restaurant manager seemed bemused when I showed him a rock hard bit of "yakitori" chicken. He asked me what I would like; to which I really should have asked to go into their open fronted kitchen and give their boys a short cooking lesson; but in the end, after a long day, I settled for taking the 30 bucks or so they wanted for this tough offering, off my bill. Service was slow and the restaurant was full of screaming kids and their badly dressed parents.

The manager Mr Luis Benoit has been in hiding since my arrival; it seems he is always at one of the other two hotels in the town that belong the "Sport Hotels" group. Even my imitation of the Indian Mr Grumpy, carried out in a loud voice in the middle of their busy reception has failed to flush him from cover. But various "Manuals", in the worthy tradition of Basil Fawlty's, have been much in evidence. Its a shame no one can be bothered to train them or their manager how to run a Five Star establishment.

I cannot describe the gastlyness of the New Year's Eve dinner; good ingredients spoiled by poor cooking, unimaginative presentation and generally lacking any kind of flair at all. Main parts were an overcooked piece of fish, followed by a very tough fillet steak. We left the dining room before the deserts arrived, not being able to take another terrible offering seriously. Upstairs, there was a black American singer who managed to croak her way through a variety of badly chosen covers; the highlight of the evening was when the big TV screen ( I guess showing celebrations of the New Year in Madrid ) went black just as the countdown to midnight began. A fitting finale for a another year of Fawlty Towers, Andorran style.

A room with a view

The blond and I had been invited to the grand launch of the new Ferrari 599 GTO, due to be unveiled for the first time at the Military Academy in Modena. Ferrari had kindly offered to put us up at their expense in Bologna to join a world wide gathering of rich and enthusiastic Ferrari addicts who had already reserved one of these new supercars. Only problem being I got the date wrong and arrived in Italy, completely over excited, a day too early. This could have been an anti-climax, after tearing through the autobahns of Germany and then the Brenner Pass in my runabout to get there. However, this mistake created an opportunity of its own - to stay for a night at the famous and ludicrously expensive Hotel Villa San Michele, on the outskirts of Florence.

It is situated on a hill in Feisole, looking down towards Florence and the has enjoyed a reputation only matched by Le Splendido, and a handful of other Italian hotels. Perhaps, such a august establishment is not used to its punters ringing at the last minute for a room, but I was not able to elicit much of a choice of rooms below one thousand euros per night. Upon arriving, it came down to a cramped double bedroom with a view to Florence and a better appointed room, with a view to San Michele's superb gardens. The blond, without hesitation chose the garden room. I can best describe the decor as "shabby genteel", that air of once being fashionable and "polished" daily by an infinite army of servants to keep up appearances. The bath was fascinating, in that the only way to reach the on-off tap was to lever oneself out of the prone position, crawl to the other end of the bath, make the adjustment and fall back again.

We took cocktails in the bar before dinner; pleasant enough, but had the weather been warmer, sitting on the terrace over-looking Florence would have made the drink truly memorable. What I do remember is that the bar steward was one of the best I have ever come across. The right mixture between efficient, friendly and smart - definitely management material and a delight to pass some light banter with.

Moving to the fairly formal dining room, which seemed to have its normal mix ( for Florence ) of Asians, Americans and possibly the odd Russian, the service was still at the highest level. Clearly they have had some old hands who have been around for donkeys' years and taught some of the young bloods how to serve. The food itself does not match the setting or the service; don't get me wrong its hard to fault it, but it lacks inspiration and any flair in its presentation. Put Gordon Ramsey in there for a week to shake them up and/or recruit some brilliant young chef from a less august establishment and it would be transformed.

The next morning we had what was described as an "American Style buffet breakfast". I think that's a completely inappropriate way to describe the very Italian fare that was laid out on a several substantial tables. It included various cured Italian hams and salamis, cheeses, fruit, pastries etc. All of the very highest quality, fresh and well presented. A steward was on hand to keep pouring coffee and rustle up some boiled eggs for the blond. In short, nothing American about it and could better be described as a "brunch" rather than a breakfast.

Check-out was quick and painless, apart from the staggering price. One of the senior concierge team, Massimo, was most helpful and can be seen above, standing next to me and the runabout.

Le Grill is deserted

The other night I decided to make a first visit to Le Grill at Prague's Kempinski Hotel having been seduced by a positive review by Claire Compton, a Staff Writer for that august publication, The Prague Post, entitled "Fresh Tastes for Spring", and published in the March 10 - 16th edition. According to Ms Compton Chef Marek Fichtner had introduced a new seasonal menu.

Booked a table for the blonde and i to celebrate her name day and imagined that the restaurant would be bustling with romantic couples either celebrating a similar name day, or taking a crack at the highly rated seasonal menu. Sadly, the restaurant was completely empty and there was no sign of the seasonal menu - perhaps it is just for lunch ? In any event, we both decided to take a main course from the A La Carte offerings ; I asked for the Czech farm chicken with normal mashed potato instead of the sweet potato puree on the menu. The waitress, clearly bored to tears decided she would exercise her culinary knowledge by asking the Chef if that was possible. Rather unkindly, I said to her that if he was having trouble with the plain mash, I would be happy to go to the kitchen and help him out. She appeared ten minutes later to say that mash potato was in Chef Fichtner repetoire, but it would delay the serving by twenty minutes or so. I wonder how he does the sweet potato puree - in a microwave, or, if he keeping a huge pot of it going under some warming lamp. The mind boggles.

True to her promise, the waitress produced the chicken and mash twenty minutes later and the blonde's piece of tired looking white fish. She poked it around the plate for the time it took me to chew threw my tough piece of bird and then left most of it on the plate. Neither dish justified their very high prices or the long wait, given that we were the only two punters in the whole place.

My wine was good - a half bottle of a very nice French Bordeaux, good vintage but annoyingly the waitress had removed it from the table to a resting place out of my reach, so I had to rely on her to re-charge my glass. The blonde consoled herself with pink Champagne which she claimed, took away the taste of the flaky fish.

I don't know who owns the Kempinski, but in terms of the operators agreement all the losses from this restaurant are probably passed on to the owner in terms of a standard hotel operating agreement. My advice to the owner, get down there and shake the whole restaurant team up or you will be waiting years before it breaks even. Its no wonder that the waitress told me that most of the hotel guests dine elsewhere; I don't blame them.

On Safari

In the heart of the Kruger Park, on the banks of the Sabie River, lies a boutique Safari Camp called Tinga. Its gracious owner Anthony Marx looks the real McKoy dressed in his bush suit next to red faced Night Rider. The camp is laid out as a number of luxurious but tasteful huts reached by a wooden walkway from central facilities; they are constructed from local materials and blend in well to the bush surrounding them with each having a viewing deck looking own towards the Sabie River.

Our first encounter with nature was nearly the Blonde's last. Having spotted a young bull elephant making his way up from the Sabie, towards our hut, she decided to jump over the low electric fence and venture out into the bush to get a closer shot of it ( with her camera of course ). Being cowardly by nature, I quickly dismissed the idea of rescuing her myself in favour of calling for one of the game rangers. One eventually appeared and was able to persuade the blonde to clamber back over the right side of the wire.

Later the same ranger took us on a day's tracking where we came close up to a group of hippos bathing and the Sabie River, a white rhino relaxing in the bush and a large cheetah eating its kill in a tree. Only one of the big five that failed to appear on cue, were the lions, but nevertheless an impressive round up.

However the other guests were a strange bunch; in particular, the blonde and I were lumbered with a friendly but very elderly couple from Johannesburg and a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses from Houston, Texas. The latter were very heavy going and its a mistake of the camp to make people on the same game drives also have to dine together in the evening. Enough is enough and i would have appreciated to get the opportunity to chose my company.



The food too was on the whole very disappointing; rather than trot out simple South African cooking the chef clearly wanted to show that he ( or she ) had been to a chi-chi cooking school. For instance, a delicious rack of Karoo one dinner was ruined by what was called a "mint and balsamic reduction", that in its effort to be sophisticated, merely rendered the meat cloying and tasting like it had been marinated in cough medicine.

Tinga has great potential and is real luxury in a stunning bush and river setting. however, lack of hands-on management seems to pervade the whole place and Anthony Marx was only evident one evening for cocktails. He told me that he is in the process of changing the management company; good luck with that Anthony and i may return to see if its made the difference between enjoyable and sublime !

Virgin Soldiers

Night Rider and the Blonde decided to head towards warmer climes for the New Year - namely to RSA, the Republic of South Africa. With some trepidation heading to Heathrow to catch the Virgin 6pm flight to Jo'burg on December 17th; heavy snow was forcaste for that evening. Judging by all the traffic on the M4 motorway out of London, it looked like everyone was leaving the City to a few visiting Americans and the hordes of asylum seekers to their own delights during the so-called "festive period" ( political correctness prevents NR as referring to this time of year as "Christmas" )

Sure enough, not long after getting in the Upper Class cabin, the promised snow started falling in generous quantities. However, a saviour was at hand. Sir Richard Branson himself, complete with at least three generations of his Upper Class family climbed aboard and enschonced themselves a few seats away. Sir R seemed to be in a great mood and no doubt, it was his influence that finally got us airborne by 7.30 pm. He is clearly one of the world's cleverest businessmen and so inspirational, that his Virgin staff work for a fraction of their bad tempered British Airways colleagues and always, have a smile and kind word for you.

Sir R had his ancient parents with him; but Dad who must be at least 90 in the shade, still looks like a fit old root and i can only wonder at the admiration he must have for his clever son. In deference to the ancients, Sir R announced shortly after take off that the oldest 15 or so punters travelling cattle class as the back of the plane, would be invited to join us in the Upper Class section. There then followed a procession of what must have at first sight, appeared to be the central committee of the Conservative Party, complete with shawls and sticks, stumbling into our midst and momentarily disturbing the flow of bubbly to the Blonde's glass.

Some sort of mediocre dinner followed and while the Blonde cackled through a showing of Bruno, I managed to get some zeds before the lights were turned up again before our landing at Jo'burg. There we were scheduled to catch a South African Airways "Air Link" flight to the Kruger Park. No one had told me that Airlink had suffered three serious accidents in the last three months and was in danger of having all its flights suspended until its safety record was put right. However, after seeing the crew and a few local maintenance staff fiddling with our first alloted plane, while we sat in a steaming hot bus next to it on the runway, I can understand why.

We finally made it onto one of their planes some 7 hours later; I could not help thinking that i could have driven to the Kruger in half the time and made a note to be not so lazy next time. I wonder what Sir R would have thought of "Air Link" - probably have shed a few crocodile tears.

A Tale of Two Cities and Aromi revisited

London and Prague can claim to be two of the most international Cities in Europe, perhaps the world. London has become so international that its now unkindly called "Londinistan" and with the women wandering around in what I think are called "burkas" one can understand why. Prague seems to have maintained a more European feel unless you are walking down Wencelas Square, after 9pm, when you might feel you were in Lagos or Jo'burg, with countless African gentlemen approaching you on each street corner, offering things I prefer not to put into print here.

Having shuttled backwards and forwards between the two Cities over the last 5 years I first chose CSA ( Czech Airlines ) as my preferred carrier. They had a reputation for keeping good time and until recently pretty good food and wine in their Business Class. Indeed, there used to be a nice printed menu with a choice of two main courses and funny little quotations translated from Czech into English such as "the way we eat is the way we work - Old Czech proverb". Well now their Business Class food has deteriorated beyond belief. I think they only have only had one thing on the menu for my last few flights: its "sweet and sour something with noodles". I asked the pretty stewardess what the "something" was - I guessed chicken or pork as it had that Chinese Takeaway kind-of-taste about it. She was clearly stumped by this unexpected query, but after consultation with her colleages, offered the advice it was "chicken". Maybe she was right, but I would suggest that followers of the Prophet and their main adversaries, stay well clear, just in case she was wrong and pre-order something Kosher.

CSA seems to have got themselves into a real old muddle. Service going downhill fast and use of weasel words in the booking terms to rip-off clients wanting to change bookings, upgrade etc. The sooner they are taken over the better and the present upper levels of executive management kicked out, not just making the CEO and his Board the fall guys. I am tempted to revert to the worlds "favourite airline" BA ( which I usually translate to "Bloody Awful"), rather than British Airways.

However, while during the last few years CSA has been going down hill faster than the world slalom champion, Aromi in Vinohrady has been going from strength to strength. Mind you, it was pretty good when Riccardo opened it but now with the serious competition from its new sister restaurant, La Finestra, it has achieved a new level of excellence.

Using the excuse of a business lunch I went there today, promising myself to limit indulgence to a single main course and no alcohol. Temptation was too strong however and the mixed seafood starter had to be accompanied by a glass of two of super Tuscan wine. A small plate of wild duck ravioli followed and it should have been worthy of a Michelin Star anywhere in Europe.

The restaurant was full as usual and I would imagine that it attracts many executives from Prague 4's so called "business district" which is a bit of sahara desert for good places to eat. But its nice to be away from all the trippers in the centre of Prague and looked after so well by Riccardo and his great team, so I imagine his loyal following comes from many miles, sorry kilometres, around.....

Lost in the Sahara..........Cafe

Hosting business dinners for fairly large numbers of people always exercises my imagination. One has to balance the excellence of the food, ambience against cost and the time available. In this instance I was entertaining the celebrity golf designer, Kyle Philips on one of his regular trips to Prague. Kyle is a charming and softly spoken American from California and one of the world's top in his profession.

Earlier in the day we had been treated to lunch at the excellent Kogo restaurant in the main town square in Bratislava ( opposite the Carlton Hotel ). This was a casual affair, enjoyed in the late autumn sunlight and, I can swear, the passing girls seemed much, much prettier than the ones you see walking up and down Wenceslas Square in Prague. This "Slovakian" Kogo serves much the same fare as the Prague ones and like them, normally provides good quality dishes, served promptly at a reasonable price.

I wish the same could be said for the Sahara Cafe, which occupies a prime position on Namesti Miru in Vinohrady ( just away from the teeming hordes of trippers that infest Prague's City Centre ). I have been a long standing client of the Sahara Cafe, going back to its first days of opening when none of the staff could even make a cappucino, let alone cook anything. In those days it was truly a "Fawlty Towers" experience and I remember the then ( first ) manager, some fellow from Sicily, telling me that his Chef had just walked out, but he would try and cook me something himself. You can guess the result.

Nowadays, they seem to have managed to recruit one or two cooks, but no manager is in evidence and the former Sicilian manager, no doubt gone back to the easier life on his island. The menu has been expanded and they have a very credible wine list that is perhaps the high point of any dining experience there.

Kyle and my team sat down at our table at 8pm; around 8.30 pm a waiter eventually appeared to take our pre-dinner drinks order. Going straight into the wine list I selected a couple of Italian wines that could easily have been selling for double, given their vintage and quality. Well done the wine buyer and general praise prevailed from around the table.

The food at the Sahara Cafe is sadly, another story. After a further long wait to have the order taken and an even longer one for them to arrive ( we decided to all skip starters, or the 8 pm start would have turned into a midnight session ). Kyle had ordered a Lamb Aggadir Casserole, where two very tiny lamb chops were hiding under some overcooked vegtables; I went daringly for "Asian Duck Breast" but I challenge anyone to indentify exactly what the meat was when it arrived - could have been pork, chicken, veal or even calamari. Cooked to death in a mess of vaguely Asian spiced soggy vegtables and tired looking rice.

Across the table, one of my colleagues was tucking into what looked like an exceptionally large and juicy filet mignon. He kept casting anxious glances at Kyle and myself as we jealously eyed his succulent slab of cow. In the end, he managed to hoover it all down without, yours truly even getting a small taste, so I must give his choice the benefit of the doubt.

Lost in the "waiter wilderness" again while we waited another 30 minutes for coffees and the bill, we eventually made it out after some 2.5 hours. I guess time passes more slowly in the Sahara than in the bustling metropolis of Prague, so I should not complain too loudly

La Veranda.....for a birthday bash

It was the blonde's birthday and as the occassion demanded a restaurant of some distinction had to be chosen for the evening. Somewhere in my sub-conscious I was aware of being recommended La Veranda for several years but probably being unable to ever find it, I had never dined there before. Going on to "Google" to see what had been written by my reviewing peers and others proved relatively fruitless, but wanting something small and romantic it seemed to be worth taking the punt.

I did manage to find that the Executive Chef, Radek David adopted an approach of introducing good local produce into his menu, rather than relying on the boring Prague tradition of beef from Argentina, lamb from New Zealand and vegtables that taste as if they come from Tesco. So many of his competitors are too lazy to explore the special local offerings of meats and other ingredients that on that basis alone, he should be congratulated.

Arriving at the door transported by the trusty AAA Cab Company, the smiling waitress quickly found our reservation and showed us to a nice table, large enough for four people but already laid for the two of us. Sitting on two adjacent sides of this table gave us both a nice view of the cozy main dining room and was vastly preferable to occupying one of the tables for two, where ( usually the man ) has to sit with his back to the room, cheek by jowl with those at the next table for two in the row. I wish restaurants would start to work on their table layouts and avoid these rows of tables for two; its neither pleasant nor romantic to spend a couple of hours or more seated like this. Perhaps, tolerable for the "date" but not for the poor chap on the outside !!

Anyway, we settled in comfortably and although the restaurant was not full, other diners started to drift in and it was pretty evident they had booked rather than just being "trippers" stumbling around in the maze of streets just off Pariska. Either they had been to La Veranda before or, someone with recommended them. The portents for a good meal were all good at this point. But as I gazed around the room, I could not quite place what it represented, Provence brasserie, rustic Tuscan, Bohemian shabby genteel ? Hoping that the menu and wine list would clear this up for me did not help either; while the English version I was given was properly translated ( why can't other Prague restaurants manage this ? ) ; the dishes all sounded appetizing many with a touch of Mediterranean cuisine, but a clear theme was lacking. I do not necessarily mean this as a criticism as many of the top London restaurants follow this trend but, somehow the cottagey decor of main room demanded more a "sense of place" be reflected in the menu. All in all, a bit too unfocused and unstructured for the taste of the common man.

However, the blonde was not complaining as she quaffed the first of many glasses of Tattinger Brut Reserve. This promised to be an evening to remember. The same cannot be said for my "starter", a fine pasta with a rabbit ragout. The pasta sat in a sticky and somewhat overcooked heap in the middle of the plate, while the ragout, incorporating generous lumps of well cooked bunny, did little to rescue improve the situation. I pushed aside a half finished plate and joined the blonde in quaffing copious quantities of the bubbly, to take the salty and indifferent taste away. She had elected to wait for a "main course" and declined my offer ( which I had cunningly made to look generous ) to finish off the bunny bits. At this stage I was mentally crossing my fingers that the next course would dramatically improve.

It did. And in grand style along with a glass of exceptionally good Bordeaux 2005.
I had wanted the pigeon from the daily special menu, but these must have flown early, so I had roast quail from the main menu. Radek David himself came out to carve two birds next to our table and they were cooked and presented to perfection, including the small asparagus nestling underneath. The blonde's plate was a colourful medley of vegtables and sea bass. Impeccably presented and the fish soft and cooked just the right amount of time; the vegtables crisp and no doubt, carefully selected by Radek from his local suppliers.

A nice little "birthday" cake followed. Again, served with style and a small round of applause from the other diners. Radek and his staff did a fine job throughout the evening of making one welcome and well looked after. Hard to find this standard of attention and it came along with a friendly smile. I will return to test other offerings and properly sample the international wine list.

La Finestra , Prague's finest ? September 2009

I have to admit a certain nervousness, when I am invite to dinner a truly international couple out in Prague; either, I will be taking them to one of their few haunts that they frequent all the time, or, risk pushing the boundaries of their local culinary experience, usually with disastrous results. This week, I was more nervous than usual, as my guests were Serge Borenstein, founder of Karlin Real Estate and his charming wife Marie, who is a very successful business entrepreneur in her own right and some years ago, launched the restaurant “Nostresse”, which continues to compete with some of the best in Prague’s Old Town.

I had asked my office to arrange a Degustation Menu at La Finestra and, as well as the Borenstein’s, had invited another important guest. ( She never made it, apparently having important matters of State to attend to that evening, perhaps trying to drum up a foreign investor to bail out Czech Airlines ? ). The thing all my invited had in common, was a great appreciation and knowledge of red wine, so meat courses with La Finestra’s corresponding red wines choices was the order of the evening.

Sadly, it seemed that someone had got in before us and booked out the whole of the lower ground floor, “wine cellar” dining area. That’s the right setting for this kind of meal and the ambience is special and seductive to a long and memorable evening.

However, Ondrej Rakosnik ( manager, co-founder of La Finestra ) gave me and the blonde and his customary cheerful greeting at the door, then plumped us down in a nice large table, pretty much set in the main body of the restaurant. He quickly arrived at the table with a bottle of Berlucchi Max Rose, explaining that the Berlucchi family were one of the first in Italy to introduce “Methode Champenoise” to their wine estate. The result is a slightly softer version of a good Laurent Perrier Rose; only the imminent arrival of the Borensteins, stopped me quaffing my glass very fast to get in a second ( sneaky ) one. Seemed that Serge and Marie knew half the diners in the restaurant and had a fair bit of “room working” to do before they could sit down and relax.

I am not going to give you a blow by blow of each dish and its wine; for one thing, in the absence of written notes being made at the time, I have some trouble remembering the finer distinguishing points of the various wines. Suffice to say there was not a mediocre one amongst them and the variation was as interesting as it was intoxicating. But first up after one or two small “amuse guelles” was a very tender and fresh beef tarter, with black truffles and topped with an anchovy, accompanied by the very robust Villa Martis, Marchesi di Gresy 2006.

One of the disadvantages of sitting in the main dining area is the surrounding noise, there being so many hard surfaces in the “rustic” finish of the restaurant that conversations reverberate around this otherwise pleasantly appointed space. Indeed, from one end of our table for six, were Ondrej was describing the quality and history of the various wines, to the other end where Serge was sitting, it would have been impossible to hear clearly. So I had to chase Ondrej each time down the table so that Serge could get an ear-full of suitable comment. This spoilt what would otherwise have been a nice little interlude to be entertained and maybe, ask a few questions – a little “vignette” in a sea of ocean of intoxicating indulgence.

Riccardo Lucque, the celebrity chef/owner of Aromi and now La Finestra popped up from nowhere like a Magician, suddenly appearing in a puff of smoke next to Serge at the far end of the table. Always effusively welcoming and warmly appreciate of our patronage, he dutifully did the round of the table and then, disappeared as mysteriously as he had arrived. His establishments receive so many plaudits that mine would be gratuitous and patronising, but I must record that all at the table were quite convinced that he is deserving of at least one Michelin Star, Serge reckons two and who am I to argue with his judgement ?

Course after course then arrived, mostly adorned with Black Truffles and, accompanied by wines that can now only evoke pleasant memories in my subconscious. Except for an unexpected sharp blast from the desert wine Mostcata D’Asti, La Spinneta 2007, which tasted like a chilled “Appeltizer” – (fizzy apple juice to those who have not visited South Africa ). This was the only derisive comment I can find, to throw into my review for the evening and no doubt, those of sophistication, will attribute it to my peasant Irish routes roots, rather than being truly fair to La Finestra. But as you know, I report my dining experiences as I feel them and this evening’s, will always be remembered as one of the best ever in Prague.

Riccardo, Ondrej you are local superstars and fully deserve your evident success; but please, try to accommodate me in the cellar next time !!

Sa Sa Zu the restaurant......followed by a drink in the Buddha Bar September 2009

Prague is greatly in need to top quality restaurants and, fun places to go, after dinner, for a “glass” or two and chill out in nice surroundings.

Sadly, while efforts are being made in that direction, the City still lags miserably behind other international destinations. Perhaps it has been a victim of its own success in attracting mass tourism and being able to rely on its cheap beer and stag night image. Strange though, because the wealthier and better travelled Czechs are knowledgeable about good food and having a good time; but known of them have emerged as operators of restaurants or night-spots of any real significance and the few spots around town that justify visiting are nearly all run and owned by foreigners.

A Tuesday night is not a big night out in Prague, for either the locals or, the invading trippers, so I picked it as a good time to quietly try out the restaurant of the strangely named Sa Sa Zu . What you can tell immediately is that there is some Asian origin; but what is not known is that it apparently belongs to a large international casino group that is keen to prove that it can legitimately operate in the Czech Republic. The restaurant is coupled to fairly large and functional night-club that is fast becoming the top spot of an otherwise, lack-lustre collection of second rate discotheques. Having had a business lunch already at SSZ I was keen to test its menu for dinner with the blonde and a connaissuer of the Prague social scene, Peter K.

Arriving a few minutes before Peter and the blonde, the greeter gave me a blank look when I said that we had a reservation for three. Not sure if she ever found it, but with the restaurant being two-thirds empty she directed me to a table for four. But then I thought I would relax with a Mojito in the attractive lounge area next to the bar; perhaps I should have stopped by the bar first, as it took at least ten minutes to get the bar tender’s attention ( even though I was the only one within 20m of him ) and order. Probably he resented the intrusion into his quiet evening, as the Mojito he eventually produced tasted very much like a “virgin”. Ordering the same ,a few minutes later, Peter had the same experience. Warning the blonde about this pattern ( she has been known to down the odd Mojito, or three ) she decided to play safe and go for a glass of Tattinger. This arrived warm and flaccid; waving at the bar man he must have known that the try-on from the long-opened and warm bottle, as he was already unscrewing the top from a new bottle. Not really cold either, and at 15 Euros a small glass, one deserves better.

Moving to our table, finally left the remains of my unfinished Mojito and ordered a palatable bottle of Cotes de Rhone 2005. A little trick I use in ordering at unfamiliar restaurants, is to always select a French or Italian vintage from 2005. This was an outstanding year and rarely disappoints. This one admirably took over from the Virgin-like Mojito and warmed my palate well for the meal.
I decided against a starter as reading ( Prague restaurant reviewer ) Curtis Wong’s praise of the Beef and Prawn Curry in his latest review, I decided to hold back until savouring that delight. The blonde however, opted for a soup which arrived in a miniscule bowl and proved too hot for her taste; Peter battled with a couple of non-descript starters but seemed relatively happy.

Finally my curry arrived, also in a small bowl with an even smaller bowl of steamed rice. The rice was perfect but I wish there had been more of it; the curry was well spiced but otherwise not especially memorable. I guess Curtis had been trying to find something kind to say about SSZ, when he wrote it up, in case he ever wanted to go back there !

Declining deserts we settled a reasonable bill and decided to give Buddha Bar a chance to show its after dinner capabilities. Being almost the only people there, apart from some trippers dining in the cavernous and completely wasted lower ground floor, it was a slightly disheartening experience. But at least the music is good (which is more than can be said for that in SSZ which was a mélange of old and new tracks more suited a TGF operation, an Asian “Fusion” joint with pretences to sophistication.) With no other patrons in sight, we contended ourselves with views on where the unfortunate tables of trippers, in the restaurant below may have come from. Peter thought, perhaps the US, the blonde patriotically plumped for Russia and I suggested Essex ( no personal connection, I assure you ). But the truth remains a mystery as the music drowned out their conversation and the only thing that is sure, that they were not well informed denizens of Prague who have long since decided wisely to give the restaurant at the BB, a wide berth.

Coming out of BB, I broke my golden rule of calling AAA to get me home. The balding security man ushered us towards a “cab” and feeling generous I slipped him 100 CZK as he kindly held the door open for the blonde to hop in. I want to go back to collect that 100CK as the final fare came to about three times the AAA rate; I paid up with a disgruntled muttering about handing the driver’s receipt chit to Prague Mayor Pavel Bem in the morning….I wish !!

LS Club and Restaurant : St Tropez night September 5th 2009

I knew the augurs were not set fair, Paul Day the excellent Executive Chef has resigned and, reserving 2 seats for the “St Tropez” dinner turned out to be a long running saga email saga with the LS receptionist and of course, the event much heralded to kick off at the very grand new Kempinski Hotel, moved entirely to the more modest surroundings of the LS Club itself. Seems the weather forecaste was the reason, but maybe that should not come as a surprise when the St Tropez season pretty much comes to an end with the passing of August !

Anyway, very few amongst the LS members and their guests seemed to be sporting any “St Tropez” apparel and dark jackets with no tie seemed to be about as summery as most of the men present could managed. Wearing a La Martina polo shirt made me feel I had misread the marketing blurb for the evening, which was ST Tropez dinner with fashion show, followed by “After Party” with DJ Alex Douche

Sat down to enjoy a half glass of complimentary champagne in the charming “library” area of the club to then be disturbed by staff setting these tables for dinner. I was told that the library was reserved for some special dining party; strange as this party would not have been able to see the fashion show in the main dining all of the Club. Thought it prudent then to check out table situation in the LS dining room, asking a pretty waitress if one could select one’s own table. She did not know, so deferred the question to a another pretty, but harassed looking, girl acting as the Maitre D’. With a charming smile, she told they were all available. Coming back 20 minutes later, was then told there was only a choice of 2 or 3 tables and, all the others were “reserved” , so I quickly plonked myself and the blonde down at one, before we were finally relegated to perhaps, the bar area, where it turns out the late-comers were finally accommodated.

A long dinner menu on a single sheet of paper greeted one on the table ( as it later turned out, it missed one of the many small courses). I think there were seven or eight small offerings and most were instantly forgettable or, remembered for the wrong reasons. Anyway, this feast kicked-off with some very tired and, somewhat over-cooked Edame beans, followed by a Amuse Guele sized spoon of sashimi style tuna. Then followed a luke warm bowl of beef wanton soup around the same time as the ice bucket, for my luke warm bottle of Veuve Cliquot. The master of ceremonies for the evening announced that the special prize for the evenings guests, which was to have been a trip to two to Paris for the best dressed couple would go rather to the couple who spent the most on the evening. Very tacky, given this was not as far as I know a charity event and not wanting to win this dubious award, I had down-graded by choice of a good Vintage champagne to the more modest Veuve. However, when it arrived the young waiter did not bother to let me inspect the bottle or taste the offering, pouring ( badly ) two glasses of this before I had a chance to check it temperature. He seemed most surprised when I then asked for an ice-bucket, which arrived with no serviette. That was the last attention our wine received all evening. I had to carry out the top-ups myself, using the table napkin as the serviette to catch the drips from the ice bucket. The requested glass of Merlot that I had asked for mid-way through the “feast” completely failed to materialize.


Moving on through the menu I can only say that my taste buds glazed over with one small boring dish followed by another. One however stood out in its awfulness, the Orange Curry Salmon, which completely overcooked, without flavor sitting on top a truly solid brick of sticky rice. The blonde took a few desultory pokes and sniffs at the fish part of this dish and then pronounced herself already full, to save my blushes. Perhaps, it was as well that the chef failed to appear in person to greet his victims as at that point, I would have asked him if I could go into his kitchen and knock up a quick stir fry.

The finale to the Thai (?) menu was a tasty but inappropriate, white and dark chocolate mousse set atop a mango puree. Perhaps the mango was eastern link in this ménage a trios, but otherwise it seemed to be a lost soul at a Jehovah’s Witness Conference of elders.

At some point during this two hour extravaganza we were treated to a St Tropez fashion show by six or seven young Czech models, all of whom looked as it they needed a good meal themselves. Not sure who the fashion designers were they were representing, but perhaps by the time the finale came, my concentration was on the last scoops of the mango puree which were doing a good job at eradicating the doubtful flavours of former plates.

Declining to hang around in what was quickly becoming a deserted room ( something happened later there, but I’m not sure what ), we beat a path to the bar and sat ourselves down at one of the former “dining tables” there that had been vacated already by its occupants. The evening improved somewhat, perhaps in part due to good music from the baby faced DJ ( he must have had his parents’ permission to stay out late that evening ) and copious amounts of properly chilled champagne ( this time we wised up and ordered it by the glass, with it coming at the right temperature ). A more lively and interesting crowd started to drift into the Club and whether these were members of not, one started to think that the LS has potential to be a great night-spot when its downstairs area ( which I understand will include a proper late night dance/music set up )is completed. I look forward to this with anticipation, as it will fill a gaping hole in Prague’s presently varied but relatively unsophisticated night life. But I hope it will also herald the arrival of some better trained staff.

Standing in line, in the middle of the bar, for 15 minutes in the early hours of the morning try and settle an astronomically high tab ( but it seems not the winning one ! ! ), left me feeling tired annoyed a and well ripped-off for a much heralded but mediocre event fashioned around a meal of memorably bad dimensions. “Let’s go somewhere fun” the blonde demanded and I was tempted to see if the restaurant at Sa Sa Zu was still open, so I could drop her off at the night-club there, while I grabbed a small bowl…..