Umoja, meaning “unity” in Swahili but apparently “slow and rude” in almost any other language, is the name of a restaurant that Boyfriend had passed and noticed a few times on his way to the station, and he wanted to try it and see if it was as good as it looked.
So, when we were invited by Ms O, a friend of Boyfriends’ to spend a night eatin’ and boozin’ in Amsterdam, he decided to prompt this culinary interest and guided us through its doors for the first try-out of this remarkable restaurant.
First, and last, if I have anything to say about it.
Truth be told, this restaurant really does look great. Very stylish, very clean, and very comfortable. This comfort quickly evaporated when we sat down at the table, as the hip-looking chairs had really understood the idea behind looking “design” and were about as comfortable as spending the night on a banister. That said, we had one of the few higher, 4 person tables, the other tables were low, and set up to seat two, and looked more comfortable.
After having sat down for a while, actually quite a long while, we got our first round of drinks. Since there were three of us, we asked if the 4th couvert could be taken away as well, which is only easier, and since I still do not drink anything alcoholic, I asked if my wineglasses could be taken away as well. The reaction to all this was the first time I felt like just leaving, as my question was met as was I a 3-year old sitting at the grown-ups table. For a second I had to check Ms O and Boyfriends face to be sure I had asked if my wineglasses could be taken away, as it was entirely possible I had asked the waiter to take the monster from under my bed, judging from his response.
Things did not quite improve from there on in. Our waitresses consisted of two people, a tallish man (TM) and a short woman (SW). It was tallish man that had already relocated me to the kiddies table by virtue as approach, so I was obviously more kindly disposed to short woman. SW at one point suddenly appeared beside my right arm with enough suddenness to completely freak me out, which is also always a good basis for a friendly relationship.
Anyway, about half an hour after ordering our drinks, we actually got to see them, and the tone was set for the evening. The tone, and the speed. The speed being “slow”.
We opted to go for the “surprise of the chef” 4 course meal, and it lasted for 4 hours. Which was, quite simply, too long.
Not that the food was bad, it was absolutely acceptable food, reasonable quality, and prepared with quite some care. A shame that it did not rise above the standard of a home-cooked meal in terms of quality or inventiveness.
But really, the speed which was garnered for almost everything, or better, the lack thereof, was what truly turned me off this restaurant. It is all nice and well doing a surprise menu, but of the 4 courses plus amuse bouche and bread, only the main course was actually warm, the rest being salads and carpaccios, which need not take more than 15 minutes. The fact that every course had about 40 minutes till the next one was absurd. It started to be a race against the loss of topics of conversation after a while, and in a group that has me and Boyfriend this is not a common occurrence.
At some point the wine that Ms O had ordered smelled and tasted suspiciously of cork. Not a good thing in wine, this taste, and it was sent back. After the customary “while” a new glass was brought, with an insulting little ditty about how he had decided to open a new bottle, just for her. Well, yes, and the fact that the last bottle had been fungussaly spoiled, duckweed.
The absolute coup de grace for this restaurants’ chances of revisiting was the asking for the bill. Well, not the asking, but the delivery. It came about 20 minutes after we asked (reasonable) and we were then left alone for almost half an hour (unacceptable). After a while, boyfriend walked to the back of the restaurant, he was going to pay with his bankcard anyway and the machines to do so are usually around the register.
Boyfriend came back swiftly, had apparently been ordered back to his chair and told to wait until they came by with their little machine. This is obviously just not done, he is there, the machine is there, let the man pay, I say.
But well, back he went, and after about 20 more minutes, he decided to try again.
This time he was again told that he needed to stay in his seat, as they were serving desserts, and off course he understood (no).
At least the little mobile PINthing followed him to the table this time, we paid the absurdly overpriced bill, WITH the cost of the spoiled wine on it as well, and left the restaurant, deciding to never eat there again, and the resolution to be more assertive in restaurants from now on, as I had wanted to leave after the first snubbing and should've.
I hope all who read this decide the same on the restaurants part, and remember that we pay these people to have a good time in their places, and as such can expect a return on our investment.
Stripes at “never again”
Kevin.
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