So, back at The Savoy...........

There we were, seated next to a lovely couple who began to smile a bit as the drama of lunch wore on. Recognizing by our accents we were not British, they started to chat. Wouldn't you know it, they were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary with lunch at The Savoy. Too bad they were next to us. They professed to enjoy everything, while I was on the war path about everything else. I mean, come on. We were going to be paying a king's ransom for this lunch and it was just not up to snuff. Nevermind, we learned he had made a very tidy sum in the carpet business, having started as a labourer and ending up owning his own company. She was sweeter than sweet, obviously having been a very working class missus who was now enjoying the fruits of her labour alongside her hubby. They had been on cruises to Alaska and loved Vancouver -- who doesn't. As I said, they were lovely.


After lunch, our original waitress sauntered over to ask how we had enjoyed our lunch. Well, she asked didn't she! I started in, covering the water, the martini and the out-of-sync lunches. She expressed "horror" and next thing I knew, the restaurant manager was over to get the details. Emma was about 12 years old, very sweet and no match for the hard-boiled unionized waiters over whom she presided. Another case of "let's-promote-someone-who-may-not-be-up-to-it". But here fantasy took over. When I mentioned I had a blog (nevermind that I pathetically have only three followers) and intended to share our experience, she announced she would like to show us what The Savoy was really all about by hosting a dinner on the house before we left England. Whaaaat??!!?? Dinner at The Savoy on the house??!!??!! Why not. So it was arranged.

Greeted by the hostess a few nights later, we were ushered to our table. The place was almost empty, but they still seated us beside a noisy group of middle-eastern businessmen (I'm only giving the nationality so you get the flavour of the decibels reached when making or disputing points. It's a cultural thing, OK?) I decided to overlook it. Other than the fact that I had to get up and pour my own wine a couple of times, all had been almost perfect.....until the end of the meal, when Emma came to ask how everything had been. You could not have orchestrated it any worse because as she was standing there basking in the cudos, the waiter brought coffee instead of tea, accompanied by the wrong dessert. I burst out laughing. She was mortified. I felt sorry for her. We left.

More on The Ritz and The Dorchester later..........