Service in the South

I’m back at my work-away-from-home city, Christchurch. Not sure what goes on in restaurants in January, but I discovered last week and tonight that service seems like a dirty word at three places I’ve dined at with work colleagues. Either it doesn’t exist, or it’s questionable.

Tonight’s dinner was at South of the Border, a cheap and cheerful Mexican restaurant on Colombo St. An enticing menu with lots of appealing choices. I’m wondering why when two mixed platters were ordered at the same time for a table for ten that one end of the table finished sharing theirs ten minutes before the other one even arrived? Never mind – their main course arrived less than two minutes later. Drinks orders were forgotten; some of those that did make it to the table were mixed up or poured into tired-looking glasses. One guy managed to score a ‘bonus’ version of the margarita he ordered when it arrived with strawberry flavouring. Hmmm.

The meal was ok. Soggy buffalo fries and a limp and tasteless coleslaw, but the Cajun lamb (although fatty) tasted alright. Yummy guacamole saved the day. We were periodically treated to aromas wafting through from the kitchen – mostly burning meat, burning veges, or just plain burning without our being able to identify what the food was. Oh dear.

So we’ll see what happens at tomorrow night’s dinner at a venue yet to be decided.