As I’m writing this review, 24 hours after visiting, I have already forgotten the name of the place. Fat Pigs? No, I have to look it up. The Blind Pig. Monton Road, the premises formerly known as The Drop Inn Public House.
As we approach the bar a barmaid greets us, “Are you eating with us today you guys?” I feel immediately irritated. Whenever anyone injects the word “today” I am always tempted to say, “No we thought we’d eat a week on Friday”, just to garner a reaction. My husband won’t let me cause a scene. Don’t even talk to me about “YOU GUYS”.
My inner anger is puttering on a light simmer but I politely ask the barmaid - come - waitress what the procedure is? where do we order? do we wait to be seated? does she have a men……Before I can get the word menu out she asks me if we want to order drinks. I tell her we haven’t decided what we want yet and I ask again for a menu. She hands us a food menu each and tells us she will see to us in a minute. The pair of us sit down and peruse the menu and specials board. The place is bustling with customers and staff but as I twist around in my chair and glance around I cannot see anyone eating any food. In my experience this is always a worry. As I scan the menu I notice that certain foods have a certain time slot. Part of the menu offers food between 9 and 11.30 and the next part offers food between 12 and 4. I am puzzled as to what happens if you fancy a nibble at 11.30. The woman behind the bar doesn't see to us but another girl appears and we order drinks. I order my usual Americano, black with separate cold milk, my husband wants a latte in a mug rather than a glass. She asks me again what I am having and I repeat my order. She tells me my coffee “comes like that anyway”. My husband quizzes her about the cakes on offer in a fridge over by the front of the shop. He is told twice that she has never had any of the cakes so she doesn’t know what they are like. Eventually she calls over another waitress who is able to describe the texture of a slice of “Death By Chocolate”. He settles for a rocky road, which rather unusually he reports it contains glace cherries and something which resembles and tastes akin to the inside of a jaffa cake. Going on all around us is the hubbub of rushing waitresses, over made up young women in high heels tottering past with their shopping bags. A Chef sweeps past and disappears through a door in front of us. He reappears carrying a non branded bag of frozen thin cut chips. I hear a customer at the bar telling the barmaid that she has waited an hour for food. We pay a little over £8.00 for a two decent coffees and one slice of rocky road, if I had to be dead picky I would say the rocky road should have been served at room temperature rather than ice cold.
On the specials board above us I see the words Quenelle Mash and Lashes of Gravy.
As we approach the bar a barmaid greets us, “Are you eating with us today you guys?” I feel immediately irritated. Whenever anyone injects the word “today” I am always tempted to say, “No we thought we’d eat a week on Friday”, just to garner a reaction. My husband won’t let me cause a scene. Don’t even talk to me about “YOU GUYS”.
My inner anger is puttering on a light simmer but I politely ask the barmaid - come - waitress what the procedure is? where do we order? do we wait to be seated? does she have a men……Before I can get the word menu out she asks me if we want to order drinks. I tell her we haven’t decided what we want yet and I ask again for a menu. She hands us a food menu each and tells us she will see to us in a minute. The pair of us sit down and peruse the menu and specials board. The place is bustling with customers and staff but as I twist around in my chair and glance around I cannot see anyone eating any food. In my experience this is always a worry. As I scan the menu I notice that certain foods have a certain time slot. Part of the menu offers food between 9 and 11.30 and the next part offers food between 12 and 4. I am puzzled as to what happens if you fancy a nibble at 11.30. The woman behind the bar doesn't see to us but another girl appears and we order drinks. I order my usual Americano, black with separate cold milk, my husband wants a latte in a mug rather than a glass. She asks me again what I am having and I repeat my order. She tells me my coffee “comes like that anyway”. My husband quizzes her about the cakes on offer in a fridge over by the front of the shop. He is told twice that she has never had any of the cakes so she doesn’t know what they are like. Eventually she calls over another waitress who is able to describe the texture of a slice of “Death By Chocolate”. He settles for a rocky road, which rather unusually he reports it contains glace cherries and something which resembles and tastes akin to the inside of a jaffa cake. Going on all around us is the hubbub of rushing waitresses, over made up young women in high heels tottering past with their shopping bags. A Chef sweeps past and disappears through a door in front of us. He reappears carrying a non branded bag of frozen thin cut chips. I hear a customer at the bar telling the barmaid that she has waited an hour for food. We pay a little over £8.00 for a two decent coffees and one slice of rocky road, if I had to be dead picky I would say the rocky road should have been served at room temperature rather than ice cold.
On the specials board above us I see the words Quenelle Mash and Lashes of Gravy.
