Dear Veranda Bistro,
As a rule, I don't write restaurant reviews, mostly because I'm not even remotely qualified for culinary critique. Also, because chicken tarragon is chicken tarragon is chicken tarragon. And because handing out hate is horrible and karma is cruel. But every now and then, I’ve been known to bend, or better yet, break my own rules and make rare exceptions.
Congratulations, you’ve made the cut!
I’m going to take a moment to make it clear that I delay creating drama until the chaos warrants me to wake the demon inside. In other words, I realize that running a restaurant involves a ridiculous amount of pressure, but beyond a reasonable point, I don’t believe in doling out the benefit of doubt.
And after last night’s experience, I think I’m exceptionally lucky to have lived to tell the tale.
I’m sure plenty of people peg Veranda Bistro as some of the finest of Lahore’s fine-dining scene. Call me crazy, but I’m not convinced.
Politely put, they’re pushy; literally and otherwise.
Just please don’t jostle me! It’s jarring! Plus, if you push me again, I’ll pull a karate-kid and pound you into the pavement. Frankly, a first offense is absolutely forgivable, but I’ve been to the Bistro enough to make multiple observations.
Venture over to Veranda’s buffet and you’re tackling your way towards the table. Again, what’s with all the waiters? Well, aside from playing plating partner to paying patrons, they’re performing a conspicuous, appetite-killing Operation Clean-Up. Hold the Hallelujah for hygiene, though, because there were a couple of friendly critters flitting around on the shrimp cocktail.
As for the figurative, if the stars hadn’t been on my side, the last spoonful of last night’s soup might not have made it to my mouth. The bus-boy decided I was done and, in an act of over-efficiency, expertly dove in to snatch my soup away. I’m super stubborn so I slurped the spoon anyways, but if I wanted a mile-a-minute meal, dinner with my 1 year old would’ve done.
I totally understand that to keep the till ticking you need to turn tables, but terrorizing me into taking off is a tad OTT.
Moving on to my tiny take on the tunes; trying to talk over blaring top 40 tracks takes me back to the being a crazy teenager at Copper Kettle. Please, put me out of misery with a mellow music playlist.
And finally, the food. I’ve already admitted that I’m no expert, which is why I had to Google what a Beef Tornado was when I got home. What did I learn? Basically, that a Beef Tournedo probably tastes beautiful, but, an actual Beef Tornado sounds downright disgusting and seriously less than savory!
Anyways, enough of the evil! The question comes down to will I be back at the Bistro? Maybe, but it’ll be for the beautiful baraamda, not the Beef Tornado.
Love & Hugs,
Hunger & Haw Hai