Village Squire, 1979-08, Page 31SQUIRE'S TABLE.
It was a good idea
but it needs
a lot of work
With high spirits and expectations, one
day late in July, the Newfoundlander, the
Mainlander and their Danish friend set out
to dine aboard the Avalon Voyager II, a
converted cargo boat moored in Kincardine
Harbour and recently opened as a
restaurant. It seemed like a good idea at
the time.
It probably seemed like a /good idea
when the proprietors purchased the
dilapidated old boat, (and with great effort
and determination, I'ni sure.) brought her
to Kincardine and rigged her out as a
floating seafood restaurant. It would have
been a much better idea had they involved
experts in designing and running
restaurants, because it was evident from
the moment we stepped over the
gangplank, that these people had made a
number of serious errors. Actually we had
received a nasty fright when our car struck
a pie :e of concealed concrete in the parking
lot, but we did not recognize the incident a
a portent until later in the evening.
No one greeted us. We glanced around
and `were astonished with the sight of a
colourful bird. perched in the bow. He was
looking at the crowded dining room as
much to say who are these people and what
are they doing here? Then we noticed that
the staff was looking at us the same way.
After dodging runners with plates in their
hands for a while, we were acknowledged
by a harrassed looking hostess who
mumbled something about being behind.
Since she neither listened to our name. nor
consulted her book, we had the sinking
feeling that our reservations did not count
a great deal.
Eventually we managed to obtain two of
the four seats at that bar, the gentlemen
taking turns on one of them. We admired
the barrels. the rope, and a brass porthole.
We noted with a bit of concern that the fish
tank contained one dead claw. We watched
the bird do some tricks, but his repertory
was inadequate for the more than one hour
wait we endured. We were, at the 30
minute mark, permitted to order a three
draft, and were a touch surprised to hear
"Six dollars. please". Now, the mugs were
large. but not that large. We also would
have expected the bill to be added to our
final account, however it was smart of them
not to harbour any such suggestion, as the
chances of us still being there when a table
came free were beginning to look slim. In
fact, we were wondering how the Squire
would react to a review of only a mug of
beer, when we were finally seated.
If one has to overbook, one should at
least provide some place for people waiting
to sit. Perhaps a few lawn chairs on the
unused portion of the deck or a little
stairway to the bridge, where we could
watch the shore go up and down in peace.
Nothing indicated that the layout had been
planned with the slightest thought of the
comfort of the clientele or efficient service.
Part of the problem was that the bar is built
over the forward hold which takes up most
of the available space, and also provides an
obstacle course for the waitresses. It is not
used as a serving station, and since no one
seemed capable of handling a tray, the
girls raced all the way to the kitchen for
every two items served. They created an
atmosphere in which it was impossible to
relax. We felt sorry for them; they were too
busy to have thought of providing us with
menus. This feeling lasted until the two
sheets of paper in plastic binding were
slapped in front of us. Never had we seen
such a sloppy menu: typos were x'ed out,
spacing and punctuation were not existent.
Prices were clear. This little disaster area
was more expensive that any of the elegant
and pleasant restaurants in Benmiller,
Stratford or New Hamburg. Well, maybe
the food was good.
Three of our choices were unavailable.
Frantically, (after all the girl was in a
hurry.) we searched the menu again. It
wasn't extensive. Deprived of the 'rare
oysters' (We had been wondering what
they meant by rare), the Canadian chose
clam chowder, the Dane's Scandinavian
Herring was still on, the Newf's
anticipated smoked salmon, wasn't, so
melon with cherries was preferred to an
outrageously priced shrimp cocktail.
Tasting the clam chowder, the Canadian
said.. "you're not going to believe this". I
believed it. A nauseating texture in which
too much commercial chicken stock and
flour were the most readily identifiable
ingredients. an off-white colour unenliven-
ed by any speck of interest, and little to
indicate a clam was ever in the
neighbourhood! Our Danish friend had no
difficulty in identifying the brand of roll
mops you can buy in a little jar at any
corner store. Eloquently he describcd the
difference between that and the herring he
puts up himself. "There are even better
brands on the market, if they had to buy
instead of make" he added. The light touch
of ginger promised on the melon was
sufficient to produce coughing, and
cherries were refugees from the cocktail
set, which had been away from the bottle
too long. Considering the baskets of real
cherries available in the stores that
day..oh, well, the melon was fine.
A bowl of wet lettuce with a slice of
tomato arrived. Mine was delivered with a
flick of the wrist that sent it skidding past
me. "The boat lists to portL the waitress
explained. Some minutes later, a girl
arrived with Kraft dressing and oil and
vinegar. She smiled. We were grateful.
Bland garlic bread appeared. Then our
main courses. For the mainlan' er it was
King Crabs legs, with the aid of a cheap
nutcracker and fish fork. The seasoned rice
wasn't particularly, and frozen peas and
carrots mixed up in it, neither helped nor
hindered.
Now, the crab was supposed to be served
with Drawn Butter, which in Newfound-
land, the rest of Canada and in New
England means a relative of white sauce.
The seasonings may vary, but it is never
merely melted butter. Why call melted
butter, Drawn Butter? Did they like the
sound of the name? The little chafing dish
threatened our safety as well as our
patience, and got soot over everything.
"We're getting better ones" we were told.
If barbequed salmon had not recently
resided in the Atlantic it was maltreated in
transit, even before it was over cooked.
One tiny steak, cut from the tail, and one
other indefinable cut, indicated that this
salmon had never achieved any size. With
Atlantic Salmon, the bigger, the better.
The french fried chunks of potato were a bit
soggy, but at least tasty, to the hungry
Newf.
The dissillusioned Dane had ordered a
rare filet mignon. It was in the medium to
well done stage. It was also chewy and
reminiscent in taste of pot roast. We are
still puzzled..it's hard to get that effect
with a filet, and it did look like filet. The
plates in each case were cluttered, not
garnished, with your basic cold slaw, and
wet lettuce and tomato. For the Dane, it
was the third round of lettuce and tomato.
Twice shows lack of imagination, three
times shows lack of any planning
whatsoever.
The coffee wasn't bad at all. It would
have been nice to have been offered a
second cup. None of us had the courage to
try dessert. Besides it was very late, by this
time, and our tempers were getting short.
The staff was not deliberately callous.
They were putting forth maximum effort
but achieving very little. The dining room
seated about 40 and there was certainly an
adequate number of girls.. but they were
obviously untrained. We managed to stop
someone for a moment, and we discovered
that they were all friends who did most of
the renovations themselves. Enterprizing
yes, clever, no. Hone is going to invest that
time and effort, it is silly to forget that, the
main function of a restaurant, floating or
August 1979, Village Squire 29