this is mostly a reaction to a previous review.
noma of copenhagen this steakhouse ain’t. but you won’t pay noma’s prices either. we were lucky to get a table for five, since the place was jumping. it was a friday night and the locals were getting likkered up. we had to wait a while for the waiter. but we laughed it off, writing messages on the dusty table top. we had plenty of fun with the free wifi as well. (hence this review.)the menu thoughtfully had an old piece of bread stuck between two pages. i suppose it was meant as an amuse bouche for the hungry, waiting to be served.
the willing waiter did his best, but he could not break the laws of physics. the old south african system, with crowds of part-time middle-class waiters, suckered into working for tips only, is over. the economy is tanking. eating out well on the cheap is over. deal with it.
restaurants now have full-time waiters that have to be paid whether therestaurantis busy or not. they can’t draw from a pool of eager “runners” on busy nights and ditch workers on quiet nights. diners in the past didn’t care that the “runners” were willing to work many shifts for free, hoping to be employed as waiters at some point. neither did diners care that therestaurantmade waiters pay into a “breakages fund”, effectively taking back any wages they paid the waiter. the happiest moment for many glutted, drunken diners was at the end of an evening, when they stiffed the tired waiter for the tip they had slaved hours for.
the food presentation here is more jackson pollock than michael angelo. the huge portions are simply dumped onto your overfilled plate. you won’t find precious “nouvelle cuisine” artworks, featuring a lonely, sculpted carrot lozenge, calling out mournfully, over wide expanses of porcelain, to a sad piece of coin-sized steak here. there are no hungry diners here either.
since most people were there to drink, the kitchen coped swiftly with our order.
my luscious rump steak was rare and butter-soft. the crispy chips had a soft, fluffy heart that melted in your mouth. this is welcome relief from the hard, waxy punishment doled out unapologetically in pretoria these days. a huge t-bone steak arrived at our table intact, without the fillet hacked out, as happens so often lately. someone at our table ordered a salad as a main course. there was enough greek salad in that bowl to sink the “oceanos”. (pardon me, i just remembered, that cruise liner has been sunk already.) the crispy chicken schnitzels made those who ordered them smile broadly. the waiter brought a free dessert, with “happy birthday” written in chocolate, for the guest of honour.
look, you don’t come here to crook your little finger over refined messes. (waiter, oh waiter, i wish to report an antliophora diptera in my vichyssoise.) if that is your style, “la pentola’s” magical fusion food and “laughing chefs” sculpted masterpieces are a quick rolls royce ride away. just remember you will be expected to pay their prices.