Perhaps we should not have gone into a restaurant called “Dickens” in an affluent town in today’s NL. But we had trudged down a surprisingly long “boulevard” to get there and the baby probably wouldn’t have tolerated another treck before getting fed. I certainly would not have.
And to be fair, it wasn’t all bad. The fries were hot, the meat cooked medium rare as ordered and the fish firm. Unfortunately, the fries shouted “factory-made”, the meat trailed an odd whiff of kerosine in its wake and the fish was salted just a tad too firmly. Plus, charging 4,25 Euro for bread and butter and then serving up bread and brittle “spread” is just mean.