Don’t You Forget About Me(33)

‘What do you mean?’

‘Where are you now?’

‘At the … nearly home.’ I turn into my road.

‘Go buy a copy. It’s not online yet. I only saw it because someone at work was talking about it. Guess what, she knew someone who reckoned they’d had salmonella from there.’

‘You’re freaking me out here with the tension and the mystery.’

‘Ah no sorry I don’t mean to, it’s funny really. Get a cuppa and relax into it, it’s proper satire.’

I do as I’m told, buy a copy of The Star from the newsagents on the corner then home. I’m at a loss to imagine how they’ve fumbled the scoop of That’s Amore! being the worst dining experience since Sweeney Todd started an artisan pop up to rival Pork Farms.

I lay out the paper and flip through the pages until I find it: they keep sticking together in an agonising way, and now I’m agog. Gog is agog. What on earth did Rav mean?!

Here it is – a double spread. Tony is posing, and beaming, outside the frontage, plates of pasta with puddles of sauce balanced on either hand. He appears to have acquired a puffy white chef’s hat from a fancy dress shop, or Dolmio advert.

That’s Amore! – Sheffield’s worst restaurant according to TripAdvisor – says to the haters …

SHADDAP YOU FACE!

Wait, what? They’re painting the act of serving seriously below par cuisine as an act of sticking it to The Man?!

I read on, and yes, yes they are. That’s Amore! – as the number of obliging portraits of Tony stirring pans while making a finger and thumb pressed together sign, or Callum grinning over his shoulder while writing the specials on the chalkboard, attest – has played PR ball. They’ve successfully spun this into a ‘plucky little engine that could’ type of tale, full of self-deprecating humour.

Fuck’s, and also sake.

Down the right-hand side of the page, there’s a precis of the TripAdvisor lowlights, but they’re heavily edited to take the laughs out. Greg Withers makes an appearance – hurray! – but they’ve cut it to a couple of sentences that a quick skim could bring you to believe he simply wanted more bells and whistles for a special occasion.

Goddammit.

I grind my teeth as I read:

Once upon a time, restaurant complaints were limited to asking to see the manager. In the online era, you’re only a click away from broadcasting your displeasure to the world. TripAdvisor is a well-known forum for diners to rate the good, bad and the ugly in our culinary scene – and the users don’t hold back about their experiences in the comments.

That’s Amore! knows what it feels like to withstand the punters wrath: the Broomhill bistro has been given a savaging by amateur critics who scorned its ‘inauthentic’ dishes and ‘shoddy’ service, leaving it with a 88% ‘terrible’ rating – the worst in the city.

Nevertheless, business is booming, with the sixty-cover eatery booked out every weekend.

That’s Amore! insist despite the poor score, they are fighting fit and more popular than ever – throwing into doubt how much influence sites like TripAdvisor really have on our eating out habits.

‘At the end of the day, trolls on the internet will have their opinions,’ That’s Amore! head chef Tony Staines says. ‘Being perfectly honest with you I think if you look at the locations on these moaners having a pop, they are all London types or out of towners who want fine dining, fancy frills and amuse bouches. Locally we’re a big hit.’

What total shite!

‘What we do here is serve good honest homely fresh-cooked fare from scratch, no fuss or showing off, and our regulars love it. These are old recipes from our owner’s mother. So if they don’t like our classics or say they’re not authentic, argue with his Nonna – she lives in Turin!’

‘She lives in fucking Bridlington!’ I snort.

The piece swerves into a generalised discussion of the benefits and drawbacks of TripAdvisor as guidance service, so no one’s given the chance to answer Tony back. ‘Greg Withers’ would’ve been a very chatty respondent, if he could’ve used email (or if I’d persuaded Rav to moonlight).

Oh man, this is so unfair. Has it not occurred to the reporter that That’s Amore! might have terrible feedback because it’s terrible? Has he heard of Occam’s Razor? Has he tried any of its food? This is basically a big free advertisement for That’s Amore! That I prompted. There’s no doubt about this, the byline is an ‘Ant Haddon.’

That’s Amore!, 1, Georgina, 0.

‘Good honest fresh-cooked fare’, my arse. I’ve seen Tony up-end a box of Quality Street, take the wrappers off, have a go at bevelling them with a cheese paring knife, pile them in a pyramid on a saucer, stick a dusting of drinking chocolate powder over the top, and tell me to tell the customer they’re our in-house handmade chocolates. Fawlty Towers ‘Gourmet Night’ without the slick presentation.

I ring Rav.

‘Why do the bad guys always win, Rav? Always?!’

I’m half joking-exasperated, half genuinely upset. ‘I mean, they do, don’t they? That’s Amore! survive anything! Even the critic visiting, thanks to sacking me. What do they have to do? Put polonium in the Pollo alla Cacciatore?’

‘Haaaah. It’s a bit much, right?’ Rav hoots. ‘I liked the part where he says everyone thinks they’re shit because they’re expecting L’Enclume and sea urchin sashimi. That, without a doubt, is what’s going wrong. People mincing up from Mayfair and not understanding what two mains for a tenner and half a carafe of rough red might entail.’