Our Valentine’s Day disaster
When a romantic meal goes awry
This week’s piece is about our disastrous Valentine’s Day meal last year. The romantic meal we’d hoped for didn’t quite happen. I hope you enjoy reading it.
In all our fifteen years together, my husband and I have never been out for a meal on Valentine’s Day.
Eating out is one of our main pleasures in life, but when it comes to having a meal out on what is supposed to be the most romantic night of the year, Chris has always been reluctant. ‘It’s overpriced, mass produced, and not great service,’ he says.
So, on February 14th, we go to the cinema, or stay in and Chris rustles up some food, or we order a takeaway. And one year, I cooked, getting quite ambitious, attempting to flambé but almost setting fire to the kitchen.
This Valentine’s I decide it’s time for a change. ‘I’d like to eat out,’ I tell Chris.
He pulls a face. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ And I remind him that I have never been out for a meal on Valentine’s night – not with him or anyone else. And at forty-three, it is an experience I would like to enjoy.
He opens his mouth to say something but then thinks better of it and instead picks up his phone and starts scrolling for options.
‘There’s the Spencer Arms,’ he says.
The Spencer Arms in Cawthorne is one of our favourites. It’s a Gastro Pub and the food and service are always good.
‘They have a Valentine’s menu.’ Chris holds out his phone.
The first thing I notice is the price. ‘How much?’
‘This is the problem.’ Chris uses his I told you so voice. ‘It’s what happens on Valentine’s Day. Higher prices, limited choice and —’
‘We’re still going,’ I say. ‘But if we’re paying that much, we should go to The Three Acres.’
The Three Acres in Shelley is special to us because we had our wedding there a few years ago. The food and atmosphere are always amazing, but a visit usually involves saving up for.
Still, it is Valentine’s Day, a special occasion if ever there was one.
Chris stares at his phone. ‘It’s shut on Tuesdays,’ he says.
‘Shut! Even for Valentine’s?’
He nods.
‘Shall we just go to the Red Kite?’ I suggest.
The Red Kite is a Vintage Inn, only a few miles away, with log fires, good food, brilliant prices and a cosy charm. It’s reliable. We go there a lot. So much, I’ve started calling it our local. And it’s exactly what we need for a Tuesday night in February.
‘Is half seven, okay?’ Chris asks.
‘Perfect. We can have three courses and be back in time for a cup of Yorkshire decaf and an episode of Happy Valley.’
Chris smiles. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking.’
With the booking made, I start to look forward to my first Valentine’s dining out. It’s going to be a good night.
The restaurant is full when we arrive.
‘It’s busy,’ I say, stating the obvious.
‘It’s Valentine’s Day.’ Chris smiles, looking like he knows something that I don’t.
There is no one at reception, so we stand and wait. After a few minutes, a flustered-looking woman, who I presume is the manager, speed walks towards us, strands of hair falling onto her face. ‘Sorry for your wait,’ she says. ‘I got caught up.’
‘We’ve booked a table for 7.30,’ I say, hoping that Chris booked it properly. Whenever he’s in charge of restaurant bookings, I always get a little knot in my stomach. He once booked a meal for my birthday, but when we got to the restaurant, it was closed.
She scrolls down the list of bookings. ‘Got you. We’re just getting your table ready.’ She sprints off, calling over her shoulder that ‘it’ll only be a few minutes’.
As we stand and wait patiently at the bar, I glance around. The log fires are burning, and candles and roses decorate each table. It’s warm and cosy and there’s a hint of romance in the air. But something doesn’t feel right.
It’s not that the tables are ridiculously close together, or that there are a lot of diners and not many staff; there’s something else.
As the manager leads us to our table, I realise what it is.
There is no food.
‘No one is eating,’ I whisper to Chris. ‘Not one person.’
He shakes his head. ‘No.’
The manager shows us to an empty table at the back of the restaurant. "It's this one," she says, pointing to a table that is usually meant for eight people but has now been divided into tables for two. These tables are so close together we might as well be eating with the three other couples already here.
It’s all very intimate.
The couple on my left have obviously been here a while. She’s on her phone. He’s turned his back to her and has his eyes firmly fixed on the kitchen. He’s coughing, spluttering, and sniffing and should clearly be tucked up in bed with a Lemsip.
To my right, a very well-dressed couple (him in a Peaky Blinders style waistcoat, her in a lovely black dress) are chatting about house renovations. The couple next to them are more casual and from the number of empty glasses on the table have been here for hours.
‘This is nice,’ I say, trying to be positive.
‘That’s what we thought when we arrived,’ the guy with the cold says, sniffing loudly.
When the server comes to take our drinks order, he interrupts. ‘Excuse me. Do you know how much longer our food is going to be?’
Panic flashes across her face. ‘Any minute,’ she says. ‘It can’t be much longer.’
‘We’ve been waiting for two hours.’
‘Two hours,’ says the guy in the waistcoat. He turns to his wife. ‘What are we going to talk about for two hours? There’s nowt to talk about at the best of times.’
His wife takes a long drink of her gin, then orders another.
I focus on the menu, which is a sliver of its usual size, then we order drinks, starter and main course, keen to get our order in early.
‘Now dig in for the wait,’ the guy with the cold says, sniffing again.
Despite the lack of food, I am determined to think positively. Our food will arrive in good time. I’m almost willing it from the oven and onto a plate. And sure enough, after just five minutes, the server brings them to the table.
They are the smallest arancini balls I have ever seen in my life and are missing the roasted beetroot and balsamic puree and basil pesto that the menu promised. But, with such a food shortage, I’m grateful to have something.
‘We ordered before them,’ the man in the waistcoat says. ‘We ordered ten minutes before they even got here.’ He sits up taller and puffs out his chest.
His wife reaches out and takes his hand.
‘How?’ he says to the server. ‘Has that happened?’
She backs away. ‘There must have been a mix-up in the kitchen. When the tickets come through, they might have put them in the wrong order. They’ll be here soon.’
Waistcoat man turns to me and Chris. ‘It’s not difficult to print the tab and put it in order. Where’s the manager? She should be organising them.’
I nod and smile, then take a tiny bite of the arancini, trying to make it last as long as I can. In one mouthful, I could quite easily have devoured the lot.
‘It’s not good enough.’ Despite his wife’s efforts to get him to calm down, the waistcoat man refuses to stop his ranting. ‘It’s just not good enough. What’s their problem? They’re a restaurant.’
‘They can’t get the staff,’ the guy with the cold chimes in. ‘We’ve travelled around the country and it’s the same everywhere. Northumberland, down south, everywhere.’
‘We’ve also travelled,’ the waistcoat man says, circling his finger in the air.
I look at Chris and try not to laugh. We’ve not travelled anywhere. For the best part of three years, we’ve been trapped in Barnsley looking after our geriatric pets (and not forgetting the pandemic). I can’t help feeling a bit left out at all the travel and poor service we’ve been missing.
While the two men continue complaining about the state of the nation, their wives say little. One is focused on her phone, the other on her gin. Chris and I are in the middle, eating our pea-sized arancini.
‘It’s here!’ The guy with the sniffles spots his steak and is on his feet, waving at the server like he’s directing a plane in to land.
‘I’m so sorry for your wait.’ She puts an enormous plate of food in front of him—a mixed grill with steak, chops, sausages, chicken, chips and peas. He grabs his knife and fork and dives in. His wife finishes texting, then does the same.
Meanwhile, the other couple get their starters and we finish ours. And then begins the wait for our main course. Most of the restaurant are waiting on mains.
After an hour, people start leaving.
‘It ruins what should be a special night,’ the guy in the waistcoat says.
‘This is our first Valentine’s night out in fifteen years,’ I say. ‘We never usually come out.’
‘Overpriced and not great food,’ Chris says.
They both nod.
‘The quality is never the same for these things,’ the woman says. ‘We’ve sometimes gone out the weekend before or after Valentine’s Day and it’s been better.’
‘I’m so hungry,’ the waistcoat man says.
‘Here.’ The man eating the mixed grill holds up a ketchup bottle. ‘Do you want this?’
Now he’s eaten, he’s much happier and more tolerant. ‘They’re doing their best.’ He gets to his feet, glances at us all. ‘Remember, it could be worse. You could be dying.’ And on that cheery note, he heads to the bar, his wife, back on her phone, following.
I look at Chris and smile.
Still, no one has their food.
An older couple who are staring into one another’s eyes, completely in love, ask for a new candle. They’ve been here so long theirs has gone out. The server brings it quickly, but there is no sign of their main course.
The couple behind them are waiting for desserts and the couple in front of them have a table full of empty glasses, but I’m not sure if they’ve eaten or not.
‘I wonder what they’re waiting for?’ I ask.
‘Christmas,’ says waistcoat.
Chris laughs. ‘Shall we ask for the festive menu?’
After another 30-minutes, more people walk out. A couple in the corner get up just as their mains arrive.
‘Sit back down and eat,’ I think. But they’ve made up their minds.
‘She’s up at quarter to six.’ The husband says, nodding at his wife.
‘It’s a matter of principle,’ she says. And they send their steaks back to the kitchen.
‘We’ll have theirs,’ I say, but the server has already gone.
‘This is ridiculous,’ waistcoat man shouts. Now he’s had a few drinks, he’s complaining louder than ever. He points at me. ‘This woman’s never been out for Valentines Day!’
All eyes in the restaurant turn to me.
‘She just wanted a nice meal out. Her first in fifteen years.’
‘There’s a KFC down the road,’ one-woman shouts.
More people leave.
‘What should we do?’ I say to Chris. ‘Stay? Go? It’s bad, but I want something to eat. And I want to see how it ends. I mean, how bad can it get?’
It takes another 45-minutes for most of the diners to get their food. Everyone is eating and making the most of what’s left of Valentine’s Day, everyone except us. Being the last to arrive, we are the last to get fed.
Even waistcoat man and his wife are on their main course. His wife struggles to cut her steak.
‘Do you want a steak knife?’ he asks.
‘I’ll have gin,’ she says.
I try not to stare as they eat and try to ignore my rumbling stomach.
After two and a half hours, our food finally arrives. Beef and chianti casserole for me and slow cooked chicken for Chris. Given the wait, I’d expected it to be average, but the meals are delicious.
As we tuck in, waistcoat man and his wife move on to pudding.
‘How many days’ wait is dessert?’ he asks the server.
‘It’ll be really quick,’ she says. ‘It’s a chocolate bomb. I have to run from the kitchen, so it doesn’t melt before I get to the table.’
‘We’ll have two,’ he says.
And sure enough, the bombs are on the table within minutes.
They devour them and get up to leave. ‘Thanks for a good night,’ he says to us. ‘Having a laugh has saved a bad night.’
‘It’s been fun,’ I say.
‘And I’m sorry for complaining so much,’ he says. ‘I’m a whinger. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any. I’m the sort of person who gets a new TV, and it doesn’t work.’ He shakes his head. ‘Anyway, see you in fifteen years.’
I laugh. ‘Make it twenty.’
This year, we were determined to have a better valentine experience and hoped to enjoy a meal at The Three Acres, where we had our wedding. Unfortunately, it caught fire on Boxing Day and is now closed. We went to Wagamama’s instead.
How do you celebrate Valentine’s Day? Have you ever had any disastrous ones?
Liz, I'll be thinking about this story the next time I order a chocolate bomb. Thanks so much for sharing your pictures as well. I feel like I'm right there with you guys. You're making me hungry now! :)
Great post, and another reminder to not go out on Valentines night! 👏👏👏
We never do, or buy flowers around that time. 😉
We now do something quite fun with the cards though, in that we take it in turns to buy both every other year.
It’s very fun picking your own card and writing it as if it was from your husband, full of flowery language he’d never use! 😂😂😂