La Placeta - Thursday 21 August
Remember what I said about
expectations? Obviously I lied when I said that I no longer had expectations because I had high expectations of La Placeta (especially if Bonyslad was a fan) and we went out of our way to ensure we reserved a table at this restaurant, part of the
Hotel Son Sant Jordi.
During the day we followed the road signs in Pollensa, found out where it was and then parked the car and walked up to study the menu which looked very good and had dishes that would suit the children. The British woman who took our reservation was friendly and I experienced a little glow of anticipation at eating in the pretty, palm-shaded square.
In the evening we finally lost patience with the terrible service at the Café Espanyol (yes…my favourite bar…) and it seemed that this was the start of an evening that very sadly, went from bad to worse. Maybe the Gods were punishing me for sitting smugly at the Bar Alhambra and watching people wander by looking slightly confused about where they were going to eat. I was OK, I told myself with a little smile. I knew where we were going to eat, and what’s more…we were going to have a great night! Haha!
At the appointed time we strolled past Ca’n Costa and carried on down the street to the beautiful little square, the imposing church on one side, the Hotel Son Sant Jordi on the other. About five tables were set up under the palm trees and we were shown to one by a waitress who then went to serve a table of about eight people.
So we waited…and waited…
After about fifteen minutes, and just as I was about to suggest we leave and go somewhere else (and therefore join the ranks of the wandering restaurant hunters) the Spanish waitress asked if we would like a drink. The children chose coca cola while hubby ordered a large beer. I asked to see the wine list and was given the menu. I chose the Macia Batle Blanc de Blancs, priced at 19 euros, as hubby and I had both decided to have the chicken after remembering it from looking at the menu earlier.
The drinks arrived, by which time we’d all had a look at the one menu, sharing it around between us. I was a bit surprised to see the children’s drinks arrive as cans of coke with no accompanying glasses, while hubby’s beer was smaller than he had wanted. By now his thirst was akin to that of a man who had been in the dessert for a few weeks…
We were given bread, butter and olives and we ordered our meals. We decided to skip starters because it was getting late and the children chose chicken goujons and spaghetti. Hubby changed his mind about the chicken and went for the steak in pepper sauce. My mouth watered at the thought of the chicken stuffed with dates and bacon…
The wine duly arrived - already opened and just plonked on the table without ceremony, unlike the party behind who were given an ice-bucket. By now our little table was crammed with cans, wine glasses and plates and on the uneven terrace I feared it would topple over!
The wine was delicious and as waited for our food it went down rapidly. What else is there to do but drink when your meal takes an age to arrive?
The tables around us seemed to be also waiting for their food and we’d reached the point where relaxed service is no service. Hubby disappeared into the hotel to go to the loo and while he was gone, the British male (head?) waiter appeared and asked me if everything was OK.
“No, it’s not,” I replied. “We’ve been waiting over an hour for our food and I’m not happy.” He didn’t see me stamping my foot under the table.
Whilst I was berating the waiter, hubby was similarly having a go at the poor waitress. She said there had been “problems” and that we would get our food in just a minute.
When hubby returned he said that we would wait five minutes and then go. We waited two minutes and our meals appeared.
Remember those descriptions? Mmmm…steak in a pepper sauce…chicken stuffed with dates…I imagined them as full and plump bursting with flavour, and oh, yes…the bacon…
Hmmm…hubby described the sauce as being like oxo cubes mixed with boiling water and poured over the steak with a few peppercorns added for good measure. My chicken breast had been cut in half and a tiny shrivelled date inserted in the top of each portion. Of bacon, there was no sign. The meals were served with new potatoes, carrots and broccoli. The children seemed fine with their meals, but my son could have eaten three of the spaghetti and my daughter was by now so hungry I think she would have eaten her own leg. In fact, my son told me he was eating his own nails earlier, he was so famished…
When the meals arrived, the male waiter apologised but said that it was our fault - we had to wait so long as we hadn‘t “ordered starters”.
“What?” I said. “I’ve never heard of that excuse before.”
I‘m afraid his reply was rude and sarcastic, saying that the kitchen cooked all the starters at the same time, but we‘d seen people receiving their food at different times and it was a poor excuse for terrible service.
We hurriedly ate our meal and then asked for the bill. The poor waitress seemed genuinely upset and kept apologising but it wasn’t her fault. We wouldn't have minded so much if the staff had been honest with us. Maybe there
had been a problem (perhaps the chef had called in sick?) but the arrogant and sarcastic response was unforgivable.
The couple behind us, witnesses to the fuss, agreed with us and said that they had only eaten at the hotel because it was free and part of their accommodation deal.
So, all in all, a sad and very disappointing night and writing this review, heavy with my own sarcasm, gives me no pleasure at all. I can only think we had hit the restaurant on a bad night and that our experience was rare, but I certainly won’t be returning - not when the other delights of Pollensa are so close by.
The bill came to 65 euros.
La Placeta, Hotel Son Sant Jordi - Pollensa
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