Vanessa Austin Locke: Fear And Loathing In A Middle Class Chain Restaurant In The South Of England

We were somewhere around Cote Brassiere on the edge of dessert when the champagne began to take hold. I remember saying something like, “I’m feeling a bit light headed. Let’s get Irish coffees.” The waiter came over. “Waiter!” cried my solicitor, admiring the shape of his skull; “We’d like two Irish coffees. Easy on the coffee.”

He looked at us, like we were a pair of madmen on some crazed drug binge out in the middle of the desert. “Irish coffee’s banned here. Health and safety.” “What kind of insanity is this?” roared my solicitor, rising up out of his chair like a bat out of hell. “It cracked a glass once,” said the waiter. Better have a chat with this boy, I thought. Then he might rest easy. “Water will only crack a glass if it’s boiling and/or the glass is too thin and coffee shouldn’t be made with boiling water or you’ll burn the coffee, not to mention your fingers. Second, have you considered the possibility that you could put it in a mug?” “Sure, said the waiter. We can put it in a mug for you.” “So, in fact, you can serve Irish coffee?” “No, we can’t serve Irish coffee. Health and safety.” And with that he went away to return a few moments later with two Irish coffees. This was getting twisted.

“Am I on drugs?” said my solicitor, as he poured the molten liquid down his throat. “I feel forced to write to the management. I mean it, I tell you!”

One week later…

“Dear Sir,

Thank you for your email regarding your recent visit to Cote. I can understand why you were both so amused when told that Irish coffees were banned because of health and safety reasons. They are definitely not banned; we just serve them differently.

I have spoken to the manager to ensure all team members know that Irish coffee can still be ordered.
As a thank you for bringing this matter to our attention, I will make sure there is a cold bottle of champagne waiting for you on your next visit.”

Kind Regards, Etc.”

One month later…

We were somewhere around Cote Brassiere on the edge of dessert when the champagne began to take hold. I remember saying to the waiter something like, “Hey, how are you tonight?” She looked at me like I was a celestial being and drawled, “Pretty high, actually.” Did she just say that? Or was I thinking it?! I thought, looking at my solicitor as he licked the jus from his plate to facilitate the digestive process. What was this place?

“Two Irish coffees. Easy on the coffee.”

“We’ll have two Irish coffees. Easy on the coffee.” She looked at us, like we were a pair of madmen on some crazed drugs binge out in the middle of the desert. “Irish coffee’s banned here. Health and safety.” “Well, said my solicitor, we have a complimentary bottle of champagne here that says it isn’t.” “I know,” said the waiter, “but we can’t serve it in a glass.” That’s when I got scared. My solicitor’s eyes got all wild. He began foaming at the mouth … “Holy **** ! Who are these animals?” I thought I’d better step in. I’m a professional journalist, after all. “Have you considered that you might be able to serve it in some other receptacle? A mug, for example?” “Oh sure, no problem.” “So, in fact, you can serve Irish coffee?” “No, Irish coffee’s banned here. Health and safety.”

Five minutes later she returned with two Irish coffees. In glass mugs.