A joke. Absolute rubbish - Hakkasan Mayfair London - Buy Reservations
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🤮 1/5 - A joke. Absolute rubbish
By 👻 @Suki B, 04/17/2024 3:00 am
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It’s been a long time since I last visited Hakkasan; definitely more than a decade, and my memory was a positive one. In a world where dining out is akin to navigating a culinary minefield, this time we found ourselves hurdling over obstacles right from the get-go. Our grand entrance was met with a not-so-grand welcome to what can only be described as the Bermuda Triangle of dining tables. Imagine this: a banquette seat strategically positioned to ensure that any occupant would be seated at the farthest edge of the table, as if being punished for some unknown gastronomic transgression. And let's not overlook the delightful prospect of potentially cozying up to neighboring diners thanks to a table setup that could induce unwanted intimacy. This was odd, especially considering the abundance of vacant tables on a Monday night. Despite our reservation made with the anticipation of a royal feast over a month in advance, we were left scratching our heads as to why we were relegated to the gastronomic equivalent of the kiddie table at a family reunion. Could it have been our crime of comfort in donning Vans slip-ons? Or perhaps the establishment's subtle suggestion that dining attire should rival that of Bertie Wooster? Sorry guys, I forgot my frickin’ top hat. After enduring the initial round of "judging a book by its cover" shenanigans, we were graciously rescued from our apartheid exile and relocated to a more acceptable dining table. And thus, our culinary misadventure commenced, with the promise of a chrysanthemum-themed set menu at a not-so-petal-friendly price of £78 per person. Alas, the Dim Sum, touted as the shining star of the evening, arrived with all the grace of an oil spill, leaving us befuddled as to how one could manage to steam something into submission and still end up with an aquatic catastrophe. And the main course? Well, let's just say it was a symphony of sodium, with offerings ranging from over-salted to barely seasoned or just plain bland, leaving our taste buds in a state of existential crisis. But wait, there's more! The service, akin to a well-choreographed dance of confusion, left us yearning for a Rosetta Stone to decipher the staff's attempts at English. And let's not forget the soundtrack of the evening, which seemed better suited to a frat house party than a Michelin-starred eatery. In conclusion, while this dump may have managed to cling onto its Michelin star like a barnacle on a ship, our dining experience left us questioning the very fabric of culinary reality. And don't even get us started on the audacity of that 15% service charge, which felt more like a penalty than a gratuity.
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