My mother turned 57 last night, despite her recent conviction that she was, in fact, turning 67.
So my family traipsed off to Harrison’s in Rivonia for dinner to celebrate.
I’ve been to Harrison’s once before for a work function last year, which I enjoyed.
It’s a decent place, with excellent steak. In fact, everyone enjoyed his/her meal, which is a frigging miracle if you know my family. Not one thing had to be sent back, not one dish was overdone/underdone, not one glass was cracked (which would naturally have led to an all out hepatitis panic among the five of us.)
There are two things with which I had a problem, however.
Number 1: The ridiculously dimmed light, designed to create a ‘romantic’ ambience. Whatever! Dull light = dropping your food on your lap/boobs = date staring at his piggish girlfriend/wife = embarrassment and not so much of fun.
I’ve never really understood why romance can only take place in an almost pitch black room. It’s never worked for me. Added to that, I regularly almost set table cloths on fire when all there is to guide me through the menu is one, measly candle.
That irritated me to an extreme I never thought possible. However, I quickly learnt that no matter how wound up you are, you can always be just a bit more irritated.
Enter problem number 2….the ‘musician’ the place hired for the night.
He started with some very popular pop ballad which took me about two minutes to recognise. By the time I realised that the music was not piped and was not some dreadful cd of covers, he was into his rendition of “Tears in Heaven”. For many moments I wished I was in this place called heaven, far, far away from this man who sounded like Kermit the Frog when he sang.
To say he was useless is just not an adequate expression. I’ve heard standard one music classes with more talent, tone and ability than this moron. On and on he went, murdering song after song, creating his own tunes and flourishes. After about 20 minutes of this torture, my almost-80-year-old very together grandmother asked “When is this terrible cd going to end? Doesn’t it seem endless to you?” Imagine her horror when she turned around and clapped eyes on the source of the droning.
I seriously will not go back to Harrison’s when this guy is singing. I think this restaurant should realise that the busker in the Rosebank Mall who plays the recorder very very badly, is still better than Kermit.