At the end of the day, we are talking about a
hotel's restaurant. The critic didn't enjoy his meal, fair enough. What I think a lot of people are objecting to here, at least,
what I object to here, is the heaping serving of xenophobia that goes along with the review of the food...
at a hotel bar... for tourists. smells of newly pumped testosterone
I'm fine with tone setting, but
Wittgenstein would have a field day with this one.
On a weekday night the place is filled with a certain kind of middle-aged man, most of them American. They are not just seated at the tables but thronging between them and leaning over the shoulders of friends at other tables to bark with laughter at each other’s jokes and war stories.
Here we have the appetizer of bigotry. A certain kind of foreigner, you know, the kind we all hate. They're loud, not because their cultural norms are different, but because they're just awful. They should stay in their hotel, away from locals like the author...
Dinner service here is crowd control only just masquerading as hospitality.
Oh look, legitimate restaurant criticism when you don't read between the lines.
His appointment here signified culinary ambition and commitment. It just seems that the core clientele didn’t get the memo. What this lot want – and what they get – is cow. An awful lot of grilled cow.
Ah yes, these boorish customers, away from home, offered and
extremely high quality version of a dish they might order at home, especially when they are most likely famished from a day on the links. Plebs... they ought to be ordering the tasting menu after 36 holes walking. To quote a certain kind of middle-aged American man: "
Am I so out of touch? No, it's the children who are wrong."
Because next to us a table of 10 more pilgrims, presumably here to worship at the temple to golf outside, has just been seated. They also have friends; many, many, friends. They keep pouring into the dining room to have drinks and honk at each other like the table is merely the buffet at some cocktail party. The young, friendly waiting staff deal with this roaming mêlée with grace and efficiency, but Sartre wasn’t wrong when he said that hell is other people. Doubtless, they would all think exactly the same of me if we got acquainted. The issue here, of course, is one of pure economics. St Andrews depends on this ready flow of American golfing tourists and I suppose I should take comfort from the fact that they and their obsessions are, for the most part, corralled up here on the 4th floor. But rarely have I punched the lift button down to ground with such a profound eagerness and glee.
And here we have the main course: some posh prick from the nice side of London
takes the train probably flies up to Scotland, and has the audacity to complain about foreigners being
in a hotel restaurant. It's not enough that these foreigners are literally keeping to their hotel, they ought not exist.
St Andrews is a college town. It's would be fine with our without these filthy tourists, but it probably wouldn't be able to support these French tire company rated culinary venues. The best parallel would be Stirling University, which does boast one star-rated restaurant... just up the road at Gleneagles.
It just so happens that St Andrews exists on a internationally significant site, and god forbid the internationals, with their different cultural norms, come visit. These people need places to stay, and those places to stay often have restaurants. He didn't love the food and he's in the business of getting clicks, and that's completely fair, but maybe leave the casual arguments for xenelasia to the Daily Mail.