The Leeds Castle Pudding Debacle

Andy and I enjoy going to Leeds Castle. We have a season ticket because it is a good place to go for walking and for having a spot of lunch at the Castle Restaurant. Previously, once you'd got your table in the restaurant, you selected your meal from the menu, then went to the service counter to place your order, giving your table number and paying up front. This was a good and effective system. You could take your time choosing your repast, you didn't have to faff about trying to catch someone's eye for the bill at the end of your visit and if you wanted any pudding, you could guarantee getting a pudding.

Which brings me to my point of the day.

Which is that Leeds Castle has changed this perfectly good system for a waitress system which is not so good. Sans pudding not good.

We have visited the Castle three times in the last six weeks. We have enjoyed walking through the grounds, watching the leaves changing colour from their cool, green summer dresses to their firey auburn autumn robes. We have laughed at the antics of the ducks and swans and geese, of the birds of prey (especially the snake-throwing road runner), wandered the aviary and been inspired by the gardening works that are taking place.

And then we finish our visit with a nice lunch. At least, that's how it's been since we started getting our season tickets a couple of years or so ago.

However, on our visit six weeks ago, the new waitress service had been employed. We had our lunch. It was very nice. The waitress returned to clear our plates. 'Can we order a pudding, please?' we asked. 'I'll be back to take it in a minute,' said the waitress.

She never returned, no she didn't. She had clearly decided we were the kind of people for whom pudding was not necessary. So we paid our bill and went, pudding-less, home.

On the visit we made four weeks ago, we secured a pudding!! Sticky toffee pudding. With custard. I'm not keen on custard. I wasn't given the option to not have custard. And to be honest, the sticky toffee pudding itself left much to be desired. Quite disappointing, in fact. We ran back to the car to work off the excess calorific value of a disappointing pudding experience.

Then, yesterday, we went to the Castle again, and again we stayed for lunch. We were seated in a corner by the window, which was nice, as we had views of the lakes and some birds cavorting in a bush. The waitress, who reminded me a little of Mrs Overall, appeared.

'Are you ready to place your order?' she asked.
'Yes please,' I said. 'I'd like a pot of tea...'
'For one?' said she.
'Do you do pots of tea for two?' asked Andy, who clearly fancied a diversion from his usual Leeds Castle hot chocolate.
'No,' she said.
'Okay,' said Andy. 'I'll have a pot of tea for one, also.'

This seemed to confuse the waitress. It was like only one pot of tea for one per table was allowed, or something. She wrote T x 1 on her pad, then T x 1 again, then crossed about both markings and replaced them with T x 2.

I ordered a jacket potato with cheese and Andy ordered fish and chips, which she coped with, and the food arrived promptly and was very nice.

Now, whilst we were perusing the menu, we noticed that the pudding options had changed. Not a sub-standard sticky pudding with custard whether you like it or not in sight. But there was a chocolate tart, an apple pie with custard OR cream OR icecream option, and something else I can't remember which means I can't have fancied it that much.

We sat and waited for nearly 20 minutes. We tried to attract the attention of the waitress, any waitress, by re-arranging our empty plates and pots of tea for one times two. We fidgeted, we talked about pudding options in loud voices. We pretended we were getting up to leave without paying the bill, but to no avail.

And then Andy did a funny winky thing.
'Aha!' he said. 'I have her attention. She's coming over.'

And over came the waitress, who plopped the bill on the table and said there was no rush to pay. And then she disappeared. Pudding? No chance!

Well, we were in fits by now. Were we victims of the you're-both-too-fat-for-pudding Government anti-obesity campaign? Were we on camera? Had we been surreptitiously weighed as we crossed the restaurant threshold? Or was our waitress really Mrs Overall, brought forth from retirement to torment us in our quest for a proper pudding end to our lunch out?

I guess we'll never know, but as we left the restaurant I filled out a customer feedback card, with details of our disappointment in the pudding department. I didn't whinge or moan. I used humour and wit (or as much humour and wit as a small postcard-sized form would allow me) and I also added my name and address. In the hope of a free-pudding voucher.

Well, one can but hope.