7th April 2009

Free lunches, those rare things, are a paricularly exotic beast when you work for the public sector. Nevertheless, credit crunch miracles do happen, and so it was with some excitement (largely due to the prospect of an afternoon both 'at work' and 'at lunch'), that I set off last Friday for a thank-you-for working-so-hard celebration at the Scottish Malt Whisky Society on Queen Street.

About a year ago it seemed that everyone I knew (well, every boy at
least) was toying with the idea of joining this most convivial of private members' clubs. I too have to admit to having been tempted by the prospect of clubhouses in Edinburgh and London, and of long nights with yummy malts by an open fire. However, the impulse soon faded (perhaps something to do with the £125 fee), and until last week I had never made it past the hallowed, members-only doors. I am pleased to report that I hadn't been missing much.

Although the building is admittedly completely New Town-gorgeous, the effect of this was quickly dispelled by a grumpy receptionist silently pointing the way to the dining room. The food that I ordered (smoked trout then loin of pork - part of a £13.50 lunch menu) was tasty enough, but I did feel quite sorry for those who ordered the gnocchi with beetroot or roasted mullet - both dishes were sparse and seemed massively over-cooked.

The strangest part of the whole experience though was the service cupboard (leading to another room) continually bursting open for no apparent reason, and the 45-minute post-meal wait to see if were going to be offered pudding or coffee. Not enough to ruin a meal, but certainly enough - especially when combined  with the generally bemused service, and the overall tired, shabby feeling of the surroundings - to make me rethink my membership aspirations.