Port Alfred Restaurants

Barmuda offers “upmarket” dining. Sure, if you’re a student. Or a surfer.

This is the tale of our dinner there. It’s a comedy.

Let’s call the frontmen Mutt and Jeff. For those who’ve been there, Mutt is the fat, slovenly one who prides himself on being rude. Jeff is the shifty-eyed one, who denies all responsibility.

We are easy-going diners. We didn’t mind the ‘70s hard rock played at top volume. It was preferable to the techno-boom and hectic flamenco that followed. Eclectic taste, we said. Bit loud, but hey.

We didn’t even mind that we were sent an already open bottle of wine, and a cork stamped with the name of a different winery. Odd, we said, but it tasted okay.

We became edgy (but didn’t complain) when our food took well over an hour. But hey, this was coastal time.

The real trouble came when we tried to pay. They chose that moment to tell us the credit card machine was broken. Oh dear, we said. Should we not have been told at the door? This is where our funny frontmen come in. The flustered waitress went to “ask the manager”.

Mutt and Jeff were chatting to friends at the bar. They kept her waiting while they finished their conversation.

“The manager says you must drive to town and draw money. He’ll give you a free drink when you come back.”

Wow. What an enticement. A free drink at the bar with Mutt and Jeff. As I said, perhaps if you were a student…

As it happens, we don’t carry much cash or cash cards at night. A couple of bad experiences put paid to that. Poor flustered waitress returned to the bar, where she shifted from foot to foot while Mutt finished a story.

“The manager says you must drive home and get some money,” she said when she returned (again).

We laughed a bit. We could see why they were a popular act at the bar. We were staying 30km away, in Kasoega.

This time, they kept her waiting so long we got up ourselves. They both claimed to be the manager. Arms folded, Mutt said we could come back and pay the next day. Gee thanks, we said. His friends sniggered.

“Well you can’t shop in Kasoega, so you must be coming back here,” said Jeff.

We offered to leave the extent of our cash and transfer the rest electronically. They hadn’t thought of that. They didn’t know the bank details. I suggested they sms us.

I was now thoroughly pissed off, so I turned back to explain how they could have handled it. Instead of sending the poor, shaking waitress back three times, perhaps one of them might have considered coming over himself? And had they thought of apologising? (I know that’s a big word, Mutt. You can look it up.)

Mutt glanced at his audience, folded his arms and told me I was making a big issue out of nothing. No, I explained, that was his job. Jeff denied he’d been told anything, knew anything, or that anything was his fault.

Mutt turned his back on me and disappeared. He reappeared on the other side of the bar, where he joined his sniggering buddies. I told him he was rude. “I’d already heard you,” he said tiredly. “Is that all?” His buddies thought that hilarious.

I asked for the name of the owner. “We’re the owners,” said Mutt. I knew that couldn’t be true. Perhaps Jeff denies responsibility for owning a second-hand car. But Mutt couldn’t own more than the dope-patch he no doubt cultivates in his parents’ garden

Look the food was okay, although my partner’s fish had been in a pan that had enjoyed a close association with liver. It wasn’t good enough to make up for Mutt and Jeff.

The outlook is gorgeous. Perhaps they think that’s enough.