Such was the Spanish dinner expedition.
My husband (Craig) is really not fond of social outings, and eating out virtually makes him get hives - that's okay, not everyone likes to eat out. He just likes quiet spaces and no frills, so it has to be simple and easy. So I considered his disposition and then I coerced him into coming to the Spanish Cafe with the promise of great food and atmosphere.
Lets just say that it was a huge failure.
Firstly, the place was pretty crowded, which is never a good start, and the drink that we had in the Irish Pub before hand wasn't awesome either- that place was already 3/4 full of loud half pissed people which hubby also hates.
So the Spanish place is busy and the only table offering is olives - which he hates (YAY) and then comes the menu - YIKES!! The prices had been jacked up since my last visit 5 weeks ago and a lot of the tapas that I go for are missing, worst still only Spanish beer on the menu. Breathe....be cool....fudge your way through.
Maybe a nice sangria to start, they're always nice - IF YOU DON'T HATE MULLED WINE! What the fuck was I thinking? Needless to say I drank a whole jug of sangria myself and went a head and tried to order what I thought he might like. He found the calamari OK, the garlic prawns a bit off putting and then my final hope - the pulled pork. BABOW - It was much fattier than I recalled and no crunchy pig skin joy anywhere.
It's cool - churros will save the day. No, not this day! $80 and 20 minutes later we're heading home and hubby says he feels sick. Perfect - boy I know how to show a guy a good time.
In the door and not exactly on great terms, I hit the Jamiesons and the couch, watching TOSH.O I promise myself to not initiate a dinner date for another 12 months at least.
Oh, Spanish why did you have to fuck up tonight?