update - I e-mailed Trivet this post. No response.
Let's start at the end and work our way back.
I recently said I would no longer go negative on restaurants. I'm going back on my word.
At the conclusion of my horrific meal at Trivet, the worst I've had worldwide in the past three years, I asked a member of staff on the floor to have the GM follow up with me personally by e-mail. To reinforce the point, I departed the restaurant and audibly said "goodbye" to a vacant podium at reception. Another member of staff heard this and met me at the threshold of the restaurant and asked, "Did you enjoy everything?" I replied, "No. my meal was completely unsatisfactory. You have my contact details and your GM should e-mail me because I'm not going to discuss everything that went wrong on the floor while you're in service. I already tried that. And please don't send me a survey. That person needs to personally contact me."
Silence from Trivet.
Now you, and them, can read about my God-awful meal.
It's hard to complete the trifecta: The worst drink, worst main and worst dessert out of thousands of presentations.
The only edible thing the whole night was the fries.
Whomever came up with the maple syrup margarita should be sacked on the spot. This tasted like someone dipped a glass in the Thames and squeezed a lime on it. With no balance, or any discernible flavour whatsoever, this disgusting cocktail set the tone.
So we move to the fries, the least salty of the next two courses, with onion ketchup in a ramekin which was filled 10%, enough to cover maybe five fries. The glop was loose and barely adhered to the fries leaving a mess which caused two problems. First, I ran out of whatever-the-hell onion ketchup is (and it's not good, but I needed something to break up the starch). Second, I ruined my napkin because the ketchup couldn't make the distance from the plate to my face.
So, I asked for more ketchup and a new napkin. This was too much for the floor staff to handle, as I was brought another ramekin (also filled up 10%), the empty one wasn't removed (this is a ** restaurant) and no one brought a napkin.
The next snack consisted of "crackers" which was a forced attempt at over-chefing and came off as, wait for it, salty.
But this boring styrofoam wasn't the most offensive part.
This is how it read on the menu:
Here's the dish:
That's two preparations, not three as listed. I informed my server, if there's three preparations on the menu and you're only serving two, you should either tell the guest when they order it, fix the menu or 86 the dish. I would have ordered something else. I was met with dazed and confused stare as if I was on Mars. Literally no response was given. Did they bother to take the measly seven quid off the bill? Of course not.
It's not currently on the menu.
Then we move to the sodium council's favourite dish of the year. A 49 quid chicken dish that was so over-salted, and I mean every element over-salted, that I was literally crunching on granules of salt. How you cook greens, onions, crispy shallots, mash, jus and chicken separately and manage to make the entire plate taste like one big pile of salt is beyond me. This plate of food was inedible. Yet, I kept going back trying to find or uncover something that wasn't pure salt. I dissected the chicken carefully, like a science experiment, peeling away the skin and trying to get some white meat with no jus for a respite. Finally, I could have some pieces that didn't bomb my pallet.
The beans were limp, cold and flavourless in another we-don't-give-a-damn moment.
I should have cut my losses. I know better. But sometimes you hope for redemption, or to see if it can get even worse.
The "signature" dessert of ‘Hokkaido Potato’ (25 quid) Baked potato mille-feuille, saké and white chocolate mousse, butter and saké gelato sounds well and good.
When I sat down and ordered my meal, I remarked that this sounded really interesting using potato instead of puff as the mille-feuille and I love the use of potato in desserts (see Mauro Collagreco's purple potato dessert at OWO). My server, who must have had his mind on not delivering my napkin, agreed with my assessment.
Was this the dessert? Uh. No.
Instead, there must be 30 layers of puff (ridiculous), congealed together and solid (forget flaky) in this ill-advised, poorly-executed monstrosity. I said to a server, as I'm pointing at the giant left-over rectangle of cardboard that would need a steak knife to break apart, this isn't potato. You're telling me this is potato? The server said, no, we dust with "potato sugar." What in the holy fuck is "potato sugar" and why would you think there would be any potato flavour coming from it? This server got extremely defensive and exasperated. "I never said we use potato for puff pastry."
I responded:
"One. You didn't say it, I said it, and your colleague agreed with me when I ordered it.
Two. the menu says "potato mille-feuille." This is most definitely not a "potato mille-feuille" and it's the second thing I've ordered tonight that didn't match the menu."
The sake gelato? Also irredeemable. No sake flavour anywhere in the dish.
Of course, my palate was so fried from the main, I may never have picked it up anyway.
The only positive was the meal was over in under 90 minutes.
As I went in to the night, I stopped for an amaro drink to try and kill the taste. Didn't work. Brushed my teeth. Still tasted salt.
Trivet's mission statement is "Welcome to Trivet: an informal, high-quality restaurant in the heart of Bermondsey. We aim to deliver an exceptional culinary experience, using the finest ingredients and wines, locally sourced where possible."
This wasn't a bad service. This was an arrogant restaurant cooking slop, robbing this diner, and not giving a damn.
Oh, and I got the automated survey.
The Single Table pays in full for all meals it posts about.