27th July 2007
Eating at Wolfe's, you feel a sudden surge of empathy for John Simm's character in 'Life On Mars'. Like Sam Tyler, you appear to be stuck in a strange and confusing world, ripped from vague, unpleasant memories of the tackier side of the seventies.
The decor is stunning, in the sense that it leaves you feeling slightly dizzy and nauseous; mirrors on every available surface (including the ceiling), gold plating and faux marble where they couldn't fit any mirrors. This is all tastefully set off with a display of rude seaside postcards in the gents toilet. You can imagine Gene Hunt proudly taking someone here, on the grounds that it's "classy " and "a bit posh".
But, what's wrong with a little chintzy decor if the food and service are high quality? Well, my cheeseburger was a fascinating combination of three entirely different rubbery textures; a sort of foam rubber for the bread, an almost flubber-like consistency in the cheese, and a proper, tractor-tyre vulcanized rubber in the burger itself. One of my companions, meanwhile revelled in chicken that was so undercooked, the outside was still pink, never mind the inside.
Apart from that, though, there were few complaints. Oh, except for the bit where the waitress threw gravy in my friend's lap. That was well worth the compulsory service charge.
To sum up: No. Don't.
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