This weekend saw my brother tick over into his 26th year.
Who'd have thought.
Unfortunately though he celebrated his birthday at, what I thought, was the worst restaurant in Freo. In fact, I had been there many many years ago and had the worst meal ever.
I vowed never to return again.
That vow was broken when, over a round of golf during the day, my brother informed me that,
"It had changed."
Taking my brother's word I dragged Chris and Jon-Jon along (they were invited).
The first thing I rembered about this restaurant when I walked in was just how dark it really was - which scared me really, purely because you could hardly see. You didn't know who you were talking to unless you recognised their voice, nor what you were eating!
As the night wore on and I glanced at the menu and couldn't for the life of me find anything appealing... I settled for an organic lemon lime bitters (whatever that meant?).
But I wasn't the only one that struggled - Chris couldn't get over how expensive the meals were, and when entrees came round Jon-Jon brought back up whatever it was he was trying to digest (no I'm not kidding)!
It seriously was bad.
It was hippy food... and even then that's giving hippy food a better rep than whatever it was this food happened to be.
When the waiter came over to take our mains selection I had to pass,
"Sorry mate, nothing for me."
Chris, Paul and Jon-Jon did likewise, but now we faced a dilemma: stay and watch everyone else eat (and possibly throw up all over the place), or high tail it out of there and get some REAL food.
Being a bloke I did the selfish act and told my little brother that I needed to eat elsewhere.
He wasn't happy.
Which was understandable, but three other blokes weren't happy either.
Within a matter of minutes one table of four vanished into the night. It was bad, I know, but I was starving and nothing that place served up would've ever filled the void.
The rest of the night went quite well. We all went to a popular Italian joint in the heart of Freo, and chatted over a few flat white's till late.
When Sunday morning arrived my sister tore a few strips off me about our selfish disappearing act.
I felt bad, but I had to ask...
"How was your meal?"
With a scruntched nose she replied,
"It was ok. Very expensive though."
Shortly after I received a phone call from my brother's fiancee asking whether I was alright, apparently my brother didn't take our leaving too well. I told her I'd give him a call an apologise.
Which I did straight away.
And... he was fine. He knew the place wasn't suited for us blokes and he made a mental note about what NOT to do next year.
I knew he'd be cool about it... heck, if he wasn't, I'd have to go over and beat him up (that's just the thing brothers do). But I'm glad he didn't take it as drammatically as my sister and his fiancee made it out to be.
In closing though, it wasn't until I got off the phone that it suddenly dawned on me that my brother would never have organised a party at a place like that. Previous dinner parties he'd had have generally been at steakhouse type places, and this place was definitely no steakhouse.
The only person who would've ever enjoyed a place like that would've been none other than his fiancee.
As a warning then, dear readers, if you are ever given a fine dining experience in Freo at Sandcastles, unless you're into eating real weird %$@#, politely decline.
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