The Catholic Club has every opportunity to be a decent, respectable eating-place; in every sense of the word. Starched white linen, comfortable dining furniture and, aside from the constant assault of television, blaring so-called, commercial current affairs, in the adjacent bar, the ambience is pleasant. Only one problem. Well, maybe two. The lesser one is the service: inept, unskilled; with uncaring, unprofessional staff. But even this might be excusable if the food weren't utterly execrable! My beef stroganoff was inedible, bearing little or no resemblance to the real deal and even the cheapest cut of the cow would be shamed by this dry, sinewed, fatty flesh. Moreover, the club manager didn't respond to my complaint, which most probably explains why and how this, er, chef (don't make me choke, all over again!), er, cook (not even a ghost of) has been allowed to ply his evil trade on an unsuspecting, God-fearing public. It's hard to believe any supreme being worthy of his omnipotent, vengeful rep, would allow this travesty, this unpalatable insult, in an affiliate of one of his most hallowed houses.
You've been warned! for God's sake, don't do it to yourself: better you go home and give yourself a good whipping!