Yesterday I had dinner with Karine, who came to visit for a few days from Paris. We have been to The Angelic, one of my favourite pubs in Islington: it has a nice atmosphere, avoids being stupidly loud and its food is rather upmarket solidly setting it in the “gastropub” category.
As expected, the evening was nice and chilled, but little did I know that, much later that night, the Lincolnshire sausage on apple scented mash I ordered would come out from where it got in. I won’t go describing the quite unpleasant symptoms of food poisoning, but it made me take half a day off from work…
I called the pub in the morning and asked for the manager. The shift’s manager happened to be Laetitia, a very pleasant French girl who turned out horrified by my story. She promptly invited me back for a full refund and a voucher for another meal for two on the house. By the time I got there, her quick internal investigation revealed that the sausages weren’t properly cooked, and it looked like the cook would receive some serious abuse.
It always strikes me how much you can get out from simple complaints, especially in a country where so little people do, as suggested by this article a few months ago. As for “The Angelic”, despite this glitch in an otherwise impeccable restaurant, I can only continue recommending it. Now even more than before.
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