Having planned to to spend the festive season abroad, visiting my son in the Netherlands, I suggested to my sister that we have pre Christmas celebration dinner together. The Ivy in Oxford was on my list of restaurants to try, so after we had both taken a look at the menu, I booked a table.
Founded in 1917, the original Ivy restaurant was in the West End and was popular with both celebrities and theatre-goers. Since then, The Ivy Collection has grown to a chain across the UK and Ireland.
Researching the menu online, it looked promising and offered a variety of choices. As an artist, I was also intrigued by the sumptuous interior photos. Both my sister and I were excited by the prospect of our festive meal.
Arriving earlier than our booking, we sat at the bar and ordered cocktails while waiting for our table. In the interim, I enjoyed the interior decor and botanical illustration reprints on the walls.
The cocktails came. I had ordered The Lost Paloma, tequila based with lime and grapefruit soda and my sister a Foxhound, brandy based with cranberry and lime juice. The barman introduced my cocktail as he presented it to me, in a manner befitting a cocktail. However, in the interval between serving the first and second cocktail, like the gust of an incoming storm, the barman's attitude changed and with a face like thunder, he literally hurled the second cocktail in my sister’s direction, without an introduction. We were astonished at the change, although I had observed his manager admonishing him during the making of our order.
Back to the cocktails, both were pinkish, tasted almost identical and were watery. The usual cocktail promise, of flavour infusion coupled with expert mixology, was totally absent!
Our table ready, we moved from the bar, disappointing cocktails in hand, to a table for two, close to a serving station. This proved to be too close, because shortly after sitting down I was unceremoniously elbowed in the head by a member of the serving staff.
The ambient lighting of the restaurant was too dark and the fact that I had forgotten my reading glasses, meant I was unable to read the tiny font of the menu. We requested candles, which our table was lacking and although pretty they didn’t improve the twilight. To read the menu, I used the torch on my mobile, as did the rest of my fellow diners.
First we ordered wine and water from our waitress. Opting for something new, we chose a Greek wine: Assyrtiko White Ash (Santorini, Greece) and Elra, a still water.
I’ve never experienced such a fiasco, surrounding a bottle of wine. As the waiter, who spoke little English, opened the wine, we asked if the wine could be chilled in the ice bucket, which at the time was situated behind my sister’s chair. No reaction. He labelled the bottle with our table number, hid the bottle out of reach at the service station and disappeared.
In anticipation, we drank the water, but the wine didn’t return. Eventually, we managed to catch the attention of our waitress, who said the wine was coming. When it finally reappeared, after about 10 minutes, it was dumped unceremoniously in the ice bucket - without ice.
The request to pour our own wine, so as not to be hurried through an £80.00 bottle of what turned out to be a poorly chilled and uninteresting Greek wine, was met with surprise and the various attempts to fill our glasses were quickly nipped in the bud. Requests for the ice bucket to be filled with ice, to cool the tasteless, now warm wine, caused confusion. It took several requests before ice was finally brought by the manager, with apologies for the delay.
Making the staff aware of our dietary requirements - my sister is Vegan and I have an allergy to gluten went smoothly, but greatly reduced our menu choices. My bugbear was that a lot of food items had been cooked in the same oil as food containing gluten. Chips as a side had to ruled out for this reason and additionally because they had been (unnecessarily) coated in an ingredient containing gluten, to make them more crispy. My sister’s choices were reduced dramatically as well, to salads and the cliché go to option of sweet potato curry, favoured by many a restaurant.
Onward and upward, the food arrived…
My starter, a lobster and prawn cocktail was served in a bowl held by a striking crab holder and was delicious. This was followed by duck curry, kept warm by a tea-light lamp, rice and green beans with almonds. It was tasty, but not particularly special. Not being in the mood for the sweet potato curry, my sister opted for a salad starter and salad main, which were so-so and uninspiring.
A trip to the ladies loos, was the most fun I had all evening. On the way, the walls are covered with pictures and replicas of exotic botanical prints at every turn. The toilets are a fantasy in pink in a variety of shades and tones. The loo is pink and the floor tiles a pale pink. Climbing roses and beautifully detailed birds adorn golden walls, with statuesque Greek gods posing in between.
Not wanting to be subjected to another course, we opted for the simplicity of an after dinner digestive. A Sambuca for me and a 6-year old Calvados Camut, for my sister. To avoid further artistic license, I stipulated that my Sambuca be flaming and have one coffee bean in it. This arrived as ordered.
We requested the bill, which came to an interesting: £239.29 (including a 12.5% service charge !!).
In summary, the over all experience of The Ivy, Oxford can only be described as having a patchwork service of: initially helpful, embarrassingly servile, not always there when needed and total incompetence, à la Fawlty Towers. Added to this, the food and drink is average. Needless to say, there won’t be a second visit.
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