27 May 2010

Hell is Del’Aziz

‘Revenge’, wrote Marie Joseph Eugène Sue, ‘is very good eaten cold.’ That’s quite unlike the lukewarm insipidity I suffered at Del’Aziz’s deli in Fulham.
The big, bad, bilious brunch began with a spread of a stranger’s bodily fluids. Gooey, tepid cappuccino was manufactured with spite from milk many times re-heated and served in a mug saline with saliva. My friend used a sticky spoon to skim the scum-crown, which evoked Fino flor, from her very tannic tea. ‘Fresh’ orange juice was lurid and confected, whilst the bizarrely titled ginger concoction, ‘Waldorf’ smoothie, took so many prompts as to warrant laryngitis.
Drowning in the mere of separating butter, uniform eggs Benedict squatted wan ham on a muffin which duplicated, in taste and texture, an elderly crash mat.
Inexplicably taking two staff to land it, dark, lubricant slimy portabello mushroom twinkled with grease and cut as dubiously easily as the mucastic contents of a swine flu sufferer’s hankie. That specimen overflowed with pallid, oozingly scrambled eggs. Predictably, a side of bacon, an odd appeasement in a Middle Eastern eatery, was forgotten in the melange. Fingerprints were everywhere.
Staff, who generally waited rather than waitered, included one who was soiled. Fiercely territorial, a request to him for pepper yielded another waiter to take another order for a pinch of the humble dry, old spice. But, condemningly, condiments are crucial to pep such flat, fatty flavours.
Despite brunch being a straightforward formula, Del’Aziz excelled in achieving comprehensive failure. Until Sunday, my shoddiest meal of 2010 had been the fluffed, Miami teeth white, pre-cut loaf entombing gummy bacon in the Club style sandwich at Oulton Broad’s ‘Victoria Carvery’, ‘Wherry Hotel’. In comparison, that test of textures seemed Ambrosia; now I’m nostalgic for Norfolk...
We didn’t suffer in silence. My gut reaction was to albeit politely give the manager (or I very strongly suspect, someone he deputised) a linear garnish of constructive criticism. This led to a bill ‘minus drinks’. Although this proved a lie, I was only too keen to pay my way out.
Of course, unlike a film, identical when replayed, meals will always vary at a venue. However, a glance via Google at fellow diners’ reviews reveals no dearth of depressingly dire experiences.
Del’Aziz, as is, is irredeemable. Their gastronomic goal must be the unholy tabletop Trinity: poorly prepared, vile ingredients sullenly served at leisure (if at all).
Del’Aziz: 24-28 Vanston Place, London. SW6 1AX
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