A no name hovel

On the 16th of May 2025 I’m invited to a business lunch. The venue is the bar with no name in Vaalpark. For the second time I drive to this hovel in the middle of nowhere. I’ve been invited to this place before, also on a Friday. Because I’m responsible for the transportation of a third party, I again let the waiter in on my predicament and request that my food be prepared first so that I may be in time for my commitment. But again- and without exception- every single member of our party receives their food, leaving me only three minutes before I again have to leave on an empty stomach, solely disappointed for a second time. It’s like they plan it when a customer requests what I did. Apparently, my invite to this place affords me to see and smell food. Never to taste it or eat it. I chose fish this time and the cook could not finish a simple cut of hake and calamari in more than an hour and a half. So, either this is the most ridiculously inept cook in the country or the staff there decides when you eat. Or whether you sit down for a meal at all. On my way out the waiter shoves my meal in my hands: a shameful and tactless parcel the size of my wallet. I give the parcel to the appreciative car guard. I’m not a cat to eat the hovel’s s****s when it’s tasteless and cold once I have reached my destination. For something as intimate as a celebration with a meal, this is the last place you go. I’ll not humiliate myself with this place a third time. I informed my company of this. And if I’m worth their invite again we’ll not return to the hovel with no name. We’ll visit somewhere we can pay for food and for a change eat it at my leisure. Somewhere courteous client requests are accommodated; not ignored to the tee.