Saturday, 2 February 2013

The Rhu Glen

Disputed Territory
These are the badlands.  A disputed territory ravaged by age-old scars of prolonged border skirmishes.  The blue and white flags of the Déise enclave of Ferrybank have thinned to the brave few outliers, replaced now with the brash bars of black and amber; danger colours.  The colours of wasps.  The colours of the Cats.  You're in Kilkenny now, whether you like to admit it or not....

The Rhu Glen Country Club Hotel (never called anything other than the Rhu Glen, thank God) boasts a menu aimed at the type of man who holds his fork like a shovel and plans to do the same class of work with it.  The carvery section was busy dishing out the kind of portions that make plate patterns largely irrelevant, but the writer remained committed to his research in the face of temptation.

The Sandwich:
The Toasted Special on offer here started out with great promise - a superior ham peeked out, curled and blushing from the grill's heat, from good quality sliced pan.  The sandwich was pleasantly toasted and of a reassuring thickness.  This first impression, unfortunately though, was the crest of the wave.  The tomatoes used were tasteless and bland, and the grated cheese had hardly melted at all, making the centre of our toastie quite cold and not terribly pleasant.  The less said about the depressed-looking salad cowering limply into the plate, the better.  Its description would have no place in polite conversation.

On Tap:
Unfortunately, no first hand experience to report, as I was driving with Sprog and Herself.  The usual fare was on draft, and the few lads partaking seemed not to have any great issues.

On the Stereo:
South-East Radio.  And that could be the three word review...

The Verdict:
If you are travelling on the N25 with a hungry baby in a dirty nappy, by all means stop.  There are high chairs, changing units and an agreeably low chance of food poisoning.  But that's the height of it - otherwise,cast a cold eye on the pub on the left, horseman pass by.  It's not a place where a food writer will find himself mixing business with pleasure.

Incidentally, the baby was in the dirty nappy.  We weren't travelling in a dirty nappy.  Whatever else I could say about me poor auld car....

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