If there is one good thing about waiting alone in a restaurant for a friend marooned in traffic, it is the chance for close study of the introductory remarks in those menus thoughtful enough to include them. Over the years I've come to relish these quirky little blurbs, especially when they stray into ersatz eastern mysticism, culinary philosophising and the stomach-churningly winsome (you may recall the wine list at a New Forest hotel that referred to the resident Dalmatian, Bentley, as "mein host").
At Randa, the latest and swishest in the Maroush chain of Lebanese joints (tiled floors, loads of glass and mirrors to create the impression of space, lush bowls of fruit and veg on display, swanky mezzanine floor overlooking the main room - a bit 90s glossy, but not wilfully nasty), the blurb was sadly light on rhapsodising. It concerned owner Marouf Abouzaki, who came to London from war-ravaged Beirut in 1981. "When Marouf started as a chef in Lebanon, he had a love and a passion for food and hospitality," so it informs us. "When asked the secret of being a good restaurateur, he simply says, 'Good food, good service and absolute attention to the customers.'"
The stirrings of a wintry smile flickered at the corners of my mouth as I read this. It had been precisely 27 minutes since I'd sat down, and neither the morose manager nor one of the most offhand, hatchet-faced waitresses I've ever encountered had been over to the table once.
"They did give you my message about the terrible traffic, didn't they?" said my friend when she finally arrived. I snorted. They haven't so much as asked if I want a drink, I said. If I'd fallen asleep and the place had gone up in flames, the most they'd have done is stick a giant pitta bread around the table and leave me there to char-grill.
Eventually the manager roused himself to ask after drinks, delivering glasses of a Bekaa Valley white with a peremptory "cheers". Then his female colleague, that recent summa cum laude graduate from Khmer Rouge Catering College, brusquely deposited the statutory freebie bowl of Goliathan salad vegetables. (I love this Lebanese tradition, but has anyone in history ever eaten the outsized green pepper? And what does the etiquette say about taking it home?)
Most of the starters, it must be said, were excellent. "Totally delicious," said my friend, a frequent visitor to Beirut and expert in this cuisine, of the manoush (lovely, warm bread laced with sesame seeds and thyme). Moutabal (garlicky aubergine dip), hummus and a great, crunchy mixed salad were "unbelievably fresh ... really, really special". Spicy sausage was good, if a little fatty, but green olives were too salty and pastry triangles filled with spinach and pine kernel limp and pointless.
It was at this point that the notebook made its appearance, and the transformation in the service was worthy of a berth in any updated edition of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Instantly the manager mutated from Morrissey into Marti Pellow, and couldn't stop grinning as he served the main courses. My mixed grill offered little reason to borrow his rictus, chunks of lamb and chicken being sloppily overcooked and the minced lamb tasting a bit rancid. But my veggie friend raved about the silky texture and delicacy of her aubergine and chickpea stew: "It's bland, but it's beautifully, perfectly bland, and for some reason I love it."
By now Marouf's rediscovered passion for hospitality was verging on the oppressive. First a lavish bowl of fruits - not something we noticed gracing any other table - was presented by the manager, on the house, then he treated us to glasses of a pudding wine. But it was much too little (for the record, £5,000 in used non-sequential £50 notes is the minimum bribe, according to the latest Guild of Restaurant Critics handbook) and much, much, much too late. Twenty-seven minutes without being offered a drink or passed a telephone message is a difficult hurdle to clear, and this charmless, joyless restaurant might consider spending as much time studying the first page of its menu as those customers it chooses to ignore.
Rating 4/10
Telephone 020-7937 5363.
Address 23 Kensington Church Street, London W8.
Open All week, noonmidnight.
Price Large meal with wine, coffee and service, around £40 a head. Set meal, noon-5pm, £12.
