On 21st June, my coworkers and I decided to step out for lunch and headed towards Bloomsbury. Upon reaching the place, the guard asked us if we had a reservation or not. Not thinking much of it, one of us put our Careem on hold and popped inside to confirm table space. Of course we should have listened to the guard; you can’t be seated without a reservation. Feeling rejected on my birthday, we settled back into our ride and made our way to Lal’s (where I discovered the beautiful gift of scones, cream and jam, but that story is for another day).
Therefore when my parents decided to take out family visiting from Amreeka (same Sunday Bizarre ones) for dinner and I found out that my brother had chosen Bloomsbury, I told him to make a reservation. Also we were a total of ten people. I don’t want to walk in with almost a dozen people and shock an eatery into a standstill.
We ordered chicken fingers, cheese cigars and roasted tomato and basil soup to begin our feast. I didn’t get my hands on a mozzarella cigar, but given that the bacha party didn’t pass on the plate to us, it’s safe to say they were good. I am somebody who walks into places and orders chicken fingers as my main course. From the many I have had at places, I really enjoyed Bloomsbury’s. But then again, if you mess up chicken fingers, what are you doing in this world? I had a bit of Abba’s tomato soup and after a bit of salt seasoning, I wanted to cuddle up in my lazy boy and slurp it away. I wish there was some sort of bread to go with it; that would have been my meal then and there.
After the appetizers, it was quite a wait for the actual food to arrive. After four, I stopped counting the number of times Abba complained, “Should’ve gone to Chop Chop Wok.”
We ordered a total of 9 dishes for our main course; the two dads decided to share the Mezze platter. It took 45 minutes for our food to arrive the first dish to make it to the table. I believe the rest appeared within the next three to four minutes save mine. I was rewarded for being the most patient one by being served after another two to three minutes.
The above are the only food pictures I have because by the time the dishes arrived, nobody wanted to dilly dally. I took these while waiting for mine to arrive.
In my opinion, the true testament of mind-blowing food is when you voluntarily share it with the other person because you want everybody to experience the culinary miracle. Pieces from my mother’s jalapeno chicken and aunt’s Moroccan chicken (chef’s special) found their way to my plate, and it was truly delicious. The Mezze platter was a hit with the dads. Shoaib called me all the way from the other end of the table to try out the generous club sandwich (its leftovers I’m having at work currently). I hate to confess my brother and I found the chicken wings to be bland and as far as my Alfredo pasta was concerned, there was nothing wrong with it; it’s just that I’ve had better.
I asked the waiter who came to check up on us mid-meal about the delay in food, and he explained to me something about the meals being punched in late because of a ghapla on another table. I guess we were caught in a ripple effect. I ran into one of my friends from school who shared that her food came out after an hour. “But it was amazing!” she added.
My dad has the spirit of a British general inside of him; he was not amused. He told the waiter he was “thoroughly disappointed.” To make up for the terrible wait, Bloomsbury atoned with the age-old apology: complimentary dessert. There were two servings each of chocolate tart and chocolate brownie. It could be a personal preference but the tart was a bit too sweet even with the ice cream to cut the taste, but the brownie was not bad. It wasn’t gooey but I don’t mind semi-stiff ones either.
What impressed me the most was how polite the waitstaff was. The only other waitstaff that I’m a big fan of is of Mocca’s. And I truly believe they weren’t on their best behavior because of the food delay or my dad; they just are tameezdaar to begin with and that I will always remember and appreciate. A shout out to the polite and patient Zahid who became the face of Bloomsbury for us.
I wasn’t blown away by the ambience; it looks like it’s related to Espresso from the mother’s side. Shoaib half-joked he’d never to go back to Bloomsbury but I’m sure on a good day he can be persuaded to revisit the place. I’d like to visit the place again to try out their breakfast menu though! I don’t want to be a caustic aunty as I end this, therefore I will repeat how much everybody enjoyed their food! I hope if and whenever you visit, Moroccan chicken is on the menu for the night.