The sound you hear when you visit an age old favorite joint only to come up shockingly short, that sound, is of your heart breaking. Read on…
It’s on very rare occasions that my friends pick a place that is half decent, for when we go out. This was one of those times and surprise surprise, it was NOT in the suburbs!
We decided to go to the Hard Rock Cafe (HRC, henceforth) in Worli. The buffoons were late, mumbling something about not expecting the traffic when I called to yell at them, and I waited in the car till they arrived.
You know, there’s something magical about walking into a place and feeling the power of rock music wash over you. There’s also something pissing off about turning around to catch your friends clicking selfies, not giving two hoots about it. Grrrr.
A quick best and worst side-note: Best – the large, cavernous booths that are just perfect to sidle into whether you are a canoodling couple or a gregarious group. Worst – the YMCA dance that they insist on performing. About time we change the number, eh boys? I suggest Highway to Hell.
So we settled into our booth (yay!) and placed our orders. Though won’t admit it to the burbies, the HRC menu used to be shit. Utter waste ‘cept for the onion rings and burgers. But that has changed and how!
Ordered four different burgers as opposed to the one good burger they served earlier and tons of other food. The booze however, was another story altogether.
First off, there was no beer pitcher available! And all the beers available were of the posh (read expensive as fuck) category. Now while I’m not a beer drinker (ugh bitter bitter bitter!), a lot of my male friends are (must be something to do with manhood and poor choices); and they were NOT happy.
Next came the cocktails; to be honest, I like consulting the servers before ordering. Helps me make an informed choice but that was not the case this time. The chap seemed even more confused than I! In the end, three different cocktails were added to the Hoegaardens that the guys had grudgingly decided upon.
The cocktails were sent right back to the bar – way too watered down, with hardly any alcohol or flavor. They came back with more alcohol for sure, but the flavor was still lacking. But the most surprising were the beers because half the cocktail later, they still hadn’t arrived! Ten minutes of exuberant waving got us the beers but seriously, that long to pour three mugs of beer?!
Anyhoo, as the drinks began to work their magic and the band began to work theirs, the night got decidedly better, that is, till a drunken woman assumed she was in a Bollywood themed club and began yelling ”Bollywood Bollywood!” and got up on the table to dance. Talk about cringe-worthy!
With that, I’d had it; we called for the check. The check was another shocker. Believe you me, shelling out a couple grand for a single drink is no biggie for me, but the looks on my friends’ faces said a lot. More than a pink one just for a burger and a couple of drinks was quite the cruel joke.
Here comes another shocker. After clearing the check, we called for a bottle of water (just why can everything not be thought of BEFORE settling the tab, is beyond me. Burbies, I tell you). With the water came another check of 130 Rupees. A bottle of water for 130 bucks? Honestly, now!
That even got me riled up. We paid up and stormed off unsure whether the love for rock would ever bring us back. Dear HRC, not everyone is a big rockstar. Lower your rates or people are going to start raising questions. Toodles!
Where? Wadia International Center, Bombay Dyeing, Pandhurang Budhkar Marg, Worli
