Ghirardellis, Nelson Mandela Square, Sandton

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Service: * *
Food: * * 1/2
Ambience: * * *
Babe Count: * * * *
Phone: +27 11 784 2375

Bianca has called me to say, "Hey Roy, I've got free tickets from my agent to see a play called 'Blue, Orange'. Wanna come?"

Of course I do! So we're sitting at Ghirardellis, under the shadow of Nelson Mandela's statue. I've ordered the cajun chicken salad.

"Your calamari," says Bianca to the waiter, "...is it the pockets, or the rings, or the whole calamari?"

"Pockets," says the waiter. So Bianca orders it.

"I can't eat it if it's got the head attached. Uggggghhhh."

I'm going ugggggggghhhh just cos it's calamari, no matter how many heads it has. What a gross piece of foodistry. I don't get it. Tastes like the aftertaste of a fish-burp and has the texture of a discarded foreskin at a circumcision party.

But thankfully, Ghirardellis has some stuff to recommend it. The foreign babes, for one. They're everywhere, speaking to each other in their seductive accents. Wearing their monumentally expensive designer garb.

And Bianca's with me. Which is delightful, since she's gorgeous.