Professional Portfolio – Feature Article

Below is the full text version of my feature article that looks at eating-out in Bournemouth on a budget.

I found him waiting by the door of the restaurant looking fairly normal and untroubled, checking his watch casually to see how late I was. No one had really noticed him or given him a second glance, but then, why would they? This wasn’t an actor, a musician, a fashion designer. This was my Dad. My very own, unemployed, completely-and-utterly skint father.

                “You’re late,” he said as he greeted me with a grin and gestured towards the door. “You get that from your mother, you know.” He laughed at my disgruntled face.

                We weren’t, however, there to banter about my lateness or compare my traits to those of my relatives; we were in fact on a mission, a food mission. You see – my Dad has two qualities in which I really admire him. Firstly, he is the most intelligent man I know. Secondly, he has an insatiable desire for food, and although I said we weren’t going to be discussing our family traits, I can safely say that’s been passed on to me. We are a little obsessed with food.

                Funny then, that neither of these qualities are apparent in my Dad at the moment. For one, he is not remotely overweight (and neither am I for that matter, lucky genes), and for two, he has been cruelly unemployed for nine and a half months. The economic climate has stripped his intelligence away from him, as it has with many, and left him jobless, foodless and teetering on the edge of homelessness.  He mostly eats beans, lentils and lots of green vegetables, and although he insists he enjoys them, I require a gas mask to enter his flat once they’ve been consumed (and digested) and frankly, I’ve had enough. I don’t intend to sit back and watch the cleverest man I know eat himself to horrendous flatulence when I can find him a good meal somewhere. So, when he told me he would be staying down in Bournemouth for a few days looking for work, I promised him some delicious yet affordable food. Now we just had to find it; our food mission.

                We were outside Prezzo, an Italian restaurant chain that is spread all over the country, but, here in Bournemouth sits on the second floor of a sophisticated looking building near the sea front. We took a table near the window so that we could see Bournemouth Pier and I watched the lights glance off the water as Dad checked the prices on the menu.

                “Reasonable,” he conceded, “very reasonable.” Even more reasonable, you know, thanks to me doing my research beforehand. Courtesy of a website I had subscribed to a while ago I am emailed on a weekly basis with the latest offers and promotions in restaurants, shops, bars etc etc. (See www.vouchercodes.co.uk) I’ve never once checked the website and not found Prezzo on there. So, using the voucher I had intelligently (see, get that from my Dad too) printed off earlier, we got to dine on a buy-one-get-one-free basis. The food was piping hot when it arrived at our table, carried to us by potentially the friendliest looking waiter I’ve ever met, his grin stretching quite literally from ear-to-ear. The grin must have been contagious, or perhaps it was the free wine we received with our voucher, but soon Dad and I were chatting and laughing freely, no mention of the usual impending-doom conversation of unemployment and low bank balances. Instead we compared how utterly delicious our food was, and it truly was. I tucked into my pasta while Dad enjoyed a massive pizza and our happiness was finalised by the bill. A grand total of £6.95; two main meals and two glasses of house white wine. Absolute bargain.

                The following night I beat my father to Wagamama and waited outside intending to comment on the fact he was late, simply as payback for the previous evening. By the time he arrived however I was so hungry I couldn’t speak and we rushed into the large, stylish noodle bar where we were seated on the same table as another family, already enjoying their meal.

                From a glance at the menu I could tell the bill was going to be a tad heftier than in Prezzo, and most of the dishes were made up of things I couldn’t pronounce. I let Dad order for me, he had no trouble with words such as ebi raisukaree and teriyaki soba. The first turned out to be a rice dish with prawns in a coconut and lime curry sauce, which Dad assured me was absolutely devine. He had ordered for me a fried noodle dish, topped with beef, red onions, curry oil and heaps of other delicious vegetables. We both agreed we’d never tasted anything like it.

                When Dad left the table to go to the toilet I couldn’t resist leaning over to my left to talk to the woman next to me, I wanted to know if there was something I’d missed, an offer, perhaps, that would mean I could eat here without breaking the bank.

                “A couple of times I’ve seen vouchers for Wagamama in magazines, but with or without them this food is one hundred percent worth the money they charge.” She told me, laughing at my question. “I bring my family here all the time when they visit Bournemouth, it’s really healthy which takes the guilt away from the price!” I was busy deciding I agreed with her when Dad returned to the table and we deliberated; amazing food, absolutely delicious, and as the lady sharing our table had pointed out, there wasn’t much wrong with this food in the way of health issues. As eating-out went, it was a damn healthy way of doing it. When the bill came,  I stifled a small gasp that tried to escape from my cheapskate alter-ego and put my £31.90 down on the table contentedly, telling myself it only seemed like a lot compared to last night.

                Our final night of luxurious dining out took place in, well, a pub. We met at O’Neils at half seven and both decided our stomachs couldn’t take much more heavy food, not unless I was going to need that gas mask in Dad’s company again, and I’d seen that O’Neils offered meals for £2.95. I admit I was dubious, it sounded too good to be true to me. However, lo and behold, we found on our little Irish, rustic wooden, homely-feel table a menu offering meals for under three pounds.

                “What an absolute bargain! I’ll get the drinks in and order us something light.” Dad took off up to the bar and I busied myself by taking in the atmosphere. It was a truly gorgeous little pub, nestled on the corner of a row of shops and full of low-lighting, wooden decor and friendly, if a little tipsy, faces. The food was worth far more than the price we paid for it, Dad had salmon skewers and salad while I had a homemade quiche. We marvelled at the price, and again, the health-conscious dinners we were tucking into.

                As the evening drew on I have to admit we spent the money I had left over on cider for me and Guinness for Dad, I couldn’t not buy him a Guinness really considering we were inside an Irish pub. As the alcohol warmed our blood and lifted our spirits we put the world to rights and finally came to a conclusion regarding our food mission. The following day I waved my Dad off, back to his flat of lentils and cabbage, both of us content in the knowledge we had found some exquisite, delicious food. I couldn’t find the job my dad so badly wanted and rightly deserved, but at least I could treat him to dinner without borrowing a small loan from the bank. There is, at least, some grace in this greed-fuelled world, and some bloody good food to go with it.