Formal Hall Revue
Eating in an oak panelled shoe box is not something I have experienced on many occasions but Formal Hall at Lincoln offered the perfect opportunity for me to do so, and with the promise of good food I expected a tardice like creation capable of holding the vast majority of Lincoln’s student population.
In fact this was far from the case, the hall was not only small but relatively empty and the arrival British Summer Time rendered the candles on the tables incredibly ineffectual as light streamed in through the high windows undermining the atmosphere somewhat compared with my previous review at St John’s. There were only about five people on high table and it must have been the busiest of the tables. While not necessarily indicative of anything this was more than a bit of a surprise.
On a note of particular importance to me, having learnt the lesson of wine and formal hall, I brought my own bottle but was astounded that although a bottle opener was provided, no glasses were available. Murmuring of danger and stolen items could scarcely placate me as I was, and still am, sure there aren’t that many northerners at Lincoln.
Very kindly my friend obliged and got a few glasses from his room but I would have been entirely unsurprised to see a straw in action at the other end of the table Lincoln hall is rumoured to be the best in the university although perhaps the college only claim that in all the prospectuses becuase it has so little else to recommend it. Starting, as is often the case, with Carrot and Coriander soup I was greeted by a sight that more than lived up to Lincoln’s reputation.
Seeing that the chefs had seen fit to pepper the soup with freeze dried herbs of some description, wasn’t expecting much, but in the absence of accessible napkins, the splendidly huge basket filled with hunks of relatively fresh bread for my mopping pleasure was a delight. The main course, Lamb, had the dual eccentricity to be both swimming in fat and entirely devoid of flavour, something of a genuine achievement even in the genetically modified age.
On the other hand the accompanying potato construction, involving a large amount of cheese, very little care and a frying pan, was actually delicious. The very healthy portions seen throughout were epitomised by the good amount of potato on my plate when it was brought in; it was so useful for taking on the juices of the Lamb that by the end, like the late Marlon Brando, every inch of the surface was covered in a quite reasonable layer of not quite solidified saturated fat.
Also available was a particularly pleasant ratatouille which, one of my companions assured me, “you can’t get wrong” but sound in the knowledge that I could almost certainly get it entirely wrong, and that Lincoln had shown a particular spoiling ability when simply cooking a piece of meat, I was pleased with the outcome.
Ice cream made from non-dairy fat, flavoured with tartrazine, served with a jelly constituting an apostate piece of peach surrounded by a viscous membrane inspired by some kind of back street discount abattoir involving something a little to reminiscent of jellied sheep gizzards was not a good end to the meal.
Objecting to the idea of a double meat feast, in some form or another, during the course of my three course meal I could not finish my pudding, but was satisfied that the cost of it was so meagre and it was so unappetising that the most pathetic waiter on the Cornmarket would have told any kitchen staff offering it to ‘f**k off back to Lincoln.’ I probably will at some point as well.
28th Apr 2005