Brasenose Hall. Once home to David Cameron’s refined (or is it repugnant?) palette. Still home to the famed brazen nose doorknocker and lots of paintings of dead white men. Smirking down from behind the high table, these figures have nothing to smile about concerning the food served below.
At first, I was pleasantly surprised as I walked into the refurbished medieval kitchen. Hungover stomach in tow, the well-stocked salad bar with its meats and fish was a welcome sight after the shame of salvaging my half-eaten Hussein’s for breakfast a few hours prior. The food looked simple yet appealing. The Quorn loaf looked subtly moist to emulate meat. The sausage casserole was well endowed with bangers. The seabass looked crisp, yet moist.
Opting for the sea bass fillet, my friend leads me to sit at high table. This meek working-class northerner having recovered from his newly found leap up to the top of the Oxford feudal system (things have apparently changed at Brasenose since Cameron’s banterous Bully days), I hungrily delve into the steaming fish and vegetables. I’m not quite sure how any of it stayed on the plate, let alone my knife. Or in my gullet, for that matter. Soaked in oil, everything slid around my plate as I pushed my cutlery around. My mouth felt like it’d been hosting an oil wrestling match; and not the sexy type. The fish was well cooked. But with so much oil, my stomach continued to churn in dismay. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good greasy chip, but not to the point where chips resemble sponges of oil. The only truly impressive thing about the whole meal? How well-endowed their hall’s carved unicorn is. Seriously. That horse is hung.
