Moroccan Lamb

No. No. No. NO!
This made me really cross. Not just ordinary cross, but hungry cross and, believe me, that’s not to be recommended.
Here’s what the menu said:

Moroccan Lamb

Chunks of lamb cooked slowly in an exotically sweet & spicy sauce, finished with soured cream. Served with basmati rice and roasted vegetables.

Had me fooled, that’s for sure. I could imagine firm but yielding lumps of meat solid in a slightly piquant, but somehow sweet gravy. The suggestion of sour cream and spice let me think of food with personality jostling for dominance and settling for harmony.
Nah.
Think “let’s get the Tardis Dr, I want to go back to the school canteen” only worse.
First perform the feat of finding meat which is both stringy and soggy. Let it swim in a vat of watered-down jam into which you have flung some half dried apricots.
Now add the rest of the packet of apricots for good measure ensuring they outnumber slimy lumps of lamb.
Add white stuff (mebbe sour cream, how would you know?) THEN microwave.
Serve with enough audacity to charge a tenner for it without laughing.

There is just no excuse for doing this to food. If having too many things on the menu than you know how to cook poses a problem, don’t put so many things on the menu – it’s that simple. I’ve just checked the website – it’s Brewers Fayre if you’re interested – and there are 33 main courses before you’ve even got to the specials or the Sunday roasts.

And I don’t think I just made an unlucky choice. The News Panther suffered similarly – sausages in a Yorkie with gravy and mash. Clearly BF are as bad at words as they are at food. It wasn’t a small white dog with a banger up its a**e – that, at least, would have been entertaining.
What he was treated to was a solid brittle square batter container filled with mash (with lumps), sausage (no lumps or any other kind of texture at all) and a jug (small white china) containing gravy (formerly granules now mercifully smooth). We were in Yorkshire, for God’s sake – people are born able to make Yorkshire pudding.

The others in the party fayred just as badly. Bacon and chicken with a creamy Diane sauce – clearly it was Diane’s day off. Everything else – half chicken, fish, scampi, breaded mushrooms – was all exactly the same colour and, I suspect, flavour. The only thing they got right was the egg and chips.

Stop insulting us with muck like this. It’s not that restaurant chains are a bad thing – Harry Ramsden has hit the spot on several occasions and even Ronald McDonald has his merits. You know exactly what you’re going to get and, if that’s what you want, then great.
But saying:

So come over, make yourself comfortable and choose from our exciting menu of the finest food and flavours from all around the world

is just a big fat lie.
Stop it now.