Busty and I were privileged enough to experience the fine dining treats on offer yesterday afternoon at the local super-market. As we loaded our shopping, mostly bottles of the Slovakian vodka Drainkleenar into the Micra (car share, innit), we thought why not see what the food hall had to offer. After all, the food there is sourced locally and you can’t get much fresher produce when all it has to travel is 10m from aisle five to plate.

I ordered the chicken burger and chips – probably one of those frozen chicken in breadcrumb jobbies from aisle seven. Rather tasty, but it was garnished with strange green bits, a red circle and arrived at the table with what looked suspiciously like a bite out of it. Busty told me that many of her Slovak countryfolk who worked in the food business would try to eat some of the food before it was plated and served up, because pay was so low and they weren’t allowed breaks for lunch. Staffing is similar in Dosret super-markets.

Busty, ever the adventurous type, ordered the fish in turnip jus, with mashed turnip. You could really taste the turnips. Turnip-tastic, she said, although she may have been referring to the woman she met last night at a social shindig.

We sneaked in a bottle of the Drainkleenar, which mixed rather well with the two lartays we had.

So overall, a 30-minute wait for food, hungry waitors, terrible music, screaming children and lack of turnips on my plate means a solid score of 9/10.

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