Serge et le phoque

Serge et le phoque

Serge et le phoque
Shop B2, G/F., Tower 1, The Zenith
3 Wan Chai Road
Wan Chai, Hong Kong

+852 5465 2000 (I’ve tried to come here three times before and I’m usually fresh out of luck, so book well in advance otherwise fuck no, no nom scenario)

HKD650 for the 4 course dinner set. I don’t think that included service charge (bill is ambiguous).  I wasn’t drinking but if you were, I reckon you’d be looking at over HKD1000 a person).

The deal:
I’d wanted to fucking try Serge et le phoque for ages.  The serious Sir Lunch-A-Lots I know had been telling me how it’s a fun place with fuck yeah food and ambience.  Every single time I tried to book they were always motherfucking full or they offered me supremely bullshit times of 9:45pm.

Serge et le phoque offers a four course set dinner for HDK650 or a six course Chef’s choice dinner at HKD850.  This arty, dainty French shit is not cheap which is why it’s such a fucking shame that the service at Serge et le phoque was so fucking patchy.  The two French guys serving us who were so fucking charming and friendly.  A particular mention to Beardy with his luscious tonsorial locks and his cool as fuck thick framed glasses, topped up with a French accent in all of its saucy, posh as fuck glory.  “Bon soir! Merci beaucoup!” – it’s not fair, how can anyone else compete in the Charm Stakes.  But then there was Mademoiselle I Can’t be Le Phoque’d who let the whole team down with a dour fuck no face and an attitude to match.  It’s always a telling sign when you see your server leaving work through the huge fuck off beautiful glass windows and you comment to your table, “Look like she finally went “FUCK THIS SHIT” and went the fuck home”.  Some of the service issues at Serge et le phoque which I just can’t get past given how much fucking coin they’re charging:

  • When my friend arrived, Mademoiselle I Can’t be Le Phoque’d just told her that she could take one of two tables but just gestured at them dismissively in the distance, without actually walking her over.
  • Took fucking forever for them to take our orders to begin.  After the second course, you have to order dessert course and we had to wave them down again after we sat there for ages with our menus patiently closed.
  • Waiters’ complete inability to write down on their serving slip who was having what.  Like seriously, pick a #1 seat at each table, pick a clockwise/anti-clockwise direction and write the shit down methodically so you can bring the dishes to the right person.  This failure to write shit down meant that the waiters asked us (not even fucking exaggerating) three times for each course who was having what or the ambiguous “Who’s having the meat??” while brandishing a knife destined for someone eating…meat.  FFS, I DON’T KNOW SERGE.  SHE’S HAVING PORK.  I’M HAVING PIGEON.  YOU’VE ASKED ME THREE TIMES.  AREN’T BOTH MEAT MY SERGE HOMIE??.
  • When they served the bread with the second course, they took the bread out for ages before the second course and left it there with no side plates.  Is it weird that I expect butter, knives and side plates to come automatically with bread?  Have I missed some fucking point here?
  • When the cheese course arrived, another bowl of bread arrived.  WITH NO SIDE PLATES OR KNIVES UNTIL WE ASKED.  What the fuck was I meant to do? Just tear off hunks of bread and eat over the naked table?
  • My friend finished her glass of wine and no-one offered her another glass or cleared it away.  Fucking weird, cause at HKD90 a glass, surely there was opportunity to make mucho cashola.
  • In general, I felt like I spent the night waving people down asking for dumb ass shit like….plates.

This is a real fucking shame because while the food was seriously food for ants style dining the actual food was such a serious fuck yeah.  I’ve been dreaming about the beef tartare all day with dat sea urchin uni getting all sexy over the finely cubed raw beef with some beautiful as fuck chrysanthemum petals scattered casually over it.  My friend spared me one of her clams from her 1st course (she only had five…she sacrificed 20% for me!!) and I wanted to snatch the rest from her and shove them into my wanting maw, decimating every drop of that broth.  For second course, the pigeon was so fucking tasty and I could tell that it was fiddly as fuck with its handshelled mini peas and minimalistic sauce placement. But it’s serious food for ants territory – all of the motherfucking pigeon meat in total would not have been bigger than two of my thumbs.  Once we actually received bread and plates, the cheese course was a fuck yeah – I gotta confess, fearful for how little food was appearing, I made it a point to eat more bread than I normally would at this point of a meal.  The last course finally produced a fuck yeah dessert for me (FINALLY) with a dark chocolate tart with sansho pepper (the firey, slightly numbing seedpod of the Japanese prickly ash tree), the sansho pepper gettin’ its mother fucking firey taste sensation jam on vs the dark, bitter sweet chocolate tart.

I read a review of Serge et le phoque over at Sassy and it breathlessly exclaims (xoxo) that “the quality of the food, attention to detail, hospitality of Pelletier and entertainment provided by Wan Chai Market will make Serge et Le Phoque anyone’s regular hangout” – clearly those Sassy bitches have got more coin to burn than me cause at those serious as fuck bank breaking prices if Serge et Le Phoque was my regular hangout, I’d be rolling in the Wheel of Goddamn Bankruptcy Fromage.

Who’s having the meat?? But seriously, loved the tiny, fucking gorgeous food but at those prices, every thing’s gotta work together and a French accent ain’t going to excuse all those service fuck ups.  So.  Fuck yeah if someone else is paying. If not, a polite fuck no.  Merci.


Fuck yeah or fuck no?

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