A review of an interactive dining experience at the `Missing Sock’. Best captured from a visionary extract from the ‘Sunday Times, Eating-out guide’. The review followed a visit from ‘The Times’ culinary correspondent and ‘eating-out on expenses expert’ Iam Fatslob, he and his wife Wannabea Fatslob attending the opening of the first tMS restaurant in England on 1st April 2010.
Sunday Times 3rd April 2010
An invitation to a `Red Alert’ dining experience at `the Missing Sock’. Located on the open road just off the A14 close to Cambridge.
Upon booking my table with the chirpy teenager clerk – introducing herself as Lostsock – she asked a number of surprisingly personal questions. ‘Perhaps she is chatting me up’, I thought’... but alas she was more interested in my guests and told me to expect a friendly experience and, above all, remain secretive. The opening night I was told held a status of ‘Red Alert’ and that anything could happen. No sooner had I given ‘Lostsock’ my email address, an acknowledgement email had come through revealing all the mystery of the evening. It was strongly recommended to eat the evidence and not share the information with your guests. I became unusually excited at being part of the conspiracy. Divulging this classified information would be in contempt and would result in a punishment too embarrassing to divulge. I was also asked if we would like to bring a single second hand educational item for a library and nursery project in Northwest Thailand, all authenticated in the email.
On the night we were greeted by what I could best describe as an oversized leprechaun, introducing himself as Sockfinder. In fact, the entire group of staff were a refreshingly unusual mix of old and young. I received an exceptional welcome, an avalanche of interest and a quiz commenced about our names. I was immediately introduced to another alternative looking guy called Jan who, to my amazement, was also a bird twitcher like me! My wife was being introduced to a yogi and having her fortune told by what looked to be a demented chef – who not so mysteriously knew her tendencies for yoga and nudism! (I was sure to be close to death by the end of the night) Just as I was tapping up my fellow twitcher for a drink, an adorable bar granny removes my glass. A crescendo of music and up popped 3 of the staff (apparently named Sockaholic, Socktastic and The Sockateer) who proceeded to entertain with song and dance. We twitchers were soon smiling and never talked feathered birds again for the rest of the night! We were rocking! Others were cajoled into the fray... and all this before dinner had even started. While we were mixed together in the bar we were given novel finger ring plates followed by an extensive range of interesting canapés. A cameraman was inter-mingling between us taking footage. I now understood the purpose of all the questions, they had clearly done their research to entertain, tease and interact the guests.
Just calming down from this appetiser, that green blob of a leprechaun I mentioned earlier, shouted my name through a foghorn wishing me a happy birthday. “Hold up” I said, “wrong guy it is not my birthday” then they all insisted on singing to me and telling me not to be shy. I continued to protest against any further embarrassment... then a cake arrived. Fortunately, the manager appeared and proceeded to deposit the cake on the waiters head for making such a stupid embarrassing mistake. I soon realised that this was normal behaviour for ‘tMS red nights’. Other groups arrived, many to whom we were introduced, some through a foghorn. It was starting to feel energetic, sitting down to eat was not likely to be a private occasion.
We sat in an intimate dining arrangement, a most friendly and rustic setting with the lights gently cross fading. Our table was suddenly hit with a burst of white light, but this time the foghorn message was a well-being check on my wife Wannabea! I then noticed my face on the wall... it was my image from a roaming camera with my name blasted across it! Up went the cheers, another geezer with a foghorn. I was informed (again by foghorn) that images including the ugly one on display were available by free download the next day. Through the glass screen looking into the kitchen I could see a mad professor and his assistant, their name tags clearly reading Labsock and Wingsock.
The unusual menu, creatively displayed on the waiters apron, offered numerous international ‘signature’ dishes or a ‘raclette style’ self-cook option. I opted for the tMS fish pie, a work of art delivered as a seascape. A boat shaped dish was delivered placed on a bed of spinach, the dish filled with a wide and generous selection of fish topped with crunchy root vegetables and feta cheese crumblings. The sauce was a delicate crème-fraiche and white wine mix of agreeable flavours and gentle hints of ginger and garlic. Each mouthful a medley of taste and rich with fish, mushrooms, shallots and feta cheese. Over the back of the boat was draped a crispy pasta net to complete the scene. The quirkiest thing of all was that I was given a sampler plate on the side which, I was informed, was a kindness dish and I should give it to someone in the bar! Real ale boozing Margaret is now a life-long friend.
As we finished our main course the music went up in tempo and I found myself tapping the table to the beat. Our minder appeared and matched my tempo, and I heard another table doing the same with a slightly different beat using sound boxes built into the seats. And then another group started. The lights flashed and up top appeared a chef beating hell out of a steel pan. The entire room had erupted, with each table drumming in their own style, all being orchestrated by the mad chef from his heaven-like kitchen. By this time we knew a few names and the atmosphere was buzzing. Other madness occurred during the evening and, although clearly rehearsed, it had a feeling of spontaneity about it and the variety of which would surely make every visit to tMS a little different.
What followed was an energetic exchange with a young waiter, Designersock, who was keen to promote the first annual kindness week launching this year in Cape Town and London. An animated young fellow, he told us with great vigour about the ‘Festival of Values’; including a Wisdom Trail, Music and Poetry with life values, and much more. The same promotion and commotion seemed to be happening simultaneously with each group and I later found that many of the table minders were part of an entertainment club hosted and supported by the Missing Sock. A little more digging showed that tMS and charitable partner ‘Generation Journey’, sponsored the event and that our vibrant young waiter was a school drop-out. Clearly this was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill restaurant organisation.
Soon the lights dimmed and ‘Foghorn Fred’ shouts for an auctioneer to shift a few items of merchandise for the local hospice. The light stopped at a young man on the kindness table, the house lights slowly cross faded, and soft backing music played as the boy told how his mum had been cared for in the hospice, before auctioneering a few items. 20 minutes of rapid bidding and a happy punter was proud to handover £270 in cash and pledges to the hospice Patron May Davis sat at the same table. The table was shared with 3 social workers, a community volunteer, a probation officer and a regional trustee of ‘Relate’. My wife cajoled our table into rounding the collection up to £300, and Irish Sid the scrappy rounded it up to £400. (which accounted for the lead roof missing from the church of St.Patrick)
Having shared a communal chocolate desert with our new table friends Charles and Camilla. (not the best idea as Charles was a slobbering glutton leaving most of it covering his face) Lighter for the experience, the room then fell into shock as lights flashed and smoke bellowed from the kitchen doors. The music abruptly changed and, to the accompaniment of the rock song ‘Fire’ and extinguishers in hand, out danced kitchen staff in a cacophony of song. Then the finale... the GJ theme song ’Happiness’ with projected words and a mad conductor. The house lights were dimmed and the whole garden became illuminated with a theatrical performance of dancing light choreographed to the music.
Dinner over, we were invited to play and sing with a coffee in the ‘Busking Corner’, I saw my green hatted friend singing a daft ditty. For us, our faces exhausted with smile, it was time to navigate our way home. If we had brought sleeping bags we were told we could have taken floor space in the ‘Buskers Corner’, but sadly it was home to relieve the babysitter. On leaving with a great farewell we were each given a flower, around the stem of each a quotation from Gran and a request to support the campaign for a ‘Kindness week’ by passing on to someone else.
So in conclusion, if you want a private, intimate dinner for you and your family in a place of predictable ambience and unadventurous food... then make sure you choose a night other than “red alert night” at The Missing Sock. (I am assured that not every night is this hectic at the Missing Sock) But should you wish to eat good hearty food, laugh with new friends, sample some great values with genuine hosts of all ages, and retire home feeling inspired then get yourself on the tMS waiting list for a Red Alert Night now! (although it is strongly recommended you first limber-up and apologise to your baby sitter in advance)
In addition, tMS also offers stylish 10-2 champagne evenings at the weekends, an entertainments club and also has plans for a kids dining club in the very near future. They have the facilities to old private, corporate team-building days where the dining space is handed over with a purpose to develop team harmony, values perspective and an incredibly novel dining experience for those wishing to interact as hosts or personally entertain clients. The `Nagels’ editing staff have the first booking in May and will be inviting volunteers from ‘Amnesty International’ to their kindness table.
Best recommended. Opens Mon.-Sat, (Red Alert Nights are bookings only)
For information see www.themissingsock.co.uk
Average price for Red Alert night £35 per head including house wine.
