Oh dear, d’Arry’s

I went to d’Arry’s in Cambridge to celebrate the 20th anniversary of my Cambridge MPhil. It was a mistake. I ordered rack of lamb, expecting the usual array of small ribs cooked pink, soft and sweet. Instead I received three mutton chops as tough as old boots and cooked through. I had to ask for a steak knife to even cut it, and even then could only chew my way through half of it. My two companions fared no better, and we all left wishing we’d gone somewhere else. Unless d’Arry’s does something about the quality of their food these days, people will.

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