Bon Arrivee Maun: Fly me to the moon

I know it's very unlikely that all restaurants will keep up standards in the long run, but, one can live in hope and a patron at our guesthouse, assured us that this was the best Maun had to offer. We'd been there before and we'd enjoyed the vibe, food, colonial atmosphere and the rather dishy pilots that frequent the place. The restaurant is so well situated, right outside the gates of the airfield, making it the perfect spot to rendezvous, a hive of activity, here you'll find out where the game (animals) is, hear whispered bits of local gossip, enjoy a Botswana beer or sip long (medicinal) G&T's and have a good meal to boot. It's all Khaki and aviator specs here, even I thought I could pass as Kim Bassinger in Out of Africa ( that was the Gin talking of course).

Our expectations of a lively evening was confirmed by the many patrons sitting outside on the pavement and by the vehicles parked in bays. We were soon seated and then ignored, my husband eventually gave up and got us a drink at the bar, and after much arm waving, we were presented with menus. The wait to place our order was excruciating and the placing of the order trying to say the least. I'm a romantic at heart so forgave the lovely, young, nubile waitress when I realised she had divided loyalties, her boyfriend, a pilot, was seated not too far away, and she really was far more interested in his golden halo, and all her attention was focussed on the neck massage she was lovingly performing. But, if, I had never been in love myself, I could've lost it, our meal arrived 40 minutes later, spareribs, they were ICE COLD. I do believe they'd just come out of the refrigerator. This could possibly be the very, very worst meal I've ever eaten.What really hurt was that it was recommended by the gorgeos maiden, her favourite dish to boot! I glared daggers at my precious as he was seriously considering calling her over to complain, That, is THE one thing you NEVER do, waitresses and chefs are tempremental creature and you treat them with kid gloves as, hell hath no fury like a chef/waitress scorned. So we sucked it up, asked for some aluminum foil to wrap it all up in , there're always strays around, and slunk off with our tails between our legs. I'm not going to ask whether she got a tip. Hell will have to freeze over in Maun before I return to this restaurant.