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 Basinger in Out of Africa (that was the Gin talking, of course).

The wait to place our order was painfully long, and the process was frustrating. After finally getting menus, we felt ignored, and my husband had to get a drink at the bar himself, which summed up the lack of attentive service.

The wait to place our order was excruciating, and placing the order was trying, to say the least. The distracted waitress, more interested in her boyfriend and her own attention, made us feel neglected and undervalued. If I had never been in love myself, I could've lost it, feeling ignored and frustrated by the staff's lack of focus.

Our meal arrived 40 minutes later, spareribs, they were ICE COLD. I do believe they'd just come out of the refrigerator. This experience left us disappointed and wary of the food quality here. I believe this could be the very, very worst meal I've ever eaten.

What really hurt was that the gorgeous maiden recommended it, 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, servers and chefs are temperamental creatures, and you treat them with kid gloves, as hell hath no fury as a chef/waitress scorned. So we sucked it up, asked for some aluminium 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.