Gather round children, listen carefully and I shall tell you the story about the two blind restaurateurs. The blind restauranteurs travelled for miles to reach a small city east of the Humber, let’s call it York, because they had heard good things about its balmy climes, beautiful people and endless cultural diversity. The good restauranteurs thought “surely such a city must be packed with pretentious watering holes” and they searched high and low, but not one pretentious watering hole did they see. To remedy this, they summoned the restaurant fairy who muttered “but this damn town is full of nothing but pretentious watering holes, of course you can’t see them BECAUSE YOU’RE BLIND!”. Her cries fell on deaf ears, as the blind restaurateurs were also hard of hearing, and so despite her reservations, she magicked up a bar called Vudu Lounge.
The cocktail list was plentiful and the bar well stocked, the lighting was dim, the leather sofas were comfortable, and thus another identikit yuppie bar came into being. Sadly, the fairy had consumed too many classic Mojitos (“and at six quid a go”, she thought, “it’s a good thing they’re so bloody strong”) and was not using her full set of fairy powers when she lazily waved her wand to produce a menu. She summoned bread, which she enchanted with the bewitching herbal properties of foccacia, so that they would be fit to cushion the meaty slabs of beef that mortals call ‘burgers’. She was so pleased with her work that she knocked back a gin Martini, her gossamer-delicate wings shuddering with distaste as she nearly choked on the lemon twist. Although her magic made everything tasty and perfectly cooked, the range of wedges and chillis were just not diverse enough to reflect the exciting Creole heritage that is implied by the name ‘Vudu’. “Ah, well”, slurred the fairy, “it’ll do, I s’pose”, and with that she stumbled out and fell upon the Stonegate pavement, and displayed her fairy knickers to all the world – for she was completely lashed.