For a wickedly entertaining, proudly chaotic, and beautifully performed homage to Fawlty Towers in its 50th anniversary year, Faulty Towers – The Dining Experience at the President Hotel in Bloomsbury is an absolute blast.
Subject: A concerned letter from Faulty Towers – the dining experience.
Date: September 27, 2025
To. Mr and Mrs Fawlty, Faulty Towers.
Dear Mr and Mrs Fawlty,
I want to thank you for inviting me to your hotel on Friday evening to sample the menu at your restaurant. It was an interesting experience! Hence, I am writing to you today, as the joint managers of the establishment. Let me start with some positives. I arrived as requested at 7.00 pm and was greeted cordially. Following my arrival, I moved to the bar, where else would an Englishman go first? I ordered a Sauvignon Blanc, my usual tipple and got talking to a lovely man from Minnesota, who, like me, had been invited by yourselves to sample the hospitality. Everything was going swimmingly until your Spanish waiter, Manuel, appeared, followed by you, Mr Fawlty.
In a rather curt manner, you, Mr Fawlty, asked Manuel to collect all the glasses and serve the nuts before dinner. It was clear that Manuel did not understand this request from the outset, as he proceeded to remove spectacles from the faces of everyone wearing them, including me, before serving the nuts from a tray like a limp Rafael Nadal. This behaviour was genuinely shocking to all of us present. To your credit, Mr Fawlty, you did attempt to correct Manuel, but I am not sure shouting at him relentlessly was the best option. Thankfully, my spectacles were returned, and I acknowledged your apology for the inconvenience.
Your waiter, Manuel, prior to serving the nuts!
Things did calm down slightly when you, Mrs Fawlty, arrived with the dinner seating arrangements, and thankfully, seating was relatively calm, even if it was clear that you, Mr Fawlty, found the whole process somewhat of an ordeal. My table was nice, and thankfully, I was seated next to my new friend from Minnesota, as well as three lovely men from Seattle and two British couples, one of whom was celebrating a forty-eighth birthday. Cutlery was clean, the table was dressed nicely, and I was suddenly filled with hope that the night ahead would end better than it started. How wrong I was!
When Manuel was asked to serve the bread rolls for the soup starter, I half expected another Nadal-style Wimbledon routine, but what I didn’t expect was a waiter doing forward rolls over a plate in the middle of the restaurant, only to then throw said bread rolls at each paying guest. But it gets worse, yes, worse! I heard you, Mrs Fawlty, proudly exclaim that the tomato soup served was from a tin. And you, Mr Fawlty, were clearly becoming more and more tense as the starter course ended, even chastising a fellow guest who claimed the soup was acidic, responding with “This is how Nazi Germany began.” Added to the insults, you, Mrs Fawlty, while calm under pressure, suggested one of the guests at my table looked like a Minion from a famous film franchise. I sipped my wine and hoped the evening would improve.
However, it wasn’t long before Manuel was singing “Y viva España” while standing on our table, before then encouraging my Minnesota friend to play the part of a bull to his serviette-wielding matador. Then, once the mains appeared, a lovely chicken breast accompanied by an assortment of vegetables, Manuel proudly toured the floor, showing all the guests his pet gerbil, which was unmistakably a rat. And what were you concerned about, Mr Fawlty? Not the experience of your guests, but a bet you had asked Manuel to place on a local horse race. The evening culminated in you, Mr Fawlty, having a complete mental breakdown after being beaten with a fish by your wife, who clearly had had enough of the charade that this establishment was anything more than a chaotic den of discomfort for all. And worse, all of this occurred before the cheesecake was even served!
Now, don’t get me wrong, the food was good, and the company sublime. Still, I can’t endorse the behaviour, and now understand entirely why the establishment is named ‘Faulty’ Towers. Faulty, it most definitely is, and as for the experience, well, all I can say, Mr and Mrs Fawlty, is that I would work hard on improving your customer service and engage in some relationship therapy (I believe some good therapists are practising in Bloomsbury). And as for Manuel, I would firmly consider investing in a BTEC course in hospitality at the very least.
I look forward to your reply.
Yours sincerely
Mr Baker
The joyously outrageous, Faulty Towers – The Dining Experience at The President Hotel, Bloomsbury, is now taking bookings.
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