Laura D.
Yelp
Although Oxfordshire is hardly a culinary Mecca, there are a few places serving really tasty, and occasionally imaginative pub food. The Charles Napier is not one of them; in fact, it delivered one of the most disheartening dining experiences I have had in quite some time. Having read the great reviews in the press, we booked a table. On arrival, we were directed into the bar area, which would have been rather charming, had it not been so packed. Drinks, including a flat and bizarrely sugary gin and tonic, were served, and then...nothing. After forty-five minutes there was no sign of our table, or anyone intending to take our orders, so we politely asked how long we could expect to be, as we needed to be in Oxford in two hours. This was greeted with a palpable sense of grievance and confusion by the owner. It took more than half hour after this for us to be seated and for our starters to be served; the other clients seemed to be in similar states of limbo. One too few starters were bought due to the owner's handwriting being misread, and half the salads contained none of the advertised black and white pudding; just a couple of pieces of quite tough pancetta. The mains were adequate but unadventurous and sloppily cooked, leaving two of our party feeling slightly bilious. All in all, it was the sort of thing one might expect to eat in a regional conference venue with more pretention than culinary nous. We decided to skip pudding.
The service throughout was inattentive, and provided by slightly lost looking teenagers, presided over by the patroness, alternately brusque to the point of rudeness and gushing loudly over regulars, providing an atmosphere of mild tension. At fifty pounds a head, with one drink each and no pudding, you really need to go all out with the service to excuse this sort quality of food. The set menu (not generally highlighted in the press as weekday only) might be more edible and better value, but I won't be returning to risk it. As it is, the whole enterprise comes over as insultingly arrogant. I almost regret not complaining, but the overall bleakness of the experience left us eager to escape, and in no mood for a contretemps.
One cannot really fairly mark down a place for difference in taste, but the tacky statuary and paintings looked as if they would be more suited to one of Silvio Berlusconi's sex parties. No wonder we were nauseated.