When Bunbury invited me to eat at the Jeddah Hilton, I expected a single restaurant, but there are several in the huge hotel, all with impeccable reputations and expensive menus. We ate at the Roof Restaurant, 12 stories up, overlooking the Corniche. The view at night is spectacular. The glass lift takes you up at astounding speed, and looking down is a heart-stopping experience.

We were received rather coldly by the maitre d’hotel, as Bunbury hadn’t dressed up for the occasion. However, as soon as he established his credentials by flashing his credit card, the service became noticeably warmer. The linen was crisply laundered and there were real roses on each table. We sat down and watched the other guests for a moment. It was New Year’s Eve, and the place was filled with well-dressed guests enjoying their meals and taking in the view. Low lighting created a romantic atmosphere.

Bunbury almost never splashes out at such places, his preferred eating haunts being chosen for cheapness and quantity of food rather than quality. I remember swallowing excitedly as I thought of the gastronomic delights I would enjoy at his expense. There was certainly a lot to choose from: A very expensive seafood platter, various expensive roasts, a simple, if rather expensive, kebab. Bunbury hurriedly paged to the soups, which I took to mean that we weren’t to order any hors d’oeuvres. Obviously his generosity was already stretched. I chose an expensive grape juice to get my revenge.

We both opted for the Harira, partly because it was something we’d both heard about, but also because it was relatively cheap. It was quite bland, so we resorted to adding pepper sauce to bring out the flavor. It tasted remarkably like my grandmother’s Hearty Beef Broth.

The main courses were also a slight disappointment. My lamb loin in rosemary and lemon turned out to be a medium rare lamb loin with pine nuts. The consistency was impeccable, and the rareness was perfect by any standards, but it came with only two small tomatoes and three little mushrooms, all filled with a nondescript stuffing which, one presumed, contained the missing rosemary and lemon. It had no flavor at all. The potato crisps attending the company lay in a glutinous pile in the center of the plate looking forlorn. To do the chef justice, the lamb was excellent.

Bunbury’s shrimps were well steamed and smelled delicious from where I was sitting. He gave me a small bite; they were excellent. He was unhappy, however, because he had been given boiled broccoli and cauliflower to go with it, which he claimed reminded him of South African hostel fare.

For dessert I ordered the Tiramisu, even though I knew there wouldn’t be any brandy at the bottom. I was disappointed, though not in the lack of brandy. It had been made with sloppy, whipped cream speckled with cocoa powder rather than mascarpone cheese, so it was a mystery why it should be called Tiramisu.

The view, the excellent service and the crisp tablecloths were no real compensation. Bunbury ventured, that, at these prices, the Jeddah Hilton could do a whole lot better.