I’ve nothing against Lithuania, or Lithuanians. The exact opposite, in fact. A few years ago, I spent a fairly blissful few days there, drinking beer amongst the myriad shady cobbled courtyards of Vilnius’s old town, promenading on the longest wooden pier in the world at Palanga, and messing around on a boat on the tranquil, light dappled lake surrounding Trakai Castle. My travelling companion and I cycled along the fine white sands of the Baltic shore and through the paridisiacal botanical gardens of Édouard François André. The sun was bright, the air clear, the days were long and the Švyturys lager flowed freely. The food, on the other hand... well, in all honesty, the food was piss poor; always deep fried, always with vast quantities of sour cream and dill swamping everything. It hit you with a soporific and cloying calorie-load that made you queasy for the rest of the day. More often than not, we would seek out pizza, burgers, Ukrainian restaurants - anything rather than endure yet another fifteen litre helping of sour cream and grease. Oh, and don’t get me started on the smoked chicken stomachs and pigs ears (hairs normally intact). So why, you may well ask, did I suggest that DC travel to a Lithuanian restaurant in far flung Walthamstow? By way of defence, I would offer a lack of trust in my own recollection of the overwhelmingly dismal food that I experienced on that holiday: 'It couldn't have been that bad, surely? I should find out! And drag several other people along with me while I'm at it!'
The evening actually started out very well indeed. Walthamstow Village on a warm, early summer evening was delightful, as was the pub - the Nags Head, Orford Road - where we convened. Not only was the beer garden large and pleasant, we had also stumbled by happy accident upon a small beer festival. Barrels were heaped on barrels along the side wall of the pub, and I found myself enjoying several halves of exotically named bitters and ales. I was therefore slightly appalled by my companions’ failure to also enter into the spirit of things, and when Sarah joined she unapologetically announced she would be ordering a pint of 'crappy generic lager' at the bar. Oh well, their loss.
A short while later and we were approaching the Lithuanian restaurant named Smiltė. Dusk was looming, the shadows lengthening, and the frontage of the restaurant was an imposing wall of blackened glass, cracked into a spiderweb of shards in one corner. Our previously buoyant mood rapidly turned to one of trepidation as we filed into the gaudily decorated interior. A woman appeared and adopted an expression of appalled confusion when I inquired about our reservation. It was as if I had asked her if she would object to me urinating on the carpet. I repeated the name under which the reservation had been made, and she grimaced uncomprehendingly once more, before suggesting we sit down somewhere, anywhere. We settled in under a vast, wall-mounted flat screen TV tuned to some sort of Baltic MTV channel, muted so we could enjoy the Lithuanian pop issuing through the PA system. Our waitress re-appeared with menus and seemed in a cheerier mood than when we arrived, which wasn’t difficult. On my way to use the toilet, I noticed a couple of other groups were tucked round different corners of the actually surprisingly extensive establishment - some sort of family function seemed to be going on, with all suited and booted and in their finery.
We kicked off proceedings with a round of Švyturys - the unpronounceable but excellent Lithuanian lager (I perhaps should've mentioned earlier that what the country lacks in good eating, it makes up for in good drinking). I also recognised the 'beer snacks' on offer as a starter, and suggested we get a couple of plates of these for the table. When they arrived, things were (for the moment) looking up. The deep fried bread was flavoured with fenugreek and, when dipped into the accompanying molten cheese, incredibly moreish. Crudites, smoked sausage and salami were also provided, and on the whole - washed down with the beer - it was all very satisfactory indeed. Ordering the mains proved complicated due to the waitress regularly having to explain that the item we wanted to order was unavailable, but after a few false starts, we all managed to find something that was both available and that we were sort of interested in. I ordered what in Lithuania are commonly translated into English as 'zeppelins' - stuffed potato dumplings that I remember being atypically tolerable. The others (and I should perhaps mention here that we had a new member, Doug, joining us) all ordered variations on a similar theme - the overwhelmingly prevailing leitmotif of Lithuanian cuisine: stuff some bread/potatoes with cheese and/or meat, or stuff cheese and/or meat with bread/potatoes, deep fry, cover in sour cream and serve. My zeppelins (two ways - I know they were two half portions, but strange to serve them on separate, table cluttering plates) arrived quick smart, and were actually rather good. Sarah's near equivalent, which had arrived at roughly the same time, she didn't like at all - and I could sympathise as the plate was swimming with pungent oil. We noticed that several members of the family party in the adjoining room were now up and dancing, and a tall man (fact: all Lithuanian men are cyclopean) breezed past our table to the hi-fi and turned the volume of some Eurobeat abomination way up. The waitress thankfully then turned it down - slightly.
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| Zeppelins, two ways |
Meanwhile, I had finished my food and was fit to burst. However, apart from Sarah, the rest of my dining companions were all still staring grudgingly at the empty space before them on the table. Our waitress seemed to have evaporated entirely. A good while later, and two more of our party were lucky enough to have food. There was still no sign at all of Katie's food arriving. We ordered more beer while Lucy wondered whether they perhaps only had one frying pan. Doug seemed to enjoy his crepe fritters with cheese, Lucy less so; but hers seemed to have been garnished with an additional ladle-full of acrid grease. Time passed, and while I was beginning to worry that my intake of deep fried carbs and high fat cheese had perhaps gone beyond what would typically be regarded as advisable, Katie was still going hungry. 'We are not leaving a tip', she announced with a barely constrained snarl. Our waitress seemed unconcerned, however, and was busying herself elsewhere in the largely empty restaurant.
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| Sweet and sour, Lithuanian style |
Eventually, long after even the beer had lost its previous lustre, Katie was presented with her food. She had ordered two small dishes from the main menu, and she got them both at the same time, despite the fact that one of them was clearly a dessert. One would have thought that either she would've been advised of this when ordering, or the two dishes could've been served sequentially. Maybe we should've just been thankful that they were served at all. We asked for the bill, left no tip, and left as speedily as we could. No acknowledgement of our exit was made by anyone in the place. To be honest, we couldn't wait to get out of there. Any sensitive souls may want to stop reading at this point, because it was only a few minutes later that my earlier concern over the volume of grease I had ingested proved justified. Dear Reader, I vomited. I'm not suggesting in any way that there was any reason for this other than a constitution presumably too delicate for Lithuanian cuisine. But facts are facts.
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| Stuff it. Deep fry it. Sour cream it. |
To be fair on Smiltė, we sought it out rather than were sought ourselves as customers by advertising or promotion, but even so, the lack of interest in even the basics of hospitality were staggering. I think the bottom line is that we were intruding on what is effectively a Lithuanian ex-pats social club. We were, in actual fact, not welcome and treated with little short of contempt because of that. I certainly don't remember any service as unashamedly derisory in Lithuania itself. Any positive things I could find to say about some of the food are made irrelevant by their attitude to service. If anyone can point me in the direction of a good Lithuanian restaurant in London, please do so - I would be keen to give it ago. Whatever Smiltė is, it isn't that.
627 Lea Bridge Road
London E10 6AJ
tel. 0208 520 8430
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