Incensed

When it comes to dining experiences, smell takes the second place among the five senses in terms of their importance: below taste (obviously), but above sight. That is why I find it an extremely misjudged decision for a restaurant to operate an electric incense burner in the dining room. Such a choice is especially stupid if the aromatic oil used in the burner was probably intended to resemble rose petals but in reality stank like a bug repellent, burning one’s eyes and making one want to sneeze.

The only wicked, but rational explanation would be that the restaurant wanted to conceal unpleasant odors of its dishes. In Helmahof’s case, however, I am truly out of ideas, because the smell was one of the few things that was right about its goose. The other good things were the bird’s occasionally crispy skin and the rare bits of meat when it was not criminally over-salted. I am not a fan of under-salted geese, but at least it’s a deficiency that can be partly resolved by using a salt shaker. When a goose is as salty as Helmahof’s, however, the only option would be to take it to the bathroom and give it a good wash in the sink.

Then there was the bones problem. The portion did not look big on the plate, but trying to cut it immediately exposed the fact that the goose’s bones to meat ratio was something like 3 to 2. The cabbage was weird: not too bad taste-wise, but looking slimy and glued together, making it highly unappetizing. I suspect it had been bought deep-frozen and heated up in a rush. The potato dumplings were the biggest disaster, however. I am not sure what exactly made them taste like paper, but I had experienced similar taste in potato mash that was very old, lacked milk, or made from an unsuitable type of potatoes.

At about 31 euros per portion, the Gansl of Halmahof can be considered a bargain these days, but saving five or six euros comes at the cost of an unforgivable drop in quality.