Restaurant Reviews

Sally McKenna has a bad experience in dylan

What do you do when a hotel writes to inform you that they've helped themselves to nearly €50 from your credit card for items they allege you have taken from the mini bar and not declared?

This happened to us recently in dylan, where we were staying on the evening of the launch of our Bridgestone 100 Best Guides.

Things looked promising as we arrived separately at dylan. It's the sort of entrance that makes any tip you proffer to your taxi driver seem meagre in the light of the obvious luxury in which you are about to surround yourself. OK, we then had to shake hands with every member of staff (twice with one enthusiastic greeter), but that's the modern way these days if you want to operate a boutique hotel. 5-star hotel = handshakes in modern Ireland.

The room was lovely, a big comfy bed, desirable toiletries from Etro, a seriously cool Bang & Olufsen phone and a Bose/i-Pod Nano sound system playing quite agreeable musak. Not much time to stop and admire it though, as I had a meeting to attend downstairs with fluidedge, our web team, and Colm and Adele from Bridgestone.

At the meeting we all drank mineral water from what looked like bath salts bottles, while I tried to get comfortable on a huge white leather sofa that was harder than a park bench, and had considerably more leg room than back room. You either sat back into it, with your legs in the air (not a great meeting strategy) or you perched uncomfortably on the edge. I wondered whether the plastic-effect row of fake books on the shelf was meant to be some sort of ironic joke, and we had to ask for the fire in the room to be lit.

Sadly, this meeting left me no time to enjoy the much more comfortable bedroom, and that white sofa, plus a day of mixing kid care with a photo call, was beginning to tell. I opened the mini bar to look for help. There, on the side of the door under a notice telling me that anything I touch will be automatically added to the bill, was a little white first aid box. I took it out and found an aspirin.

Next morning we had an early start, an 8am meeting before breakfast, and juggling radio interviews like crazy, John somehow managed to join me for a 9.30am breakfast. Taxi booked for 10.15am. Time at last.

Once again, the chair in the dining room was ludicrously uncomfortable, the back - only about six inches high - leaned away from you at a 130º angle. We had some coffee, and waited for our breakfast order. And waited.

35 minutes after ordering, our breakfasts arrived. The order had been completely mixed up, the hollandaise was broken on the spinach and mushroom muffin, and it had taken 35 minutes to get things all wrong. Fearing how long it might take just to complain, we gulped it down, and John rushed off to do another interview.
We paid our bill (including €50 euro for breakfast), and left in a hurry, confident that the price of the first aid kit was included in the whopping total bill we paid.
Two days later came the letter. We had, they told us, taken items from the mini bar, and not informed them, and as a consequence they had taken the cost of the items allegedly taken from our credit card. Assuming that this was the price of the first aid kit, I telephoned to ask why an aspirin had cost me nearly €50.

Oh, it wasn't just the first aid kit, they told me. We had also taken a "bottle of champagne, a coke and a diet coke" (What! haven't they heard of aspartame? - we certainly wouldn't ever drink diet coke). On the evening in question, we made no use of champagne or coca-cola either.

I called the hotel and protested our innocence and their action. But No, said the lady, they were most careful about their records. We certainly had taken these items; otherwise they wouldn't have shown up on our bill. Well, we didn't take them, I said. I'll check and call you back. She called back: No. The items were taken from the mini bar, she said.

Demanding to speak to a higher authority, I was called the following morning by the manager in charge of these things. This is all computerised, surely? I asked her. Tell me what time are we supposed to have taken these items?

Well, no, she answered. The computer system wasn't up and running yet, so they were relying on people's honesty. So! I countered, are you accusing me of being dishonest?

After a certain tooing and froing, the manager in question gave in. Ok, ok, she said reluctantly, we'll have to take your word for it. I complained some more, and she began, I think to believe in our innocence. Well, she said finally, tell you what, as a mark of their concern, do you know what they would do? You know that money they took from my credit card. Guess what. They'll give it back!

Now, there. Aren't we lucky? A heart-warming tale of modern Dublin hospitality.