Food for Thought

I rallied yesterday after a disastrous night, Friday, and went out with the family to the fancy steak restaurant to celebrate my sister in law’s 50th birthday. I really didn’t want to miss it because of an upset stomach, and my sister in law was happy to see me there.

From a family gathering standpoint, and everyone having fun while the wine flowed, it was a tremendous success. Presents were gifted, balloons popped, and the biggest candy floss ball you’ve ever seen was delivered to the table for us all to help with the blood sugar, as if the Baileys laced creme brûlées served for dessert weren’t enough.

What let the night down, for me at least, was the quality of this supposed to be top-notch food and the service.

To start, the place was, as you would expect of any restaurant on a Saturday night, packed to rafters and then some. So that the staff were, while efficiently quick—and believe me, I watched—were to my layperson’s eye, run a little thin. It took way too long for tables to be cleared and courses to be served in a timely manner. Not just on our table, but across the restaurant.

This fact was a little too obvious by the time we got served our main meal, as mine arrived barely warm. Then, our bread rolls arrived after we’d all nearly finished our steaks—and while slightly warm to the touch, were frozen in the middle. I kid you not. This in stark contrast to the so hot soup we were served as starters, where, I had assumed, we should have received said roll.

Back to my lukewarm steak and limp greasy French fries accompanied by … drum roll if you please, a tiny pot of peppercorn sauce, two of the smallest tomatoes I’ve ever seen, cut in half, a golfball size tiny green squash, and half a boiled beet that I at first thought was a pear.

Where you may ask, as I did under my breath, were the vegetables? Oh, I’m glad you asked. They’re considered to be “sides” and therefore must be ordered separately (and yes, paid for!)

I ended up giving my string French fries to the OH who, in the end, didn’t eat them either, and ate my lukewarm steak in silence, with a smile. After all, this wasn’t my party and I didn’t want to make any kind of a scene. But you know, as the sun rises and sets every day, me and mine will not be going back to eat at this restaurant, ever.

Next time someone suggests a fancy restaurant, I’m going to suggest we eat elsewhere.