When I was a kid, I went with my family to the grand opening of a new restaurant in our town. It was a Smörgåsbord! That was quite a novel thing 45+ years ago, particularly for a suburban town. Townsfolk were talking about it weeks before it opened, it was greatly anticipated. And what kid wouldn’t like the concept—all kinds of food and as much as you can eat! I was salivating like a Pavlov dog just walking in to the place (it had the no-frills name, The Smörgåsbord. Elegant simplicity).
The joint was packed, but the hostess found us an open table. A waitress brought large plates and silverware to our table, took our drink order (I’ll have a vintage ’72 Coca Cola, sommelier) and said we could proceed to the serving table. And, so we did.
Wow. The table was certainly bursting with a great variety of food. No disappointment in the quantity department for sure. However, the quality department was an entirely different story.
All the food on the serving table was…exactly the kind of crap your mother served you at home when money was tight and you weren’t old enough to eat big-people food. And, it wasn’t even similar in some respects to mom’s crap; it was the exact same slop. I saw the familiar Grocery store cans in one of their trash cans.
There were big bowls of Chef Boyardee Ravioli, Chun King Chop Suey, two varieties of Van Camps: Pork & Beans and Beanie Weenees, Chicken Noodle and Tomato Campbell Soup, etc. and a loaf of Wonder Bread served in a basket. They didn’t even have Green Giant vegetables, they were generic knockoffs (I had a discriminating palate, I could tell).
Dad, this is the kid’s food table, right?
No son, I’m afraid this is the only food table.
They were Smörgåsboarded up and closed for business shorty after.
Years later, I was dog tired and hungry after driving 6 hours on the Interstate. I rolled into a small seaside town and looked around. My choice was either *McDonalds *or a rundown looking seafood shack. I chose the latter. Bad choice.
Granted, I walked thru the door at 9:40pm and they had a posted closing time of 10, so I was expecting perhaps some entrée shortages and maybe a little attitude from the wait staff. But, I figured I could eat fast and be out of there in 20 minutes.
I ordered generic fish and chips. My food arrived quickly; I give them credit for that. The fries were greasy and dingy in appearance, but I could live with that. But, the fish was…not very fishy. Oh, it looked good on my plate: golden brown, crispy and large fillet size (about 9” x 5”). But, when I cut into the fried fillet from one end, it kind of deflated (not unlike Chevy Chase’s turkey in NL’s Christmas Vacation).
I had to cut in from 2-3 inches on all sides until I located anything even resembling a half-dollar sized piece of fish. And, it wasn’t even a piece of fish; it was a small pile of fishy scraps. There was even a pectoral fin embedded in the pile.
I complained (nicely) to the grizzled looking waitress but she gave me attitude. *“That’s all the fish we got left, sir.” *I replied, “no, I think the last customer got all the fish you had left.” She brought me out a grilled cheese sandwich instead. It tasted like a cheap version of Cheese Whiz.
Speaking of McDonald’s, on a different business trip, after driving many miles on the interstate; I pulled into a *McDonalds *drive through for lunch on the run. I pulled back onto the interstate (next exit 12 miles) and unwrapped the Big Mac on my lap. I put the burger to my mouth and took a big bite, expecting that familiar burst of greasy McFlavor to tickle my taste buds. That didn’t happen. It was a dud, a protein-free disappointment. There was no meat in my Big Mac. They should have called it the Big Mock: two no-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.
I know mistakes can be made, but I’m convinced they make a habit of serving Mac sans meat at that location, figuring not many people are going to drive an extra 24 miles just to get their burger replaced.
Another time I was at a semi-fancy restaurant with a blind date (who I was trying to impress). We were seated face to face at a small table against the wall. We were engaged in sparkling conversation when all of a sudden my date jumped back and let out a squeal. I large cockroach had run up from under the table up the wall between us. A waiter, seeing this, ran over to our table, picked up my date’s menu and wacked the cockroach, which then fell into our breadbasket, writhing in the gut-exposed throes of death. I didn’t get lucky that night.
Most recently, I was at an Indian restaurant with a lady-friend. The food was ok, but nothing to write home about. But, we were in deep conversation and I kind of zoned out from my surroundings. Anyway, when we were done eating, I looked at my watch, noticed I was late for an appointment, so we got up and walked out.
Midway to my car, I heard loud yelling behind me, in a foreign tongue. My lady friend and I turned around and she screamed. There was a very tall, swarthy man in a turban with a meat cleaver in his hand running toward us, yelling. Well, that’s not something you see every day, so we started to run away from him.
And then it hit me: I walked out forgetting to pay the bill (first time that ever happened). I stopped immediately (my lady friend continued running to the car), I put my hands up and walked back to the knife-wielder, gesturing as best I could that I forgot to pay the bill by mistake. He didn’t understand (at least he didn’t stab me) and walked me back to the owner, who did understand, and accepted my explanation.
So, all ended well. On reflection, I don’t think the turbaned cook was wielding the knife as a weapon; he probably just had it in his hand when the owner set him after me.
