All I can say is you bring it on yourself.
I had the unfortunate opportunity to eat at an Italian restaurant the other day, and I can't go on knowing that you...are not knowing.
Standing at the door a patron might think this place is worth giving a shot.
Then, said patron will watch several workers of the fine establishment walk by and look right through them. Luckily, a bus boy has enough sense to point in the direction of the guests standing at the door.
Your server will take you to your table, lazily dragging her feet, as if her entire body is saying, "Mom, Dad, I hate you for making me work." Before you sit down she's asking what you want to drink. She doesn't know what they have...but she'll find out. She comes back and asks again what her patrons would like to drink. Ooh, still don't know if they have that. Patron asks, "do you have a wine list?"
"Yeah, I think...let me go check," server disappears.
Server reappears with wine list in her hand. She seems so proud of herself for recovering it.
She flops the list onto my girlfriends bread plate. The accordion-folded paper was also wrinkled as if it had been thrown away...once. I lift it up and look at it. Curious...there is some illegible writing on the back, too.
"How about beer? Do you have bottled beer?"
"Maybe bud, a bud light or two, I think," server vaguely replies.
I settle for a Heineken.
I freaking hate Heineken.
I have what looks like whip cream on my bottle and patron's girlfriend has a piece of a label on her bottle.
What goes great with beer?
Bread sticks.
Two wrinkly, turd-like bread sticks in a paper towel-lined basket.
The paper towels...probably used before. The corner of one paper towel was stained with what most certainly could have been a spot of blood.
Patrons order, regretfully after asking themselves, "Do we want to stay?"
Our salads arrive quickly. Easy since the salad bar is 20 paces behind our table. That's where our server tonged our salad, a reminder that this place was totally a Ponderosa.
She has the Italian restaurant staple Chicken Parmesan. Other patron orders something Pomodoro...it doesn't matter by this point. Her' s is swimming in Sav-a-lot Marinara Sauce. The chicken breast is so thin it is virtually invisible when looked at on its side. The pasta? Half a box of said brand linguine.
My pasta tastes like week old Waffle House bacon grease.
I didn't even get close to finishing it, and that's saying something because I can put down a plate of pasta.
Oh, did I mention that every 20 seconds our server came by asking, "Are we doing alright...so far?"
No, server, our food sucks.
The service is laughable.
I've been staring at the Ponderosa bathroom tile since I sat down and the only entertainment has been the table of 4 obese people with the fattest sitting legs-spread, so his fat can hang between his legs laughing, snorting snot, and making pig noises.
Do we want dessert? Are you effing kidding?
Server cyphers our bill, a daunting task.
The manager emerges from the kitchen and mumbles something to the servers separated by a lattice partition whom are talking about back tatts and partying after work. She then says a name of someone and how he better get his ass up here if he wants to make any tips tonight. She's rough looking. The manager looks like she rolled out of bed into a hangover and slapped blush on her face. It's 8 something at night, by the way.
Our server returns and places the bill cautiously on the table. She should. I'm still wondering if I should be paying for torture. I didn't even get my rocks off. But then I think, she looks as though she's deciding whether or not she wants to quit tonight based on my tip. No, she's not. She's just standing over my shoulder watching me tip and sign the check. I was extremely uncomfortable to say the least. And believe me I am. Had I possessed a Molotov cocktail at that time, that place would have been toast, man.
So much for fine dining in a dingy, once Ponderosa Italian dive on a Friday night.
Incidentally, my GI has not been right since.
p.s.
If you really want to know the name and destination for the truly horrific dining experience just beg in the form of a comment to the blog.
