A restaurant review
Samuel went to his grandparents’ house, so Karin & I tried a new restaurant I’d read about. We had to chase Daniel up and down the dining room. But we’re willing to do that now and again; it’s chasing two children
through a restaurant that’s intolerable.
Besides, most of the time, we were the only diners, and the waiter was hiding in the kitchen. A rough-looking DoorDash driver skulked around, cursing. The food took about forty-five minutes to reach our table. A little before we received it, another couple came in. They surveyed the near-empty dining room with palpable dismay. They asked if we were open. We don’t work here, we told them. But yes, the restaurant is open. They sat down and made various criticisms. Then another couple came in. They, too, seemed disappointed. But they put on brave faces, girded their loins, and seated themselves.
The food arrived. It was unpleasant to eat, which is saying something, because I’m not picky. (And it was expensive. But we’d already accepted that.)
How was everything? the waiter asked, afterward.
I’m sorry to say that we politely told him an untruth.
Karin went to the toilet but didn’t use it because there was fresh urine everywhere. Maybe the angry DoorDash driver left it.
I won’t name the restaurant. It’s downtown. The interior is bright, clean, neat, and comfortable. The exterior is bizarre. The main entrance appears to be a former service entrance. To get to it you have to walk across an especially muddy, pot-holed stretch of parking lot. Getting into the parking lot is an ordeal. There’s one sign, and it isn’t easy to see at night. The restaurant is open just a few nights a week. I don’t see how it could survive without income from, how shall I put it, an avocational source.
Besides, most of the time, we were the only diners, and the waiter was hiding in the kitchen. A rough-looking DoorDash driver skulked around, cursing. The food took about forty-five minutes to reach our table. A little before we received it, another couple came in. They surveyed the near-empty dining room with palpable dismay. They asked if we were open. We don’t work here, we told them. But yes, the restaurant is open. They sat down and made various criticisms. Then another couple came in. They, too, seemed disappointed. But they put on brave faces, girded their loins, and seated themselves.
The food arrived. It was unpleasant to eat, which is saying something, because I’m not picky. (And it was expensive. But we’d already accepted that.)
How was everything? the waiter asked, afterward.
I’m sorry to say that we politely told him an untruth.
Karin went to the toilet but didn’t use it because there was fresh urine everywhere. Maybe the angry DoorDash driver left it.
I won’t name the restaurant. It’s downtown. The interior is bright, clean, neat, and comfortable. The exterior is bizarre. The main entrance appears to be a former service entrance. To get to it you have to walk across an especially muddy, pot-holed stretch of parking lot. Getting into the parking lot is an ordeal. There’s one sign, and it isn’t easy to see at night. The restaurant is open just a few nights a week. I don’t see how it could survive without income from, how shall I put it, an avocational source.