What's your funniest/worst/most embarrassing restaurant experience?

[BDuncan]

Irrespective of the location, what's been your funniest or worst restaurant experience/s you've had so far - as in the food and / or service being terrible,

or the food and service being fine and very good, but something else amusing occurred.

[John DePaula]

Well for me, that would have to be when I lived in Atlanta. I went to the Original Pancake House for breakfast. This one had an open kitchen so you could see the workers. My friend and I were chatting when the waitress came to take our orders. As she's describing the specials, all of the sudden a pancake flies out of the kitchen and smacks me in the face! Oh my gawd! The waitress was flabbergasted (and so was I). The kitchen staff was mortified. I grinned mischievously at the waitress, "Ok if I toss it back?" "Uhhh… sure." Toss! Score 2 points for the customer!

Needless to say, I didn't order the pancakes. You just never know where they've been.

[srhcb]

It's kind of funny now in the retelling, but at the time it happened the potential humorous aspects of this event were obscured by the element of surprise.

I was with a group of four or five friends hanging out late at night in the local pizza place. We were seated at a table in the middle of the dining room. I noticed an angry looking woman, followed by a man, enter the restaurant carring a pizza box.

She stopped behind my friend Brado, who was seated across from me, opened the box, and smacked Brado over the head with a pizza!

I jumped up, ran around the table, grabbed the box and pushed her away. Her male companion rose to her defense, and he and I exchanged pushes and expletives. The cooks came running out of the kitchen, and the other customers either loudly voiced their displeasure with the scene or cheered the entertainment.

The police showed up shortly. (The Chief of Police was the brother of the restaurant owner, so the two operations got mutual priority service.) The woman and her husband contended Brado had tripped the woman when she had picked up their order, causing her to ruin the pizza. Brado contended, quite honestly, he'd never seen the woman before.

From my perspective across the table I remembered having seen the woman earlier. (Okay, I remembered because she had a nice butt and tight jeans), and I know that neither Brado, nor anybody else in the room, had tripped her. She and her male friend were noticably tipsy, and I imagine she'd dropped the pizza on her way home and made up an excuse for companion.

The police calmed everyone down, and nobody wanted to press any charges. The couple left, muttering insults. Because we were regular customers, we were allowed to stay. We even got to eat the now twice traumatized pizza!

SB

[Juanito]

By far my worst restaurant experience, and not at all funny, was at a new Cajun place that had opened in my town. These folks had moved here from Louisiana and wanted to do authentic food for the locals. The place had gotten off to a slow start, and my wife and I were feeling a bit sorry for the people, and so we decided to go for dinner.

We were among a handful of customers, and the place was pretty quiet. We ordered some appetizers, when all of a sudden, we heard the sound of a heavy pot (it makes a very distinct sound) hitting the ground with a simultaneous blood curdling scream, followed by more screams. This was actually one of the most chilling sounds I'd ever heard in my life, and I grew up in the Bronx, where screams and other crazy sounds were the norm.

Anyway, seconds after the screams, the waitress comes flying out of the kitchen, white as a sheet, and runs over to the phone, where she apparently was calling in some emergency services.

It turned out that the cook had knocked over a large stockpot of hot oil, which he was using for deep frying. (which, btw, was a violation of local codes - you're supposed to use an NSF approved deep fat fryer) spilling much of it all over his arms and torso.

EMT's arrived quickly, and the cook was taken out on a stretcher, in full view of the remaining patrons, and the crowd that had gathered outside.

Service was cancelled and the restaurant closed for good soon afterward.

[CarolineLD]

I used to organise conferences, and while staying at a hotel in Blackpool we also had dinner there. The vegetarian option was pasta in tomato sauce; when it arrived, the pasta had been boiled to mush while the sauce was just some reheated, canned chopped tomatoes (no seasoning, no reduction, nothing). My fellow-diners' meals were similarly bad. And everything, including the pasta and the fish, was garnished with a limp slice of orange.

Halfway through the meal, the waitress came over and asked if everything was alright. Told that my meal was inedible, she looked confused, said 'oh', and walked away. Never mind, we thought, we could fill up on dessert since we could see the cakes were ready-made. Wrong: they were stale.

Most amazing of all was that a fair proportion of the customers were non-residents who had *chosen* this place for a night out.

[srhcb]

Once I owned a pool hall in Superior, Wisconsin for a little while. On Sundays I didn't open until noon in order to clean up and do bookwork. One Sunday my friend Chuck came over to help so we finished up early and decided to go out for "brunch".

The only place opened to eat was a hotel restaurant. It wasn't expensive or fancy, but was rather formal in that old hotel sort of way. The Sunday morning clientele consisted of families and older women obviously paying a regular visit after attending church services.

Although Chuck and I may have been out of our element, I don't think we looked all that bad. None the less, we were seated at a table in the far rear corner of the room, given menus and glasses of ice water, and then totally ignored.

No waitress ever returned to take our orders. Despite employing tactics that evolved over time from nuanced motions to articulated gestures, we were unable to attract the attention of any of the matronly wait staff.

We drank our water, let the ice melt, drank the melted ice water, and after having waited exactly one hour, got up and quietly exited.

We left a huge tip; pretty much the entire amount we had anticipated spending for a meal.

SB (if figured as a percentage, I guess the tip was infinitely huge!)

[Pan]

Why did you leave a tip at all?

[Ling]

I'm curious also as to why you left a tip. Was it, like, the best ice water and melted ice you've ever tasted?

I would've tried to approach a server and said we were ready to order after perhaps 20 minutes of waiting for someone to come around.

[srhcb]

1. Shame Them

2. Reverse Psychology

3. Kill Them With Kindness

4. Do Unto Others ....

5. We Anticipated Great Service the Next Sunday

SB

[CarolineLD]

5.  We Anticipated Great Service the Next Sunday

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Did it work?

[prasantrin]

Irrespective of the location, what's been your funniest or worst restaurant experience/s you've had so far  - as in the food and / or service being terrible,

or the food and service being fine and very good, but something else amusing occurred.

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Are you writing a book or something on this? Just wondering, because you posted the exact same thing to rfc.

Regardless, when I first lived in Japan (12 or so years ago) I used to go to the Old Spaghetti Factory once a year or so. The last time I went, I ordered a frozen strawberry daiquiri. I was having trouble getting the drink up the straw--a common thing with frozen strawberry daiquiris--could be a big chunk of ice or strawberry. So I sucked hard, and something hard landed in my mouth. I quickly spat it out. It seems that a little cockroach had gotten stuck (and probably died) in my straw. I'd like to think it died in the straw, and not in my mouth...

I didn't complain. Why? I didn't have the Japanese skills to complain, and being in Japan, I knew not much would be done about it. They might have given me a new drink, or maybe just a new straw, but they certainly wouldn't have comped it and they probably would have just taken away the carcass.

[srhcb]

5.  We Anticipated Great Service the Next Sunday

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Did it work?

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I never went back.

I figured it was better just to have them anticipate giving me good service if I returned, whether out of guilt or greed, it didn't matter to me.

SB (would rather have a good story than a good meal anyway)

[srhcb]

My second best restaurant experience story, (from a customers standpoint anyway), is about the time my friends Petey, Perko, Slide and I were heading out East on nerfarious business and pulled into a truck stop in Ohio one morning for breakfast.

In those days truck stops and truckers were a bit rougher than the semi service plazas and husband and wife driving teams we see today. Truckers tended to favor butch haircuts, white t-shirts and cigars, and to look unkindly upon smart-ass hippie degenerates, a description that just happened to fit the four of us well.

Undetered by the piercing gaze and mumbled insults of the truck stop denizens, we stode into the restaurant bouyed by the exhuberance of youth, no sleep for two days, and the fact that we were heavily armed.

Our waitress, who depended upon the good will and tips of the regular customers for her living, made no attempt to welcome us. In fact, the service was so slow and rude we were having a great time joking about it, further alienating the other customers in the process.

Nearing the end of the meal, Slide had the terminity to ask the waitress to bring him another glass of milk. She replied testily, "You can have another glass of milk when you finish the one you got."

All eyes were on Slide as he pushed his chair back an slowly stood up. It was like the scene from a western movie where a cowboy has been called for cheating at cards. (And recall that we were heavily armed, as I suspect were a good number of other patrons.)

In a weary but sincere voice Slide said, "We didn't drive one thousand miles in the last twenty hours so I could be bitched at by my Mother."

The assembled throng of previously hostile truck drivers broke into laughter, and even the waitress cracked a smile.

We paid our bill and hit the road, having left my customary lavish tip for poor service resulting in a good story.

SB

[dockhl]

My second best restaurant experience story, (from a customers standpoint anyway), is about the time my friends Petey, Perko, Slide and I were heading out East on nerfarious business and pulled into a truck stop in Ohio one morning for breakfast.

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Hmmmmmmm...........1970, 3 male friends and I decided to see how far west we could drive in 24 hrs , from Pittsburgh, PA (where we were all hippie college students) in a Corvair............

the answer is to Oklahoma, and I am POSITIVE were were in that same diner 'cept it was in MUSKOGEE ! Same service, too

(Remember "Proud to Be an Okie from Muskogee" ?)

[ghostrider]

It seems that a little cockroach had gotten stuck (and probably died) in my straw.  I'd like to think it died in the straw, and not in my mouth...

I didn't complain.  Why?  I didn't have the Japanese skills to complain, and being in Japan, I knew not much would be done about it.  They might have given me a new drink, or maybe just a new straw, but they certainly wouldn't have comped it and they probably would have just taken away the carcass.

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On the other hand, they might have brought you a live cockroach.

[Fresser]

Twas my maiden voyage to New York--and first time aboard an airplane, no less--so naturally I had to visit Peter Luger's Steakhouse.

My host Big Mushy and had I spent the day sightseeing and perambulating all about the City, walking from Wall Street across the Williamsburg Bridge and back across the Bridge all the way up to Central Park. A hearty eight-mile or so walk was just the ticket to work up an appetite for Steak for Two.

Though Big Mushy and I both hailed from the Heartland, we had done our research on the Peter Luger protocol: don't ask for menus, order your steak medium at most, ask for creamed spinach and don't gorge on the rolls. So when our crusty waiter strode to the table and asked if we needed menus, we declined and followed our "Steak for Two, creamed spinach and hash browns" script.

"Very good, Gentlemen!" our waiter replied and bowed out. We had passed our audition. Or so I thought...

Two minutes later, our waiter returned to our table and intoned to me gravely, "I'm sorry, Sir, but we don't have any more steak tonight. We only have fish."

My jaw unhinged. I was ashen-faced. I had traveled hundreds of miles for this meal. I stared blankly at the waiter, looked agog at Big Mushy, and then turned back to the waiter, who blurted, "BWAAHAHAHAHA!!!" The waiter and Big Mushy then belly-laughed together.

I then turned to Big Mushy and declared, "If our waiter makes fun of me, it must mean he likes me!"

This waiter saw right through my urbane facade and decided to pull my chain--to the amusement of all, actually. Sure, the food was excellent-- they rummaged through the kitchen to find an extra porterhouse just for us --but our wiseguy waiter really made the meal.

[dockhl]

Fresser~

I love your story........but what's not to like about a guy who cherishes Tom Lehrer and the Vatican Rag?

Kathy

[fifi]

Ok . . . I have told this before but it is still funny, in a twisted sort of way.

I was part of two couples that decided to go to a local chain steakhouse for dinner. We were seated at our table and had placed our orders when an elderly couple was seated at the table next to us. Both tables were next to the wall. The waiter brought their bread and the gentleman began taking pieces and methodically buttering it. In the meantime, the lady, suddenly, somehow, oozed off of her chair onto the floor and ended up propped against the wall. One of our guys went to see about her as the other went to get the waiter. There was much confusion. In the meantime, the elderly gentleman kept on buttering the bread, seemingly impervious to the action all around him, including the EMTs.

Sadly, it turned out that this elderly couple was overmedicated or inebriated and were sent home by cab.

But there was born a "family" saying that stands for calm and perseverance in the face of adversity and confusion . . . "I'm just butterin' my bread."

[racheld]

Somewhere in some thread, I'm sure I've mentioned the poor waitress whose first day on the job was surely her last. We were in one of those country chain places for breakfast, and she just couldn't stop telling us how overworked she was, and how they had given her THREE tables, and nobody could keep up with THAT and she thought she'd just ask for one of the other girls to take at least one of them, etc., etc.

She brought the iced tea, and we asked for lemon. She returned with two wedges lying directly on the round corkboard tray, lifted them deftly between thumb and forefinger, and set them on the bare table, balanced neatly on their little curved sides.

Napkins, silverware, a refill---she had to be practically paged to bring the most rudimentary items. Then noticing that the whipped cream was missing from the top of his cherry pancakes, Hubby asked for the cream. She returned quickly, carefully carrying a little bowl between her hands. Said bowl had obviously just been retrieved from the ultra-hot drying rack of dishwasher because she stopped, cream didn't. It went airborne in an arc which landed perfectly on Hubby's crotch. The SPLOOT of that landing and the resounding laughter from several surrounding tables lingers in my mind still. And I made him tip her double for the memory.

[srhcb]

RE: Racheld: "And I made him tip her double for the memory"

See, I'm not the only one!

[I_call_the_duck]

A few years ago, my husband and I were in San Juan, Puerto Rico and wanted to taste the island's authentic cuisine, and not go to places that tourists go to, or would be in some restaurant guide. So we asked our cab driver to take us where he liked to eat. He took us to a perfect place--some diner that looked to be in the middle of nowhere--and did not look to be a tourist in sight.

Mr. Duck ordered the mofongo (mashed plantains stuffed with shrimp), and I ordered the serenata, which is a bacalao (salted cod fish) salad. I was curious about bacalao, because a co-worker and I once dicussed the similarities of that with hom yee, a salted Chinese fish, so I decided to try it. Well, what I didn't know was that serenata was served cold. With raw onions and vinegar and other stuff I can't remember. It tasted a lot like salmon from a can, only much saltier than I imagined. I found it absolutely unpalatable. I pushed it around on my plate, and for some strange reason, asked to take it home with the intention of leaving it for some of the stray cats around. Well, when we left the restaurant, we found a cat and opened the box of leftovers. Even the cat didn't like it!

On a good note, the service was fine and the mofongo was delicious.

[Carrot Top]

Last year about this time. . .the week before Christmas.

We'd decided to go out to dinner at the best Italian restaurant in town. Now that may not be saying a lot in some ways, here in this small university town. But nevertheless, the restaurant is one that is considered "fine" by the people that live here. It is *famous* for its wine list, even.

Saturday night, a fine weekend holiday crowd. Grandparents and Moms and Dads dressed up in starchy-looking suits and dresses just slightly too-tight and little red dresses with ribbons for the little girls and horrid bow ties for the little boys popping slightly sideways as they bounced in their seats.

Holiday celebrations. Family dinners. No expense spared. Only the best. Christmas.

We went in and sat down (no of course we were not dressed that way but that was not really the worst, though it was slightly "off"). Myself, my beautiful twelve year old daughter who is taller than me, and my adorable ten year old son with his dimples and silliness.

We ordered. Lots of food. My son loves Italian food. And he was hungry.

First course came - calamari. Gobble gobble. Yum.

Next course came- some sort of pasta, and chicken. Gobble gobble. Yum.

Dessert. Cannolis. Yum.

All of a sudden my son starting tilting slightly sideways. "Mom." Uh. "Mom."

Then came the famous words.

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"NO no you aren't! No, Drew, you aren't!! Breathe deeply! Calm down! Sit up!"

"Mom."

"Okay then, let's find the bathroom. Quick!"

He turned to me and all of a sudden there was an explosion.

An explosion of vomit.

All over me.

I grabbed the napkin and held it up towards his face. It wasn't enough.

More. And more.

I have never seen so much vomit in my life.

It was all over me, all over him, all over the chairs. And it kept coming.

(If you have seen the movie "Team America" there is a similar scene. . .but with a cartoon character, not a real boy. . .)

Meanwhile his sister sat across from me (I was next to him) and in her best supportive sibling style, she shouted out loudly while making hugely wild distorted faces. . ."UGH! YOU ARE DISGUSTING! UGH!" endlessly as I tried to mutter "Shut up. Shut up. Please."

Drenched in vomit, I weakly smiled at the horrified other people at tables nearby who moments earlier had been enjoying their familial dinners.

As the waitress arrived and I handed her the credit card just barely touched with vomit (oh yes a big big tip was left) we slunk out and slunk home.

Too much of a good thing, I guess.

"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"

Urgh.

[I_call_the_duck]

Carrot Top,

Truly memorable story, but it probably was not a wise thing for me to read right after my lunch!

[Carrot Top]

Hmmm.

Perhaps this story will set off a new dieting craze?

[Grub]

We discovered a "hidden" sushi bar in the back of a decent Tepanyaki restaurant -- you couldn't even see it from the main part of the restaurant. You either had to know it was there, or accidentally walk into it through the back entrance (believing you were walking into a Tepanyaki place), if you parked around the back. No advertising, nothing. This "spoke" to me -- it surely would have to be excellent, to survive with no advertising, in spite of being attached to a successful Tepanyaki, right? Word of mouth, right?

Nope.

It was a complete mess. The only explanation I could think of is, the owner of the Tepanyaki place must been carrying out his horribly misguided dream of becoming a sushi chef back there.

I picked a "special" that from the English explanation led me to believe I'd get to pick and chose from whatever the chef was making. Not so. He'd just smack down whatever he was making onto your plate -- if you plate was empty. Every few minutes, he'd finish something and then lean over the counter like a hawk, and smack a few pieces down on whatever plates were empty. If you saw him making something you'd like to try, you'd just have to gobble down whatever you were eating, because if your plate wasn't empty, you wouldn't get none. No picking and choosing, in spite of the menu item's description.

My buddy didn't want the special, but asked to order ala carte -- which the menu obviously allowed. This caused a severe deal of trauma behind the counter. The chef didn't speak much English, but made a great effort of showing his displeasure with a series of grunts and grimaces that looked more like Belushi's Samurai Chef than anything else... A waitress came by to try and calm him down, but he got even more aggrevated.

A bit later, the chef stopped making sushi and started yelling at no-one in particular. The lady returned, and he started screaming at her. After a bit, she turned to us and announced that there was no more rice... Like what, you have RUN OUT OF RICE? Yup. The person who normally cooked rice wasn't there, so there'd been a snafu. No more rice.

My favorite restaurant experience, I think.