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I Looked on in Horror
I looked on in horror as the bug climbed the chair.
The food had always been dandy, beyond compare,
But virtues were lacking in this restaurant’s staff.
Slow to take orders, bring checks, and cleaning? A laugh
To see the rate they moved. Still, the taste of the fare.
The cuisine was unknown to other joints near there.
And that was the appeal. That was my only care,
But then I spotted the bug, the ultimate gaff:
I looked on in horror.
La Cucaracha the staff would call it from where
They had come and in the langage that’s spoken there.
It crawled along the floor and by a lady’s calf
Before choosing another leg to scale by half
And lodge then beside her on the seat of the chair.
I looked on in horror.
Ever lose a restaurant choice to an incident, perhaps quite a small one?
Yes! And that was a very good poem! When you are sitting in a booth and there is a bunch of dust on the divider……I wonder what the kitchen is like….
Yes, but also large ones, like getting obviously rancid food.
You mean like my favorite tapas place getting shut down by the health department? What a shame. Those little lamb chops on a stick…
Although, if they call the restaurant La Cucaracha, they’ll get a lot more flex on that sort of thing.
Oh, man. There was (and may still be) a tapas place in Alexandria, Virginia where they had some great stuff. My favorite was always the bacon-wrapped dates.
True, but that is not the name.
Make ’em at home – they’re awesome!
Oven or grill, you can vary the goat cheese inside, add an almond (smokehouse or regular).
– cont. –
I reckon a person could put them on a long skewer instead of one toothpick per, and maybe smoke them rather than grill them.
If your flat-top is visible from the seating area, it should be clean.
Sorry Trivelli’s; that was the last time.
On the other hand, the people at my table at a conference in a luxury resort found it quite charming when a snail slithered out of the centerpiece of flowers that had obviously been picked from the resorts own foliage. The snail provided a note of authenticity to the resort’s attachment to the local environment. One of my tablemates scooped the snail up on an index card and deposited the creature back outside in a flower bed.
Which one moved slower, the bug or the wait staff?
Two incidents of the identical kind, but actually we have been back there since then. Both had to do with a live bug in the salad (they are not the only ones who’ve been guilty of this). They just seem to like having everything so fresh out here in the Pacific Northwest. Can’t be too bothered to do a thorough job soaking a salad with water from some hose. Maybe not.
Trust me, I have done so. Alexandria is a little far to go from Detroit for a snack.
Well, a snail is definitely not a cockroach.
Hard to say, but I think the wait staff.
Memories. I’m old enough to remember when dive bars really were dive bars–as opposed to today’s bars that take on the affectations of dive bars. Same friend. Same bar. Every time. A bug of indeterminate origin crosses the bar and my buddy says “Buy that man a drink!” Every time.
That reminds me of sitting in this diner with a couple of friends back about college age when a cockroach wandered onto the table. One of the guys took one of the inverted coffee cups and put it over the roach. Just a weird vignette coming back to mind from over three decades ago.
Just squish the damn thing and drive on with the meal. What’m I missing here?
It was several feet away, and I didn’t want to draw attention to it, especially from the lady whom it had chosen to cozy up with. She might have reacted loudly, and I’m not one for loud noises. I already have severe enough tinnitus. I don’t need ladies in hysterics shouting nearby.
Once I ate at a restaurant with my family, then, by coincidence, took an alarm call there a couple of days later. The door to the kitchen was open, and when I shined a light inside cockroaches parted like the Red Sea. I never ate there again, needless to say, and the building now houses a Laundromat.
I investigated a robbery at another restaurant. The host who was robbed stated the offender put his bare hand on the counter. I called a field investigator, but he could not recover any prints because the counter was too greasy.
Yep. You see behind the scenes, and sometimes the place becomes rather unappetizing.
My wife once discovered a cockroach inside her half eaten enchilada.
Why I don’t like watching those restaurant makeover shows.
Sometimes those home cookin’ mom and pop restaurants have disgusting kitchens, and it makes you wonder what the people are thinking who run them.
Better than a half eaten cockroach.
Ewww.
Extra protein. What’m I missing here?
My little slice of the military was nicknamed “Snake Eaters” for a reason. If you’re in the boonies, and no Big Macs are available, then sure. Consume what you need to fuel the machine.
But out at a Mexican restaurant on date night with M’lady?
Eww.
Or in San Antonio…
Same t’ing.