Thursday, July 31, 2008

Wotta Cock-up!

Usually, I'm quite a mellow restaurant patron. I've never sent anything back and I always tip the waiter (percentage depending on service). But Saturday, I sat with my husband's work friends at a Mediterranean restaurant -- which was my off-the-cuff choice because no one could decide. There, I realized I have been watching too much Gordon Ramsay.

After the owner/host/waiter seated us in the small restaurant, no menus came after many many minutes, so I got up and muddled around the wait area to find only two menus available. I brought them back to my table and people perused. A busboy came by with water and asked us if we wanted soda or tea. G wanted wine, but the busboy didn't understand, so I said, "vino?" and he seemed to understand. He came with an Asahi beer. Everybody had a good laugh and G started drinking it anyway.

More minutes went by. I saw the owner/host/waiter take the orders from the tables against the other wall of this 10 table place, but he didn't come to take our order. Oh, well. No matter. We were talking. More minutes and no service. Finally, I got up to make myself a nuisance. I wandered back into the wait area. I also hovered around the kitchen to see the busboy and another Spanish-speaking employee diligently working. No sign of the white-haired owner/host/waiter. I wandered back to my table, but I could sense G's work friends getting restless.

I dug around the wait station and found the wine list to get the price of the beer. I threw down some bills for the beer and told my party we were going.

Still no service in the dining area.

The only question I got was from the couple sitting next to me. The man had been speaking French with the owner/host/waiter and he asked, "Are you going?"

I said, "Yes. I was here before and the food was good, but..."

"The food is good, but it is very long. I have told him he needs more help."

His American date then said, "Where will you go? The Italian place next door is very good."

I felt weird about the recommendation from the date of the friend of the owner, so I tried to thank her and leave quickly.

She continued, "Or if you want really good Mediterranean food, there's this place--"

"Don't say that. We are here. It is not appropriate."

I laughed and said, "Yes, I feel bad. Don't tell me."

I could hear the couple arguing as we walked out the door.

This was the first time I'd ever walked out of a restaurant. If I were more like Gordon Ramsay, I might have waited for the owner and told him "wotta cock-up!"

Baby steps.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008


That was panic-inducing. It was the biggest one I've felt in my short 7 years in Los Angeles.

Wasn't sure what to do, and now I know.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

No reservations?

I had a dream about eating with Anthony Bourdain. In essence, it was a sex dream even though there was no sex.

It left me wanting to eat, to have an adventure, to get out and do some vaguely hallucinogenic things again. I have been whittling away my days in front of the computer rather fruitlessly. I read the news about elections, recessions, and wars. Things seem to go in my brain and rattle around a bit without getting processed before going out again.

I feel age hardening around the edges and I find myself silently stewing in anger during the day.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

I heart Joss Whedon

...and Barney, too.

Dr. Horrible


Testing out the mobile blogging. If it works, I'll be posting
probably no more than usual.

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