My husband and I just had a conversation where we answered our own questions…
Me: How do you mess up a hamburger? [although I looked at him expectantly, I did not give him time to answer] I guess you undercook it.
My Husband: Well, how do you mess up grilled onions? You don’t grill them!
I know you are thinking that this is not a very interesting conversation and are wondering why you are bothering reading this post. Seriously, it is hard to mess up a hamburger, and yet the burger place we went to tonight managed to mess it up.
The burger place we went to is supposed to have good burgers… that is why it’s name is is a cutsy version of the word cheeseburger repeated twice. It has a cute 50’s theme and so we thought the kids would like it. Upon arrival, we waited for about 5 minutes before they noticed us and came to seat us, and when the waitress came over a family with a crying toddler announced that they no one had come by to take their order and informed the lady that we could have their table. When they walked by, they wished us better luck than they had. We should have walked out right then and hit the Jimmy John’s next door, but the kids were excited about the possibility of a shake and so we decided to chance it since the restaurant was not that busy and they seemed to have a decent amount of staff.
The complaints from the guests before us did not speed up their service, but they did come by and take our order. The kids were occupied with their coloring sheets so the slow service really did not bother me that much.
What did bother me was that they messed up my husbands order. My daughter’s PB and J was one of those Smuckers pre-made sandwiches, which would have been fine it the outside of it was not dried out. I was particularly bothered by the fact that my burger was closer to “rare”, and I ordered it “medium.” I rarely send food back, because I used to work in restaurants and so I know that cooks are not really kind to the food that gets sent back. I looked at my husband and said “I guess I can just eat fries and then take it home to cook it all the way.” My husband thought I was being silly and recommended that I just send it back. I did, but unfortunately it was still not cooked much better. So I picked around the edge and ate the parts that seemed more cooked. I really wished I could have gotten a refill on my drink (since it did say I could get free refills), but by the time the waitress came back to check on us we were ready for the check and I did not feel like staying long enough to get a refill.
As we waited for our check, I could not resist striking up a conversation with a lady who had been looking around the restaurant as she tried to pacify her young hungry daughter. I asked her if she was looking for a waiter. She replied that she was, because no one had been to their table yet. It took everything I had not to tell her to just get up and leave. I did wish her good luck and I think she understood.
I continued to fester on our awful dining experience even after we had been home for a while. I think my anger continued to grow because when I decided to stay home we had to adjust our lifestyle a bit which means that we usually only eat out once a week. It kind of ticks me off that we wasted our night out on food that was worse than my cooking, service that was slow, and in a restaurant where more tables had dirty dishes on them than there were tables with people on them.