worst. restaurant. ever.

on friday night i went out for dinner with my family. my beautiful mother had decided that we all deserved a treat (as everyone does) and made reservations at a new high-fallutin' establishment on the waterfront. so i got all dolled up and i got me to the church on time. and by "dolled up" i mean i put on some mascara and my good jeans. and by "church" i mean restaurant.

what ensued was the worst dining experience of my entire twenty three years*. it beats the time i found a huge snail in my tabouli. it beats the time the waiter spilled both red wine and fettucine melanzana all over my hot new dress. it even beats the time my spunky date and i both got food poisoning and thus couldn't shag on our first tenth date because we were too busy exorcising satan from our innards.

worst. restaurant. ever.

we arrived at 7pm to discover that we were the only people in the whole place. after a characteristically witty and hilarious remark by me on the lack of other diners in the place, the waiter assured us that they did have other reservations for the evening. he lied.

our drinks and bread arrived quickly, as you would expect when there is ABSOLUTELY NOBODY ELSE to serve. and we set about ordering our food. my brother-in-law and i ordered an entree of garlic king prawns to share and the rest of the fam just ordered mains. the prawns also arrived quickly, however i am still puzzled as to their description as "king" prawns. they must have been kings of a race of midget size-challenged shellfish, because to me they just looked (and tasted) like bait. bait covered in so much gratuitous garlic that i may never kiss a boy again. so garlic breath right now.

anyway, we polished off the midget prawns in about 30 seconds, and waited for the mains to come. and then we waited some more. and then 45 minutes later when we had waited more then we could possibly wait and couldn't bear to wait any longer, we called the waiter/barman/runner/one-man restaurant band over and asked where the hell our food was. he went to "check" on the progress, and came back to inform us that it was now being "plated up" (which made me a little tingly. i love technical speak of any kind). apparently thems were some mighty difficult plates to maneuver because 15 minutes later, as we were cursing our pushover ways and looking around for hidden cameras, the food arrived.

my "chargrilled sword steak" was a tiny piece of limp fish covered in heated up thousand island dressing that john west would have kicked to the curb. my sister's "well done rump steak" was rare slab of offcut that even my cat would have trouble ingesting. and my mum and bro's schnitzels were definitely mccain frozen dinners reheated one too many times.

AND IT WAS ALL FREEZING FUCKING COLD.

WORST. RESTAURANT. EVER.

now, i come from a long line of passive diners who would rather eat their own shoes than send anything back, and who have NEVER even entertained the thought of walking out of a restaurant without paying, no matter how bad the food or service. but last friday night something happened. something amazing. my family got its groove back.

the restaurant was freezing cold. the entree was shocking. the mains were an hour late. the waiter bit back that he thought we'd "want to wait" after our one tiny shared entree. the food was cold and horrible. and we were fucking angry (well, i found the whole thing kinda hilarious, but i take pleasure in the faults of others and also enjoy a good confrontation).

and so we got up, told the guy what we thought of his restaurant (unfortunately minus the words "cunt", "fuck" or "up your anus" because even when angry my family are still a polite bunch who don't like to make with the swears under any circumstance) and walked out without paying.

and fuck me dead with a rissole if it wasn't the most liberating experience of the last year. all our rage, frustration and anger with the unfairness of this bastardly universe was channeled into this one act of restaurant-leaving. as i said before, we are a passive people, so be proud that we even did this, because normally we would have just tipped more out of sympathy for the poor folk who don't know how to run a bloody restaurant.

and then, at 9 o'clock, 2 hours after we had sat down to eat, hungry and in a bit of disbelief, we hightailed it to the nearest hungarian joint and gorged ourselves on goulash, gnockel, dumplings and schnitzel like grandma used to make it (before she became a raging crackwhore). when the food came within 10 minutes of our ordering it, i told the waitress i loved her and proposed marriage there and then. i meant it too. but she just giggled uncomfortably and ran away as fast as her squat little hungarian legs would carry her bulky hungarian frame.

and then i went home and spent 3 hours in interstate telephonic bliss.

the end.

longest. blog post. ever.


*anyone who dares to tell me i'm "still a baby" will have to learn to live a life without a complete set of genitals. anyone who gets off on my tender age can continue to do so freely and with my blessings.