After Magritte

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We sold our souls for $300.

Monday, April 17, 2006

A truly horrible restaurant experience

Since in this little fit of blogging, I shared a positive experience, I need to share a negative one lest my readers get to carried away with joy. Sunday, the smoldering French Horn and the Bassoon of Hope and Cletus the Fetus all go out for Brunch. However, the place we wanted to go was closed, so we go to the place across the street.

Right away, I had that feeling that we needed to get the hell out of there. There was one waitress for way too many people and she wasn’t that good a waitress to begin with. They didn’t even have someone in the back making coffee. She is calculating the checks on a hand calculator. Exactly 1 person in the whole front of the house for maybe 12 tables. Prices were pretty high too. So after forever (times 2 with a waiting 3 year old), she comes to take our order – of they are out of the appetizer we wanted for the kid. Well, can we just get a scrambled egg for her? A fried egg? No Scrambled? Over easy? No scrambled.

We sit in the place for 30 min before receiving a drink of any kind. Now this waitress was working hard, but there is just no way she can deal with this many people.

Food comes about 50 minutes after we sit down. We are talking about eggs, they cook in like 5 minutes. Its fine, although the scrambled egg is totally fucked up. It is indescribable. Just tiny bits of burnt egg everywhere. Never seen anything like it. Clearly someone had never seen a scrambled egg. Service remains non existent. No coffee refills, no water, no how is everything. Zip. And it is not just us, every other table is in a constant state of pissed about something not being done for them.

We finish eating. BOH has eaten 0 egg and is whining to go home. Hell, I am whining to go home. Check finally comes. I was charged $8.95 for a scrambled egg. Yes, a fucking 9 dollar egg. I pay it. It would have taken at least 30 minutes to deal with this and I have a pissed, tired kid.

About an hour later, at home. . . Well you know what happens when Scott McCellan (yeah, I don’t respect him enough to spell his name right) opens his mouth. Yeah, well that happened to my ass. Just a total explosion of shit. The unmistakable shit of bad food. Not sick, not a flu. Bad food. Let me tell you, “It burns, burns, burns the ring of fire.”

Bistro Clement, you suck.


Blogger Vanilla Bullshit said...

When I was like 25, I found this tape in my brother's video box:

There is this really hot lesbian scene between the main character and the two cowgirls. The music? No, not chick-a-bowmp-bowmp. Rather, "Ring of Fire."

Which was also the first time I ever heard that song.

You should rent this movie. It got a 7.7 on imdb. That puts it a hair outside the Top 250 ratings.

In one scene, a black guy wearing a giant Cream of Wheat box gets a blow job. This was that really good late 70s early 80s porn before all the plastic boobs.

9:39 PM  

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