Last weekend a man, his wife and smart ass teenaged daughter came in for dinner right before closing time. He asked for the prime rib, extremely rare. I explained that since it was so late in the evening, there might not be any extremely rare prime rib left and suggested he select a steak. He insisted on the prime rib and said, “You tell that cook if it’s not extremely rare, I’m going to kick his ass.”
I said, “Uh…the cook is a huge Mexican.”
“I don’t even care.”
“He doesn’t care,” the smart assed daughter assured me. “He will kick his ass.”
Well, alrighty then.
So I went to the kitchen and told Chetto if he didn’t cook the prime rib extremely rare the guy was going to kick his ass. Chetto mumbled something in Spanish, which is never a good sign.
When I went back to the table, the guy asked, “So what did the cook say when you told him I’d kick his ass if my prime rib isn’t right?”
I so wanted to say, “It isn’t what he said, but rather what he did,” but I figured I’d be in trouble. I mean, how stupid are you to threaten the cook before he’s sent your food out? Do you really want to have the shits for a week? I have a feeling this guy has eaten a lot of fumunda cheese.
When I picked the order up at the window, that shit was RAW. I don’t mean extremely rare, I mean it was flopping around and mooing. I’ve seen stuff in cellophane packages that had seen more heat than this had.
I was dying for the guy to send it back because it was cold (it had to be) or too rare (it certainly was). He ate everything else on his plate, said he was full, and asked for a box for the prime rib. Sissy.
Life is so much easier when you don’t go out of your way to be an asshole to the people who make your food.