When I end up in a restaurant that is above my class level, I let the server know I’m over my head and ask for help. I don’t treat the server like he/she is a dumbass and sneer my way through the meal.
I approached a table of 4 last night and one of the women asked, “Is your house red dry?” She had the drink menu in her hand.
I asked which wine she was referring to.
“We have several red wines, some are sweet and some are dry. Which one are you asking about?”
She rolled her eyes at me and snapped, “The HOUSE wine.” Yeah, I’m the dumbshit.
“Our HOUSE RED wines, which are on the menu, are cabernet, chianti, merlot, lambrusco, and pinot noir. Are you interested in a sweet or dry wine?”
The other woman said, “Since we’re in an Italian restaurant we should have chianti. That’s an Italian wine.”
Our wine glasses are tall and filled with 6 measured ounces of wine, which means they are not full to the brim. When I brought them out, both ladies complained that their glasses were not full. I had to explain the concept of getting what you paid for.
Okay. Time to order. One of the guys barked, “We’ll have the chicken gorgonzola and a pizza,” and shoved the menus at me.
What fucking KIND of pizza? What size? What sauce. What type of pasta with the chicken? What type of dressing on the salad? WTF?
Every night I get one table who would be better suited to eating at the Harribalsac. I want to give them directions.