Something Different

Hubs and I love trying new restaurants, and we love to support neighborhood independently-owned businesses whenever we can. An Asian chef recently opened a new restaurant in the food court of our nearby, down-at-heels mall and it sounded really interesting- He’s basically serving seated Thai-Hawaiian dishes in a fast food setting. Our guess is that he’s trying to raise money to open a nicer restaurant, but in the meantime, his prices are super cheap as he tries to drum up business and generate a buzz. Hubs and I went there Sunday after church and checked out the menu before entering the restaurant.

“The Imperial Shrimp looks really good,” I said.

“Oh no, oh no oh no no no,” a waitress said, running up to us from inside. “I didn’t just hear you say this food’s too expensive!”

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“Because it’s not expensive at all! Not for what you get!” she said.

“I didn’t say that,” I said.

“You get a lot of food for five dollars. And I mean a lot.”

“I didn’t say it was too expensive.”

“I’m talking ten shrimp in the shrimp dishes, not five like in most places. And big shrimp too, not puny little ones like in most places.”

“I just said the Imperial Shrimp looks good, that’s all I said.”

“Okay, because it is good. It is.”

I looked at Hubs and we went inside the completely empty restaurant to order. The waitress continued on her awkward bent, running out to wipe off our table when we grabbed some napkins to do it ourselves, running after me when I got up to get a straw, shouting “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Remember, this restaurant used to be a fast food place and is still set up that way, so her attention was strange.

When our food arrived, I took a bite of a roasted potato and decided it needed a little salt, so I got up to get some from the condiment counter beside the register. As I grabbed a few packets, I heard a commotion from the kitchen, where I could see the chef’s bobbing head out of the corner of my eye. Was he… shouting? I idly wondered what was going on, but figured it had nothing to do with me and walked back to the table. As I sat down, the chef raced over to our table.

“Don’t salt it! Don’t salt it! Taste it first!” he yelled frantically.

“I did. I did taste it first,” I said nervously, salt packet poised over my plate.

“And it needs salt?” he asked incredulously. “It needs salt?!”

“I’m sorry.” I said. “I like salt on my potatoes. I’m really sorry.” Shaking his head, he made his way back to the kitchen.

“I can’t believe I’ve pissed so many people off in five minutes!” I said to Hubs. We laughed. It was truly an “experience”.

As is the case with food court restaurants, once people saw diners at this place, more people showed up. Two tables more. As we were leaving, I tried to make room between the tables to push Baby’s stroller toward the exit. Once again the waitress rushed over to us.

“Can’t get through?” she asked. “Well move OVER!” she shouted at a hapless diner, scooting his chair in before he had time to think. “Sheesh!” she said, eyeing the man and then shaking her head and smiling at me.

The next day, Hubs went back with a co-worker during his lunch hour. The same waitress was there. She had dyed her bangs bright yellow, leaving the rest of her hair black. My husband commented on her new look.

“Oh yeah, my boyfriend’s having trouble getting used to them,” she said.

“Well, he’s only had a few hours,” my husband said.

She looked at him. “How do you know?” she asked.

“I was here yesterday,” my husband said.

“Oh. Ummm. Yeah, whatever,” she said. She had no idea who he was.

 

Image via Rachel Hathaway/Flickr