Yesterday I did something I´ve never done before.
I sent back a dish to the kitchen.
It made me feel so bad. I´ve been told, all my life, to be nice and pleasant and well-mannered, to take the rough with the smooth, to not be a grouch.
But I looked at that pasta dish, the 13€ pasta dish, that had pisto where it had said it´d have pesto, and I was annoyed. But I thought, well, never mind, let´s just eat it, it smells good. But it was salty. So salty as to be really really bad. I tried another mouthful, but there I stopped. I change drawings all the time, I reasoned. If clients don´t like it, I start over. That´s how it goes, right? No offence, surely?
It was hard. It went very much against the grain. I´m not your outspoken, open type. Muttering darkly behind backs is more my style.
As I told the waitress to take it back, I told her not to bring anything else instead, because I was too full from the starter, anyway. Which was delicious, and so you can tell the chef from me, please do.
See? The well-brought up little girl, to the last.
The guys admitted that the dish was inedible, by the way, and sent back a tray of complimentary puddings, which was very sweet of them. I just hope I haven´t made enemies for life.