We went out to dinner for my son’s birthday recently, and wanted to try something new. We are all trying to eat healthier, so I looked online for restaurants in the area and found a place in Santa Monica that offered light and healthy food, using organic meats and vegetables. It had great reviews so I checked out the menu.
I don’t like fish and tofu, which are always offered up as the healthy options on these kinds of menus, so those are out. There were a number of chicken options on the menu, but they included stuff like feta cheese (smells like vomit), kalamata olives, cabbage, mushrooms, and other things on my “do not eat” list. I may be able to order the dishes without some of these ingredients, but odds of a problem increase with any “special orders.” But there is one dish that sounds perfect, described as chicken and asparagus in a lemon sauce served over angel hair pasta (my favorite pasta). Sounds yummy and no need to ask for anything to be left off or added. It is the only thing on the menu that I will eat, but there are plenty of options for the rest of family, who have much broader palates.
We arrive and the nice server takes our drink order while we peruse the menu. While I am enjoying the company and my glass of wine, I am getting a bit concerned because I can’t find this chicken dish on the menu. When the server checks back to see if we have any questions or are ready to order, I ask him about this dish. Hmmm, he’s not sure what I’m talking about, so he asks the owner, and we are informed that the menu online is old. They don’t offer that dish anymore. The closest thing is a chicken dish in a ginger-soy sauce with mushrooms served over brown rice. Yuck.
Now at this point everyone else at the table is urging me to just suck it up, as they are sick of these “scenes”. But they are never completely my fault, this case in point. I can’t help but comment about my disappointment. This dish is the sole reason I chose this restaurant. The owner graciously offers to make the dish anyway, since they have the ingredients. There is no way I can refuse the offer, even though I have a concern about chefs spitting in my food if they are in any way bent out of shape. So they make it, I eat it, it is fine. They did everything right so I can’t really complain. But the mood is somewhat tainted. Why, why, why do these things always happen to me?