2 weeks Ago By BuzzFeed
"She relayed the instructions to the cook, who was irritated. He grumbled, 'FINE!' assuming the steak would be returned like usual. Determined to follow the order precisely, the cook grabbed a timer and did exactly what the customer requested.
He sent the steak out, expecting trouble. About 20 minutes later, the customer asked to speak to the cook. My mom went to the kitchen and told the cook, who had been bracing himself for a complaint.
Frustrated, the cook threw his apron onto the counter, stormed out, and approached the customer. 'Yes?' he asked, ready for the worst. To his surprise, the customer smiled and said, 'I’ve traveled to all and more cities than I can count.
Every time, I order my steak the exact same way. You’re the only one who’s ever cooked it exactly as I asked. Thank you.
' Then, the customer stood up, handed the cook a $100 bill (which, in the 70s or 80s, was a huge tip), and walked out. My mom said both she and the cook were completely speechless — which, if you knew my mom, was a miracle!" "A customer sent back his chicken in mole, insisting it wasn’t 'real' mole negro. We replaced it with a fresh batch made by one of the mayoras, but he returned it again, questioning if we even knew what mole was.
Frustrated, I added a few drops of black food coloring to the sauce, turning it pitch black. We returned it to him, and he sent his compliments to the kitchen, claiming was the 'real taste.'" "I usually kept them in my locker for personal use, but this time, I had my commis make a paste from three of them.
I added the paste to a fresh laal maas, making the curry intensely fiery. I served the dish myself with phulkas. The couple dove in eagerly, enjoying it at first, unaware of the slow-building heat.
Five minutes in, the ghost chilies kicked in, and tears started rolling down their faces. I quickly offered them curd, which helped a little. The next morning, they told me over breakfast that they loved the food — despite the fiery experience.
" "She sent the drink back. I figured I might’ve accidentally used vodka or rum, so I carefully remade it. But when I brought it back, she still said it was wrong.
At that point, my manager stepped in and asked her what she wanted. 'Tequila Sunrise,' she repeated. So, he came behind the bar, prepared the drink himself, and delivered it to her.
'No, that’s not right,' she said again. Frustrated, my manager returned to the bar, grabbed the same type of glass we used for the drink, and squeezed it until it shattered over the trash—thankfully avoiding any cuts. He returned to the woman and calmly asked her to describe what she wanted.
She pointed to her dinner companion’s Margarita and said, 'That. I wanted a Tequila Sunrise.'" "Trying to help, I asked for specifics, hoping to avoid another futile attempt, but she insisted, 'It just isn’t right—you’ll have to make it again!' Meanwhile, the line was growing, and I was getting frustrated.
I set her cappuccino aside and made a few other customers' drinks. All the while, she kept repeating, 'Something’s just off! It wasn’t right!' Once I caught up with the orders, I handed her the exact same cappuccino she had rejected earlier. She took a sip, smiled, and said, 'Now that’s much better!'" "Frustrated, I grabbed the steak, muttering curses, and placed it off direct heat at the back of the broiler, hoping it would bake through without turning to charcoal.
After a long wait, I called for the rest of the order to be plated and sent the steak out. It was, without question, thoroughly well done. But a few minutes later, the server tiptoed back to the pass, holding the plate with the same steak.
The customer said it was not done enough. I stared for a moment, then said, ‘Get out of here.’ 'No, really, he wants it done some more.
' Angrily, I grabbed the steak with my bare hand and literally threw it into the broiler's maw, then got back into the rhythm of churning out other food orders. Eventually, the server returned and said, 'Hey, what about my well-done New York?' I pulled the grill all the way open, and there it was, shriveled and burnt beyond recognition. I grabbed it with the tongs and dropped it onto a clean plate.
The steak made a sound as it hit the plate. It was like a big squashed Kingsford briquette. 'I’m not serving that!' said the server.
I lost it...
'Take that &*^!@$ steak out of here and give it to him!' The next person I expected to see was my boss, but no, the server returned about 15 minutes later and held out a $5 bill. 'The customer says that’s the best steak he’s ever had, and he sent you this tip.' (I was probably making $3 per hour back then.
) My eyes bugged out of their sockets. There’s no accounting for some people’s tastes. I’ll never forget that Sunday.
" "Hysterical, she claimed that every gumbo she’d ever had was bland. The manager offered her clam chowder or another non-spicy dish for free, but she demanded gumbo without spice. Then, things took a wild turn.
She called casino security and even dialed 911, telling police the restaurant was trying to kill her with black pepper and that she was . Soon, security, police, and management crowded the small 12-seat bar. When the police asked her to calm down, she lost it — grabbing items from the bar and throwing them at the cook.
That’s when the officers handcuffed her and dragged her out. As she was hauled away, she kept screaming, 'No spice!' After she and the officers left, everyone at the bar erupted into applause and generously tipped the cook. "After studying the menu for what felt like hours (another red flag), the couple finally ordered a pizza and asked for two sets of cutlery — yet warning.
When their pizza arrived, they dug in. At some point, the waitress checked in with them. ‘Are you enjoying the pizza?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you, it’s delicious,’ they replied. After eating three-quarters of the pizza, they handed the rest to the waitress and asked to see me. I went over and asked, ‘Was there a problem with the pizza?’ ‘No, not at all.
It was very tasty,’ they said. ‘Great! Then have a nice evening,’ I replied. ‘Wait! We want our money back.
’ ‘Pardon?’ ‘We saw your sign that says the pizza is the best in town. While we agree it’s good, we don’t believe it’s the best. That’s false advertising, and we feel entitled to a refund.
’ In my best non-diplomatic tone, I told them exactly where the door was and suggested they use it." "Fortunately, a police patrol car was nearby, and an officer approached to offer assistance. I had to translate for the officers, as many Filipinos have only a basic grasp of English.
I expressed my frustration about their behavior. The officers then asked if they could taste the lamb burgers, so I provided a full serving for each. To my surprise, they loved them and quickly devoured them, expressing disbelief at the high price of 450 pesos.
I replied that the taste was the secret to my success. Ultimately, the police escorted the group back to their office building, where they filed an official complaint against the customers for disorderly conduct. A few days later, Mayor Jejomar Binay visited my food truck, accompanied by the patrol officers who had dealt with the previous disturbance They all came to try my lamb burger, and I treated everyone — 16 people in total.
" "It was clear we were being scammed, but we pride ourselves on excellent service. So, I approached the couple to hear their complaints. Their complaints matched what the server had told me, so I asked if they might enjoy portobello burgers.
At this, the woman exploded, 'We are VEGETARIAN! We eat CHICKEN!' The dining room went silent. I calmly asked if they had told the server that they, as vegetarians, ate chicken. She shouted, 'NO! The server should that vegetarians eat chicken!' I smiled and helped the woman out of her chair, guiding the couple gently toward the door.
'I'm so sorry,' I said warmly, 'but our chef has run out of vegetarian chickens tonight. Don't worry about the bill — I'll see you out.' Thankfully, they haven't returned.
".
