Restaurants: Keep Your Germs to Yourself

Today we visited one of the few “all you can eat” places I know that has, rather than an Oriental theme, an Italian one.

Located just north of Toronto, Ontario; Frankie Tomatoes is a treat both visually and gastronomically, and is reasonably priced by Toronto standards.

Of course, in a buffet situation, one is continually in physical contact with serving spoons, lifters and tongs that are being used by other people, so the guy who was walking around in a major sneezing fit — followed repeatedly by rubbing his hands on his nose — was rather obvious.

And while race doesn’t matter in this story, I do believe that he was of Oriental extraction, so this may have simply been sabotage by a group of the aforementioned other “all you can eat” places.  OK, I’m kidding.   Sort of.

Note to self:  At the earliest mention of the fall/winter onslaught of H1N1 (Swine Flu) avoid this type of place like the plaugue.    (Ha Ha!  Like the plague.  Get it? )   If any one particular kind of restaurant is a breeding ground for the rapid spread of germs throughout the larger community, this is the one.

Note to everyone:  DON’T GO to this type of place if you’re sick.   Stay home.   Order take out.

Our Valentine’s Day Quick Lunch: How to Ruin A Perfect Day

It wasn’t our official anniversary / Valentine’s Day meal, it was just lunch. But our lunch experience at a local downtown coffee shop probably ranks in our top five worst food service experiences, anywhere at any time. Maybe the top three.

My wife ordered a grilled ham and cheese sandwich on multigrain bread. I ordered the egg salad sandwich on multigrain. Across the road at our usual place, each sandwich is a two-to-three minute prospect.

Ten minutes later, we were informed that they were out of multigrain bread. I said that whole wheat would be no problem. Five minutes later, my wife was told they were out of ham. She was not impressed. “Just give me a cheese sandwich,” she said, to my surprise.

I figured they’d bring a muffin or something like that to make it up to her, since they had already taken our money. Her only other option, barring ordering the same as I did, was tuna, and she didn’t want tuna.

Another five minutes and this bulletin came in: They had found another loaf of multigrain bread. Praise be! But that meant that nothing had been started. The egg salad sandwich that finally emerged from the prep area was delivered to a guy at the back who had been there before we arrived. There were numerous people drifting in and out from the back area and wandering behind the counter. [Note to health inspector: And also a dog.]

Later, we commented that it was like a bad Monty Python or Fawlty Towers skit; but only funny when it’s happening to someone else. It was nearly a full thirty minutes before our sandwiches appeared at our table. No apology. No offer of something else to make it up. There were two pathetic carrot cake mini-muffins; I think they were just something special they were doing for Valentine’s Day. My wife found hers inedible.

To the staff people who served us, I really think the whole thing was a big joke. At one point, I said out loud, “This is really, really bad.” I don’t think they thought so. I doubt any of them have ever eaten out anywhere in their lives. They had our money at that point, and they didn’t give a damn what happened to us after that.

There ought to be a law requiring food service people to be licensed. They would have to undergo training before they could pretend to be in a “service” industry. There is absolutely no way that this establishment is going to do any good to an area desperately trying to increase its tourist volume and tourist revenues. It’s going to have a negative impact instead.

They say that people who have a really positive experience tell two or three friends, but people who have a really negative experience will tell ten. Well, only five minutes later, in another shop, I already had a willing listener to my “Don’t go to ******” tale of woe. Nine more to go.