Category: 07: Bad Food
By Eduardo
The wife and I recently stopped in Weed, CA on our way up to Oregon (no, we did not take our picture next to the freeway sign). We had a lot of road to cover, but around lunchtime decided to stop and chow down on some Taco Bell food. It was pretty crowded, but we ordered our meal and sat down to wait.
As we did, a busload of hungry high school kids arrived. They started streaming in, forming a line until it was nearly out the door. At this point, the drive-thru was a total traffic jam as well. It was as if everyone within a 60 mile radius had been mysteriously drawn to that particular food establishment at the same time.
After about five minutes, I decided to go up to the counter and wait patiently for our food to appear. Another five minutes passed, and I noticed that people who had ordered before me were still waiting. Things weren’t looking good, as I noticed the people behind the counter scurrying around and frantically trying to complete orders. It was a madhouse.
Fifteen minutes in, people were starting to get impatient. There were so many people in there that the crowd noise was getting loud. A handful of us were stationed near the counter, wondering aloud what the problem was. I just wanted my Grilled Stuft Burrito. The store manager was taking orders at the counter, and suddenly one of the girls from the back hurried over to him in a panic.
“We’re out of beef.”
The guy’s eyes grew large. She had said it loud enough for everyone near the counter to hear, and people started turning toward each other with looks of puzzlement and fear.
No beef?!?
What kind of Taco Bell runs out of beef?
Finally, somebody arrived with our food. I brought it back to the table, wondering what kind of “beef” was in it. Thankfully, our food appeared to have been assembled just before it ran out. The whole place was in a semi-panic by that point, and we had a few chuckles listening to the manager trying to explain the situation. As soon as people learned about the beef shortage, they started leaving. After all, a Taco Bell without beef is kind of like IHOP without pancakes.
By Paco
Hey Eduardo… I understand where you are coming from. I think most of it has to do with the mood you are in, or how you are feeling. Bad coffee can make you feel worse.
I know if I am in a crappy mood, and I don’t have a good cup or two of quality Joe before work I get “so pissed” when I waltz into the kitchen at work and have to pour myself a nice cup of dirt, I mean Yuban. Plus, I have read that cheap coffee like Yuban, is made from cheaper bigger beans called “Robusta”. And I guess Robusta beans have more caffeine than the quality “Aribica” beans you get at a good coffee shop.
On a related note : I remember very vividly back in high school when we used to go to Serindipity. (Dipity… Love Ya! The original version) And the one particular time when you and Jaime started doing shots of espresso, and afterwards proceeded to run around the parking lot like you were on smack.
Anyways… I am enjoying a fine cup of coffee right now. No Yuban for me… I don’t want to feel like the wack attack.
By Eduardo
I know this is kind of a random thing to post, but what’s the deal with bad coffee and one’s mental state? I had a cup of joe from the corner coffee shop near my work this morning, and after drinking it I felt like I was on angel dust.
I drink plenty of coffee, although there have been several memorable experiences when I’ve had a cup that made me totally psycho – as if it had been laced with something. That Gold Coast Blend at Starbucks invariably makes me a stuttering, drooling retard every time I drink it, and I’m not sure why. I doubt it’s solely because of the caffeine content, because I make and drink really strong coffee at home all the time. When I have a bad cup like the ones I’m describing, I get all wigged out and feel totally paranoid for no reason. It’s pretty bizarre, and feels nothing like a ‘strong coffee’ buzz.
Anybody else ever experienced this, or have any thoughts?
By Eduardo
I’m not sure if this can be categorically described as being a bad food experience, but earlier today I encountered something rather unexpected.
My wife and I took a jaunt over into the lovely town of Sonoma, where we walked around a bit and eventually stopped into a cool-looking Thai restaurant for lunch. After tea and appetizers, I ordered a spicy red curry seafood dish called Gang Dang, while Juanita ordered something with spinach, tofu, and peanut sauce.
A few minutes later, our meals arrived. I was really hungry, and it tasted delicious. I proceeded to chow down, impressed at the array of different sea creatures my lunch contained. Salmon, prawns, scallops, calamari, — but wait… what’s this?
There were some curly litle purple tentacles poking out from underneath some of the vegetables. I pulled them out, and to my surprise found that they were attached to a small octopus.
“Uhm… There’s an octopus in my food,” I whispered to my wife.
She rolled her eyes. Being far more cultured than me when it comes to eating weird asian foods, she calmly explained that it was totally normal.
“Just eat it,” she said, rather embarrassed that I’d mentioned it aloud. “It’s just like calamari. It’s not a big deal.”
I poked around and found three other octopuses of various sizes. They had been cooked whole, and were an exotic purplish color. It took me a few minutes to get used to the idea of eating the little guys, but I finally got over it. Juanita was right; they were just like calamari. Very rubbery, with no flavor. I couldn’t help but wonder: why do they even bother cooking such animals, if nobody actually enjoys them?
Even so, the food was great. We finished up and left, quite satisfied.
According to Wikipedia, the octopus is generally believed to be the most intelligent invertibrate animal. In a weird way, that kind of makes me feel bad for having four of them in my stomach.
By Jaimenacho
One of my most memorable food moments was in Munich Germany.
I’ve been to Munich 3 times, and all three times I arrived by train. The Munich train station is very modern, and pretty typical of what I would imagine most of Germany’s train stations look like. During the world cup they had a huge screen showing soccer matches for people in the train station. It was the little things like this that made me believe the Germans were making strides in making their establishments very hospitable to travelers. In addition to some novelty shops, and magazine stores, there were a few restaurant type places. These weren’t your normal sit-down type restaurants, but more walk up places, like you’d see at the fair. Most of these places served typical German food, like sausages, and pretzels. One particular cart had these AWESOME looking sausages. I had to eat one.
The man who worked there was a very gruff looking man, with a shaved head. He kind of looked like he would be an extra on Hogan’s Heroes or something.
I went up to order my sausage.
The man had been outside talking to a friend when I arrived. Me wanting to eat was a disruption to whatever Fascist conversation he was having apparently. The man kind of grumbled, and came to take my order. I’m not really a big fan of the guy who tries and stare you down and intimidate you as you order your food. I don’t speak German, so I had to do my best without.
I pointed to the sausage I wanted, and he of course was staring me down, so wasn’t watching where I was pointing. He put the wrong style of sausage on my plate. I had to say. “No this is the wrong kind, I wanted that kind please.” He kind of huffed, and threw the other sausage on the grill thing again, and grabbed one of the other. I knew this small event had upset him, because of the forceful way he was slinging the sausages around.
Finally, I had the appropriate sausage on my plate. The man threw some mustard out the little window, took my money, and shut the window.
I wanted ketchup too.
Huge mistake.
I knocked on the window and the ” cook” came back, opened the window, and proceeded to give me the stink eye.
“Could I have some ketchup please.”
He kind of stared at me like I wasn’t making any sense. He grabbed some ketchup, but took away my mustard. I now had no mustard, but ketchup.
I had to knock on the window again.
He was really pissed. I could just tell he wanted to hurt me very badly. I explained that I wanted ketchup AND mustard both. He tried to explain to me that we got one or the other, it was more money for both. I tried to find out how much it costed for both, which was a mistake. I guess he got frustrated trying to explain it to me. He called me something nasty in German ashe threw some mustard at me.
“Ahk Afin Schroben.” or Something like that. I assume it meant “Now go die Yankee blue-Jeans!”
I walked to my hotel and ate my sausage.
Delicious.
I wanted another one.
The only problem was, I would have to go back and face the Sausage Nazi. I decided that it couldn’t be THAT bad, so I walked down to the train station to get another. The Nazi was helping someone else at the time, so I got in line behind him. He saw me waiting, and kind of mumbled something to the person in front of me who turned and looked at me, so I KNOW he was talking about me. The man got his food and left. I stepped up to the counter, and pointed to the sausage I wanted. The man started pointing to some sign that was hanging there.
“Schroben Schroben Schroben!!!!” he said.
I was a little confused. I couldn’t read the sign. I asked for clarification. “What does it mean, sorry, I’m not really good at German.”
“Schroben Schroben Akt Schroben. Lunch. Come back Later. Schroben Schroben.”
“Lunch? You just served that guy in front of me?”
He didn’t even give me a response, he just shut the window, and went back outside to smoke, drink beer, and plot the rise of the 4th Reich.
I was going to get that sausage.
I sat and waited, and waited.
Other customers would come up, he’d get up and greet them, get their food, then look at me, snarl, and go back outside. Finally, he went back inside, and I went over to get my food. He put the sausage on the plate, and charged me extra I swear. He gave me ketchup and mustard, but held them up and made a stupid face so I would know he was giving me both, and to not ask. He took my money, mumbled something about “Schroben Schroben” and then went back outside. He and his Cohorts stared at me as I left, and mumbled to each other.
The story should end there but it doesn’t.
That was my first trip there. I went back 2 other times. It’s like the guy has a perfect memory. The minute He sees me, he starts to snarl. Once he closed up shop and left at like 4 in the afternoon. I didn’t even GET a chance to order, he just left. One other time I think I surprised him, because I ended up getting my food.
He threw kethup and mustard at me, and mumbled a little “heh heh heh Akt ik Akt Schroben Schroben Schroben” as he left. LIke he was saying “seeee I remember you yankee scum. enjoy this meat, it’ll be your last.”
He never give me a chance for a second sausage though, because as soon as I got that first one, he’d leave and go out of site.
I’m going back there someday, and I AM going to get another sausage, whether he likes it or not.
By Jaimenacho
I was in Seattle with Pecos, his wife, Paco, my wife, and I think Guillermo. We decided to spend the day wandering around Pike Place Market. At lunchtime we made the choice to eat at an establishment in the market. The place was the little deli ran by people who were happier to be in the country than running an eating establishment. Before I go on, several factors need mentioning.
1) Seattle has access to the ocean.
2) Pike Place market is a notorious spot to pick up seafood, cooked, fresh, packaged, whatever.
3) Seattle has some pretty amazing restaurants.
4) Places near the ocean, usually know something about seafood dishes.
All of the other people in my group ordered sandwiches of various varieties. I’m not a huge fan of the cold sandwich, so I went with the clam chowder. You would assume, by the factors I mentioned above, that a place in a VERY highly visited area, of a seafood baring market would have pretty decent clam chowder. It would make sense. Not the case. This was the worst clam chowder I have ever had. Blind monkeys could have made better. I’m not joking. It was basically clam-flavored milk with about 2 pieces of potato in it, and a piece of celery. There was absolutely no substance to this soup. I didn’t see ANY clams in it. There were clams practically making love in the market itself, and yet none could find their way into this restaurant. I was very pissed, and I spent the majority of my time bitching about my soup. I believe everyone else was pleased with his or her sandwiches.
By Eduardo
THE TIME:
Early fall, 1990.
THE PLACE:
Vacaville Wendy’s.
THE INCIDENT:
I was traveling with my aunt and uncle down to the Bay Area to meet my parents, who were coming back from a trip. On the way down, we stopped at the Vacaville Wendy’s (only a mile or so from the Nut Tree, when it existed).
Back around that time was when Wendy’s had just unveiled the mighty Superbar, their secret weapon that was supposed to revolutionize the industry and change the way we look at fast food forever. For those of you who don’t remember the Superbar, it was essentially just a smorgasbord-type of setup that allowed you to shovel as much food as you wanted onto your plate. If I recall, the catch was that you were only supposed to do this once… and if you tried going back for seconds, they would send a maroon-shirted Wendy’s drone over to intercept and admonish you.
I had been to the Redding Wendy’s Superbar, but it paled in comparison to the Vacaville one. This one, presumably because it was in a higher traffic area, offered a substantially wider array of practical meal choices.
We ordered, and I was handed my Superbar tray and salad bowl. I was stoked… for soon, I would enjoy a tasty ensemble of mini-tacos, Jell-O, salad, and chocolate pudding. I started to load up, filling my main tray with the tasty mini tacos and other heatlamp food. I moved on to the Jell-O and chocolate pudding, making sure not to mix them in with the other stuff. I had to do all this somewhat quickly, as there were a couple of people coming down the Superbar line after me. I wasn’t a huge salad fan, but I moved over and loaded up my salad bowl with lettuce leaves. I threw in a few cherry tomatoes, got some dressing and croutons, and took one last look at the Superbar to see if there was anything I’d missed. This was my one trip through, and I had to make it count.
Just then, I heard a strange, scraping “SCRIK SKRIK SCKRICKK” sound somewhere nearby. I recognized it as the same sound you’d hear when scraping a spork against a styrofoam lunch tray. Upon realizing that this sound was coming from my lunch tray, I looked down to see what it was.
A big, fat cockroach the size of a fifty cent piece was angrily trying to climb out of my salad tray, and was not having much luck. It was so gross that it made me itch, and I reached down and flicked the thing out of my tray. I didn’t see where it landed; maybe even back in the salad where it presumably came from.
Still somewhat in shock, I turned around to the woman who had been standing behind me.
“Did you see that?”, I asked. She had a wide eyed, vacant look on her face. I could tell that she had seen the whole thing.
“BLLK“, she said, as she dropped her giant super-sized soda onto the floor. Her Coke had spilled everywhere, yet she just stood there in a daze. It was as if she had been more affected by the roach than I had, and her speech and motor skills temporarily shut down.
Out came the maroon-shirted Wendy’s guy, with mop in hand. I didn’t know what to make of the situation, with a giant roach on the loose and a drooling catatonic drink spiller in front of me. I told him what had happened, but all I got was “Thank you sir, I’ve got it under control.” He wasn’t the least bit concerned about the roach in my salad.
It’s hard to remember exactly what happened after that, but I went back up to the counter and was awarded some free (non Superbar) food after I told them about the roach. They didn’t seem to be worried about disease-spreading vermin in the food either, but at least they took care of me.
I’m not sure what happened to the lady. I think she eventually returned to her senses and went to sit down with her family.
Fortunately for all of us, the ill-fated Superbar was eventually phased out and has not been seen in a Wendy’s since the mid-to late 90′s. Whether or not this was due to roaches in the food is anybody’s guess.
