Everyone has their quirks, right? I, for example, hate vegetables, with a fucking passion. Unless they are cooked until there is no nutritional value whatsoever, I will not eat them. But, do I impose my hatred of all things produce on the unsuspecting wait staff and kitchen staff at my favorite eatery? You bet your sweet ass I don’t.
I don’t like ingesting other people’s saliva.
If you’re allergic to any type of food, TELL YOUR FUCKING SERVER and READ THE FUCKING MENU, DUMBASS! If you are allergic to shellfish, let us know so we can take time to make sure nothing on your plate touches any surface shared with shellfish. I hate special requests, and customers, for that matter, but I don’t want you to die. And, I don’t want to kill you. Also, if you are allergic to garlic, do not eat at an Italian restaurant. Just saying.
If you are lactose intolerant, shut the fuck up. I don’t care if you get the shits later. You’re not going to die if you ingest some dairy. Get the fuck over it.
If you are a vegetarian or vegan, don’t waste my fucking time. Stay at home and feed yourself, you dirty hippie. Or go to a vegan joint, if there’s one around. Don’t go to Friday’s or Applebee’s and expect them to cater to you. Because they won’t.
There is a contingent of customers (I refuse to call these assholes “Guests”) that we, in the business, refer to as “Well-Eaters.” These ignorant bags of douche eat their steaks well-done. Why are they bags of douche? Because they are the pickiest, most inconsiderate folks on the planet. I have had some of these motherfuckers send steaks back because they were too juicy.
What the fuck? Oh, I’m sorry. I did my job, cooked your steak until it was a shriveled hunk of shoe leather, and I did a good job while I was at it (the flavor is in the juice), and made you a nice, juicy stake. It will never happen again.
Seriously, anyone who loves meat should know that most meats are best consumed at the medium degree of doneness, There are some exceptions (lamb, for one, should be medium-rare, while pork is good medium-well), but, if there is a God, he never intended that the tasty prime beef He created be consumed as a dried hunk of jerky. I know I’ve cried inside every time I’ve served a medium-well or well-done slab of prime rib.
Imagine how God must feel.