Monday, November 14, 2005

Van Gogh to hell

Never again.

After yesterday's awful dinner at a restaurant called Van Gogh (capitalized "V" is intentional; that's the restaurant's name), I'll never go back.

I'd been there twice before. The food wasn't all that bad, though it was a bit pricey. The first time I went, which must have been barely two months ago, the restaurant was still spanking new. I had a Caesar salad, which was quite nicely done (parmesan cheese sliced paper-thin, not grated), and a very tasty spaghetti bolognese.

The next time I went, however, the Caesar salad was no longer available, and though I tried to order a calzone, I was told it wasn't available, either. I went for a quesadilla (Korean style, of course) and cheese pizza (they billed it as a "pizza margherita," which was laughable); both were fine, though served without much care. I felt as though the wait staff had already decided I was to be marginalized-- a feeling I don't get at the typical Korean restaurant here. It was French snootiness, but with Koreans standing in for the French.

The lack of available menu items and the sub-par service that greeted me on that occasion should have been a warning. But stupidity, like hope, springs eternal, so yesterday evening I decided I'd give Van Gogh another try.

It was worse than ever. I was ignored by the wait staff until I pushed the goofy little call button on my table. I once again discovered that half the menu items were not available. "We're going to be reprinting the menu," the waitress said, sheepishly. I ordered the quesadilla-- without onions this time-- and got my spaghetti bolognese. I also ordered a Coke.

Ten minutes later, I was still waiting for utensils and my Coke. Not long after that, everything arrived at once-- quesadilla appetizer and spaghetti, swiftly followed by the Coke. No eye contact from the server. Perfunctory dialogue instead of the expected twenty-something perkiness. I don't think I'm being too much of a grumpy old man to say the service sucked the ass of a 90-year-old, HIV-positive, bull-raped grandmother. By the end of my dinner, I knew I'd be filing for divorce from the place.

And you know... I couldn't even vouch for the food this time. It tasted fine on the way in last night, but today, all goddamn day, I've had some nasty-ass runs. Fuck, that's inconvenient when you're trying to teach three hours in a row. Thank Jeebus for ten-minute breaks between classes.

My asshole's about empty now, having heaved and gagged since 6:30 this morning. But even emptier than my asshole is my heart: broken by Van Gogh.

FUCK Van Gogh!



Anonymous said...

Van Gogh... gogh sleepie?

Maven said...

It's times like this, when it happens to me, that in retrospect, I think of how wonderful and merciful God was in designing the human form. Imagine how much more "pleasant" the whole Hershey Squirtz would be if we had taste buds on our rectums and our noses mounted directly above our anal cleft.

God is indeed GREAT.

Anonymous said...

Maven's was right about that comment on my post. Maybe you have bird flu.

20 ounces of spicy fermented Chinese cabbage, stat!