Del Friscos & Auschwitz
ORLANDO, FL - I don't get out for dinner much. Mostly because I cook better food than I can buy in a restaurant, and because I'm broke, AND because I have worked in restaurants and I know some of the shenanigans that go on behind those kitchen doors.
But... my girlfriend insisted that she take me out for dinner. Del Friscos, Lee Road, Orlando. Don't ever go there.
Problem #1. We walk in, and the first goddamn thing I see is a picture of Dale Earnhardt. Listen people, if I'm going to spend $200 on dinner, the last fucking thing I want to see is #3 looking at me. If I want that shit, I'll go to Stuckeys or the Wing House, or some other no-quality, cheap, craphole. This place tries to play itself off as some kind of high-quality "steak and lobster" joint, and the first thing I see is a glaring reminder of the fact that the majority of their clientele must be white trash. Great. Why don't you just allow people to bring their dogs to the table and throw peanut shells on the floor.
Do I need a problem #2?
Ok, problem #2 - Lobster Bisque. I could have scraped off the jizz from my underwear, thrown in some food coloring, and come up with a better bisque.
Problem #3 - "Steak and Lobster" means Steak and LOBSTER. Listen, ass-face, Australian lobster tails is not LOBSTER. Lobster is an animal with claws... and you get the fucking HEAD with it. Ten thousand other restaurants can get New England lobster, and you serve overgrown shrimp.
Problem #4 - Stupid fucking wait staff. See below.
The steak was okay. Not bad. Not great. Just OK.
Problem #5 - The auschwitz experience. At some point as I was eating my steak, a guy at the other end of the room starts coughing and sneezing uncontrollably. I think "man, poor guy..." Then, one by one, the patrons all start hacking and coughing. Next thing I know, I'm hacking and coughing. Later on, the management would claim that someone discharged mace or pepper spray somewhere in the restaurant. I don't buy it. My theory, something was fucked in the heating system.
Regardless of the cause, we had to evacuate the room and all crowd around the bar, where the waitstaff got bitchy at us for being in their way. Excuse the motherfucking cunt out of me, but you jackasses are the ones that just tossed xyclon B into the dining room. First fucking Dale Earnhardt photos, and now this?
So, what does our waitress do? She hands us a to-go box and our check. Needless to say, we did NOT pay. The manager actually called us, twice, to try and get us to come back. I have to admit, it was pretty nice of him to do so. But, even if we weren't gassed, I'd never eat in a so-called decent establishment with photos of NASCAR cunts on the wall.
Fuck Del Friscos.
Oh, and fuck you.
But... my girlfriend insisted that she take me out for dinner. Del Friscos, Lee Road, Orlando. Don't ever go there.
Problem #1. We walk in, and the first goddamn thing I see is a picture of Dale Earnhardt. Listen people, if I'm going to spend $200 on dinner, the last fucking thing I want to see is #3 looking at me. If I want that shit, I'll go to Stuckeys or the Wing House, or some other no-quality, cheap, craphole. This place tries to play itself off as some kind of high-quality "steak and lobster" joint, and the first thing I see is a glaring reminder of the fact that the majority of their clientele must be white trash. Great. Why don't you just allow people to bring their dogs to the table and throw peanut shells on the floor.
Do I need a problem #2?
Ok, problem #2 - Lobster Bisque. I could have scraped off the jizz from my underwear, thrown in some food coloring, and come up with a better bisque.
Problem #3 - "Steak and Lobster" means Steak and LOBSTER. Listen, ass-face, Australian lobster tails is not LOBSTER. Lobster is an animal with claws... and you get the fucking HEAD with it. Ten thousand other restaurants can get New England lobster, and you serve overgrown shrimp.
Problem #4 - Stupid fucking wait staff. See below.
The steak was okay. Not bad. Not great. Just OK.
Problem #5 - The auschwitz experience. At some point as I was eating my steak, a guy at the other end of the room starts coughing and sneezing uncontrollably. I think "man, poor guy..." Then, one by one, the patrons all start hacking and coughing. Next thing I know, I'm hacking and coughing. Later on, the management would claim that someone discharged mace or pepper spray somewhere in the restaurant. I don't buy it. My theory, something was fucked in the heating system.
Regardless of the cause, we had to evacuate the room and all crowd around the bar, where the waitstaff got bitchy at us for being in their way. Excuse the motherfucking cunt out of me, but you jackasses are the ones that just tossed xyclon B into the dining room. First fucking Dale Earnhardt photos, and now this?
So, what does our waitress do? She hands us a to-go box and our check. Needless to say, we did NOT pay. The manager actually called us, twice, to try and get us to come back. I have to admit, it was pretty nice of him to do so. But, even if we weren't gassed, I'd never eat in a so-called decent establishment with photos of NASCAR cunts on the wall.
Fuck Del Friscos.
Oh, and fuck you.
posted by Enrico Giamondi at 5:06 AM
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