Beef Is Beef

WARNING: this was kind of an awkward moment when it happened.  It might be awkward upon recreation with the written word.

A very nice couple was in my section Saturday night.  If I had to guess, I would say they were probably in their seventies.  They came to the restaurant because it was his birthday.  This pretty much means that we'll mess up your dinner.  It's not intentional, it just happens that way.  There's something about the vibe you give off when you have a special occasion that infuriates the Powers That Be in the restaurant I work in.

So his soup was cold.  And then his prime rib was tough and more gristly than prime rib typically is.

Of course.

But he didn't complain.  In fact, the only reason he told me that something was amiss was because he thought we might serve a lot of prime rib and he wanted to make sure that someone who actually might complain could get a good steak.

So I made Paul buy his dinner.

(MORAL OF THE STORY FOR RESTAURANT PATRONS: if you are nice about a less than fortunate food situation, we are more inclined to do something nice for you)

When I dropped off their check, he was confused as to why we did such a thing.

"I wasn't trying to get you to buy it.  I ate it.  It was good.  It was just a little tougher than I was expecting."

"Yes, I know you weren't trying to get anything from us, but we really appreciate that you would let us know.  And I appreciate that you were nice about it, so we wanted to do something nice for you for your birthday."

"But...it's beef.  Beef is beef is beef."  He reaches out and grabs my hand, a somewhat thoughtful expression on his face.  "Beef is like sex.  It's all good...some is just better than others!"

I just laughed.  Because really...what else can you do?