A Valentine's Day Disaster - or Why We Won't Be Eating Here No More!

“We don’t get out much anymore” is the anthem of parents everywhere. Once children enter your life there never seems to be enough hours in the day and eating out goes to the bottom of the priority list. As the children grow you would think dining in restaurants could become a little easier, but it is then THEIR commitments which prevent such transpiring as you become the world’s busiest transport system for them and their mates.

Which is why, on the rare occasion you do manage to dine out, a bad experience magnifies into gigantic proportions. We had a restaurant, a favourite place to dine. One that served a choice of meals the children would happily devour - a very important requirement. One that also offered us a variety of culinary delights that made braving the night out more than worthwhile for the adults. Living in a small community we heard rumbles of discontent with the service, but figured, ‘Hey – you cannot please all of the people all of the time!’

Over the past twelve months this restaurant became THE place for us… you know; the birthday place, the anniversary place, the celebration place. Then IT happened. On one of the family nights three of the four of us dined as usual, with abandonment and sensory joy, whilst the fourth sat and waited, and waited, and waited. The head of our family, unable to eat with us as his order had been forgotten. Forty minutes after the rest of his family had satisfied their hunger, and only after we chased the waitress to ask the chef, his order arrived. ‘Okay’, we thought, ‘everyone is entitled to one stuff up’. 

It remained OUR place. The next time we were dining with another family. Laughter echoed around the table, wine flowed freely, conversation continued without falter… and my husband was forgotten once more. A little embarrassing when it was your suggestion of venue and you had talked the place up to the others. Again we waited, his meal finally arriving but by then the chatter had dried up somewhat and awkward pauses had infiltrated the scene.

Yet still we returned; until the 14th of February this year. We do not traditionally celebrate Valentine’s Day. Like many, we feel it is an over-commercialised American money-spinner, but this year, with one of the kids’ after school commitments ending at 7pm, we figured why not? Booked. Arrived. Ordered. Being a school night, and as one had a mass of homework awaiting his return, we opted for the quick choice on the menu, or so we thought. Pizzas. Not that difficult or time-consuming, right? Wrong. Entrees came, though mine was only lukewarm, not good with prawns; kids’ meals came. After quite a bit we asked the waitress how long the pizzas would be. It became very obvious they had not even been started as we watched her race to the kitchen, grab our order and run it out to the pizza chef. She returns to say they won’t be long. “How long?” I ask. “Five minutes.” she replies, “The oven is hot, it will be quick.”

Five minutes pass, then ten. I tell my husband to take the boys home to let the fifteen year old start on his homework, and I will ask for them as takeaway. He leaves, I move from the table to the front counter. And wait. Another five minutes goes by, the owner’s wife asks me what am I waiting for? “My pizzas”, I tell her. The waitress comes to the front, and I ask “Where are they?” She grabs the order which is still THREE BEHIND on the pizza bar, and tells the chef it is urgent. He mutters something about the others in front of us. She tells him we have been forgotten and should be first. At this point I tell them not to bother and that finally we have had enough and will not be returning. The chef then turns and grabs two plated pizzas and tells her to box these as I am saying we are never coming back. The waitress grabs them and telling him he cannot do this. They are not even what we ordered.

During this farce not once did we get an apology from the owners. The waitress yes, it was obvious she was mortified, the pizza chef/owner nor his wife did not appear to give a damn. As I said in the beginning of this article, once you become parents you become time poor. A restaurant is a customer service driven business, and it is an industry where many fail. No matter how good your food may be, total disdain for customers and the arrogance in believing you can treat people anyway you want and they will still be your customer is not only unacceptable, it is sheer stupidity. You will eventually fail.

As for us and our Valentine’s Day dinner? We came home, made tasty, home-cooked pizzas which we devoured whilst like any good, modern day writer I vented on Facebook. Then I sat back and read and read of other’s bad experiences at this same place. But this time I understood exactly why those rumbles had begun, and why they were turning into a roar.

Blog Gems - First.

Today I have joined in to the Blog Gems linked hop for the first time.

Jump on over and join in. Great concept. I linked back to a year ago, Boy 1's twelth birthday. It is hard to believe I am now the mother of a teenager. And yes, he is still as wonderful if not more so. *Sigh*

Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day for those who celebrate it. We do - every single day of our lives.

The Romantic In Me...

I know my last Valentine's post made me appear to be the Ebenezer Scrooge of February 14th (bah, humbug) , but at heart I am probably one of the last true romantics. To show you just how authentic this is I am going to tell you the story of the first Valentine's Day Big Boy and I spent as an affianced couple.


Let me take you back. It is February 14th 1996. We had become engaged the October before, and our wedding was planned for the following October. We had been co-habitating for around eighteen months.

Big Boy arrived home from work to an empty house. Upon entering our tiny, dimly lit lounge area he was greeted by the following.

A single long stemmed red rose in a fine crystal vase.

A glass of his favourite red wine.

A platter of his favourite cheeses.

A note.

From me. It read:

My love, sit, relax, unwind. At 7pm the doorbell will ring. Answer it and do as instructed. I love you. MM

You can imagine how intrigued he was by then, can't you?

7pm. The doorbell rings. He is greeted by a chauffer, who informs him he is there to take him to a pre-arranged destination. As he reclines in the plush leather seats, another glass of his favourite wine awaits him. The car drives slowly around the harbour as the sun sets and the Sydney night sky is revealed in all her glory.

They drive from one side of the harbour to another, until finally the car pulls into the entrance of a five-star hotel at Darling Harbour. There I stand, hair freshly done, make up immaculate, my long black gown skimming over my curves, smiling, waiting.

He gets out, baffled expression still on his face, resplendent in his workday suit.

I kiss him, take his hand and lead him into the fine dining restaurant.

Oh, but this is not the end. No, not nearly.

We eat, drink, laugh, cry. A three course love affair of the senses. Then we arise to leave and he asks how we are getting home. I have driven, but have also drunk the wine.

I smile, lead the way to the casino, one of his rarely indulged but favourite luxuries. At this time I let him know he can relax, we are not going home, we are booked into the hotel for the night.

What do you think so far? Still believe I am an unromantic philistine? It's not over yet.

His favourite is blackjack, so it is there we head. He sits, I tell him to enjoy and I will be around, gambling is not my thing. I let him know I am content to people watch and wander whilst he enjoys.

Now, this where I have my fun. I meander around, chatting, playing the card machines, listening to the band in the bar. I constantly return to the table, touch, kiss or just smile to let him know I am fine. And then return to my wanders.

Standing across the room I glance up in time to see an attractive suit clad woman request the two Japanese gentlemen at Big Boy's table shuffle across for her to sit beside him. I stand, sipping my Southern Comfort, watching her flirt, hand graze, tease and trifle with my man.

I give her time build anticipation. I am sometimes a very patient woman. As she becomes bolder I make my move. Stroll back to the table (she is on his right), walk up behind him. Place left hand with huge sparkler on his right shoulder, tilt his head back and give him a teasing, tantalising slow, soft kiss. In one move I declare possession and mark my territory. Casually walk away.

She left the table rather abruptly shortly later.

The rest of the night is ours alone. I will not share. But he is still my only true love to this day, an even stronger love because of all we have shared.

Happy Valentine's Day Big Boy. You are the reason I was born.

Oh, and he later told me she was rubbing her thigh against his the whole time she sat there. If I had known that I might not have acted quite so civilised.