I just might never eat scrambled eggs ever again

17 12 2010

Have you ever come across the saying ‘no good deed goes unpunished’?

That’s pretty much how I felt yesterday morning…

It was my mum’s birthday yesterday. And I wanted to make it very special. Tuesday evening I baked a cheesecake. Wednesday morning, bright and early, I baked chocolate cake and vanilla cake and even filled those little edible ice-cream cup thingies with chocolate cake batter and baked them, as well. The evening I made icing (vanilla and chocolate) and decorated the cake. Oh, and the chocolate cake cups were covered in icing (icing sugar mixed with lemon juice) and topped off with Smarties.

So far, so good.

Two weeks prior to the occasion, I made a booking for seven people at the Rhodes Memorial restaurant. I was there a few years ago with my mum and a friend of hers, thus I was expecting everything to be right as rain, what with good food, beautiful scenery… something far more special than just going to Wimpy or Mugg & Bean.

At this point in time, I would like to say that going to one of those fine establishments – even if they are of the everyday variety – would have been a far better call on my part.

Not that I’m to blame for what ‘happened’.

Our booking was for 10 in the AM. We arrive there at quarter to ten, with one person more than the booking was made for, yet we believed that this would not be a problem. First the guy who ‘welcomed’ us (some welcome) had to find out if we actually had a reservation on their list and then showed us our table: outside, in the cold and windy conditions, a four seater table laid out for six people.

How did they expect to fit us all in on those wooden benches? And they laid it for six, not even the seven I booked!!

After a lot of hum-ing and haw-ing, they managed to set us up with a table for eight people inside. The table was wobbly, and my chair was mostly broken, yet I decided to live with it and not let events up until that point ruin my mum’s ‘special’ breakfast.

Oh, where to begin with what went wrong…

Our waiter was so-so. Our drinks arrived in drips and drabs – one of which arrived along with the meal. I was presented with a huge teapot, enough to provide at least five or six cups of tea, but they only put in one teabag, which means that I was basically drinking hot water that sort of tasted like tea. When our food arrived, my heart sank into the very lowest pit of pits that one’s stomach might be said to have (metaphorically), and my stomach seemed to catch in my throat… which can create quite a messed up constitution, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, with hearts and stomachs and such not moving all over the place.

My mum’s food was perfect, and delicious, which is the important part. But the rest of us… I won’t even attempt to sugar-coat it.

My brother-in-law’s Eggs Benedict dish was a bit of a nightmare. Five of us ordered the English Breakfast: the bacon was unbelievable salty, the tomato was cold, the sausage was spicy/ tasted funny (and gave me indigestion, I might add)… I didn’t even attempt to eat the dry toast. The mushrooms were all right. But the eggs… especially my eggs and those of my younger sister… *shudder* Who makes scrambled eggs in oil?! Ours were practically drowning in it (‘swimming’, here, would be too kind a word).

I never, ever order breakfast when we go out, and I hardly ever eat breakfast at home. This is what I get for deciding to actually have some since I was feeling ill. And after that meal, which I attempted to eat – managing the salty bacon, so-so mushrooms and chunk of cold tomato, at least – I felt so ill that my stomach still isn’t functioning properly.

Of course, I didn’t want to complain, so all we mentioned was the scrambled eggs fiasco. The last round of drinks (two cappuccinos and three filter coffees) wasn’t added to our bill, as a half-heart ‘sorry’ on their part (not that it was ever verbalized). I was just happy to get out of there.

So there you go. A perfectly nice breakfast at a respectable little restaurant – which you pay for, of course, since it’s at a scenic, historical spot – turned sour… or oily, if you prefer…

Next time, I’ll just stick to making breakfast at home and serving it with a smile on my face and love in my heart. That’s what I usually do.

I just hope that, after that one small bite, I’m not put off from scrambled eggs for the rest of my life.

[Although, perhaps not eating right before Christmas isn’t such a bad thing. At least I can fit into one of my usually-snug-post-operation-pants.]




One response

17 12 2010
Craig Smith

yikes :/. Sounds like a nightmare.

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