Worst expensive restaurant experience

Foodies tend to keep records of the number of times they’ve eaten at a three-star Michelin restaurant or the most truffles they’ve ever consumed. Some will e-mail friends and strangers their constantly updated guide to favorite restaurants in the great capitals of the world -- whether or not the recipient is interested. It’s a form of bragging, yes. But what about the worst restaurant experiences? Those often go unmentioned when they can make for an entertaining story.

I’ll go first. Here’s one from my archives.

Years ago, traveling in Spain on a train from Andalucia to Madrid, I met a young woman who claimed her aunt was one of the best chefs in Spain and I just had to eat at her restaurant in Madrid. She was so persuasive, and I was such an easy mark for the idea of a woman chef in Spain, that I agreed.  It was in a tony section of the city -- I don’t remember where now, or even her name. The place had an ultramodern décor.  First, we were invited for an aperitif and subjected to a guitar player singing “Feelings” for what seemed like two hours directly in front of us so there was no escaping. Can I say that I loathe the song? And that this was sheer misery? Not only that, but having to keep a straight face in front of this hapless musician.

Nothing on the menu was very Spanish. It was international luxe cuisine all the way -- filet mignon, foie gras, lobster. A complete and utter snore. And it was excruciating sitting there knowing we’d just used up our splurge money on a meal I could have gotten at any pretentious restaurant anywhere in the world. I couldn’t relax, either, always on the lookout in case the guitar player was going to launch into “Feelings” again. We could not wait to leave. And as soon as we paid our incredibly expensive bill and got out the door, we started running through the streets, giddy at finally escaping.

Let’s hear from you re any regrettably painful restaurant experiences, especially the expensive ones.

-- S. Irene Virbila

Comments

[richard scher]

yes, i've had several at high end restaurants, but i will just mention one. it was at one of the most tony restaurants in budapest, actually a robust and vibrant restaurant city. there were six of us, celebrating the birthday of a very distinguished visiting professor. she wanted to go to (the place will remain nameless) after several rounds of drinks at tom and george, a great watering hole nearby. the restaurant was a total disaster. we were suspicious upon walking in and there was more waitstaff than diners (this was before the hungarian economy collapsed). but the service was awful - at once obtrusive and indifferent. the food was worse. as in the case of the madrid restaurant, the menu was not local (there were no hungarian or central european dishes on the menu) but "international." i ordered a steak. i can get a better one at my neighborhood supermarket. it was small, tough, and dry. it even came with frozen asparagus - this was in january. the wine list was small and expensive, and failed to feature any quality hungarian wines, or even any of low quality. they were all foreign, and pretentious, and costly. not sure what the birthday celebrant had to eat - they had us at a long table (for 6!) where we were so spread out that people at one end could not talk to those at the others. and the bill for the 6 of us came to nearlt $400, almost unheard of in budapest, even at gundel, where you can at least get a decent meal. this was a travesty, a disaster. unworthy of hungary and budapest. rks

[Melanie]

Bin 8945 in West Hollywood. The food was fine (not great) and the "honor" of being served by the owner/manager David Haskell was a disaster. He pushed hard on the tasting menu, and we agreed with the caveat that I have two life-threatening food allergies (eggs and peanuts). He said they could easily accommodate them, and off we went. First two courses were fine - they even brought me something different for the course that was clearly an egg - but the third course was gnocchi (typically made with egg). I asked him about it when it came, and he said no egg. Skeptical, I asked a waitress, who went back to the kitchen and came out running to tell me not to eat it. They didn't replace (or even offer to replace) the course, and when I asked David about it, he said, "oh, I figured you wouldn't be able to taste the egg." Not exactly how life-threatening allergies work. No apology, just a shrug. The next few courses were fine, but when dessert came, it was obviously egg-based again. This time I didn't bother asking him - I went right to the helpful waitress from earlier who confirmed that it did indeed have egg in it. So did the replacement dessert. We gave up. Despite not being about to eat two of the courses (plus the danger they placed me in by serving them in the first place despite express warnings), there was no price adjustment when our bill came. We paid it, eager to move on, but I stopped by the kitchen before leaving to politely but firmly explain how serious and dangerous it is to ignore food allergies like that. David smirked and said, in a patronizing and sarcastic tone, "I know, that's why I'm sooo sorry" and turned away.

Really a preposterous and offensive dinner, and the food was moderately pricey and nothing to write home about. And given Charlie Trotter's has no problem accommodating food allergies in their tasting menus, it's pretty pathetic that Bin 8945 wouldn't.

[Christina]

About fourteen years ago, when my husband and I were law students looking to spend our meager funds on a good meal, we went to Drago. We were looking forward to a splurge. We were clearly the youngest people in the dining room, and we had the distinct impression that we were not their target audience. We settled in, ordered a bottle of wine and our meal. The waiter brought us our wine, or rather, tried to pass off a bottle from the wrong year as the one we'd ordered. Turns out they didn't have the one we'd ordered. So we ordered another. They didn't have that one either. My husband inquired as to what was accurate on the wine list, and was essentially told to go find his own wine. He got up from his seat, went to the wine cellar, and chose a bottle.

We he came back, they brought our first course. But we still didn't have our wine, so we asked them to hold it until the wine came. And we waited. And waited. And waited. The wine never came, and our waiter never returned. We paid something for the bottle of water and bread, and left.

This year, I will be returning to Drago (actually to Enoteca Drago) for a Christmas party. It will be the first time since that one experience. (Yes, I tend to hold restaurant grudges.) Though Celestino Drago may well be culinary royalty in this town, it's been impossible to hear the name Drago without remembering how unwelcome we were.

[Peggye]

My husband and I just returned from a trip to Prague and definitely had the most bizarre if not awful dinner we can ever remember. The restaurant is named Svatá Clára and was highly recommended by our hotel manager. I'm guessing the hotel was getting something in return for each customer they sent there. The experience went like this...

We arrive via taxi. It's dark out and pouring rain. We are in the middle of what looks to be a remote area and there is no signage for the restaurant. Standing is a single residential door which appears to be built into a hill. We ring the doorbell and wait for what seemed like a while when we're finally greeted by a nicely coiffed waiter. (He turns out to be our waiter for the evening). We walk into a dimly lit foyer and are led down a flight of stairs and then another flight of stairs to end up in a long room with rock walls, 16 meters underground! We're told the space used to be used for wine caves back in the 1600's. OK, this all seems pretty cool yet there's this weird vibe to the place. I can't put my finger on it. The room is decorated in velvet and brocade covered antique furniture, baroque statues (one large statue in particular is of a nasty looking man who's holding the weight one of the cave walls on his shoulders) and Persian carpets. This is all seeming somewhat familiar but I can't put my finger on it. I keep wondering what is that strange vibe in the air? The room is dimly lit by candles and little white lights. There are a couple private rooms separated by long curtains draped to the side. As we sat down and asked what appertif we'd like I'm looking around trying to soak in what's becoming a barrage on my senses. At first we're listening to Opera. Then it's traditional sounding Gregorian chant music... but wait...it's not traditional at all...it's modern songs with a Gregorian mix! At one point, we were listening to Coldplay's "Clocks" and "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak! No lie. Everything seems surreal. I'm starting to think something's missing here and then realize....it's Dracula! Dracula is what's missing! Yes, we've walked into a restaurant that is trying to bring movie magic to fine dining. Hmmmm....

We started with a glass of champagne and then we sat... and sat then sat some more. We were not given any menus but had a rolled up sheet of paper on each of our plates with one prix fix menu on it. "This is it?" I wonder. We waited some more. We could hear the conversation of the young couple across from us. We assumed it was their first date as they seemed very awkward with each other. Either that or this guy had brought her there as a special favor to Dracula. She looked like perfect prey with her little black dress which outlined her bare neck and shoulders!

Finally the waiter arrives and asks if we had seen the prix fix menu on our plates. He goes into elaborate detail about each item. A smoked salmon with hard-boiled quail egg. Foie Gras on citrus foam and sauterne sauce. Venison with sauteed chanterelles and corn pancakes. There was a cheese course and a finalé of flambéed strawberries. He's really pushing the prix fix and then I ask if they also have a regular menu. Yes they do and he runs to fetch it.

Again, we wait.

What returns are these huge gothic looking books. Each page is an effort to turn. Each turn is another barrage on my senses. How many choices can a small fine dining restaurant offer? In this case, about 5 pages worth! This overwhelmed my husband so he just ordered the prix fix. I, on the other hand, had to read every menu choice and spotted a roasted goose on the menu which excited me as I rarely see goose at restaurants. Well, as soon as the food started coming out the excitement was quickly quelled. The smoked salmon was ordinary with a hard boiled quail egg on top. So? The Foie Gras was swimming in sauterne sauce. Far too strong for the delicate tasting but not-so delicate seared goose liver. It appears the chef had forgotten to take the stringy part out of the liver.

For my starter, I ordered a grilled Tiger Shrimp salad with oranges and balsamic dressing. This was decent and the shrimp wasn't 'that' overcooked. But it's when my husband's venison arrives that we figure out where Dracula was. He was obviously in the kitchen cooking as the blood was drained completely dry from the venison! The chanterelles didn't have much life left to them either! And once again, too much sauce which got into everything else on the plate. My goose wasn't a total disappointment as it wasn't fatty which is what I was half expecting. The skin was crispy but there just wasn't that much flavor. Along with my goose came a side of warm sauerkraut, both white and red and the ever present 'dumplings' in Eastern European dining. Both of these items were purely disgusting. I do like sauerkraut and can manage to eat a dumpling but these were just awful. Did Dracula open up a can then warm it up? Yes, I believe he did. If he didn't, then he does a bang up job in making fresh food taste canned. The Strawberry Flambé was a twist on Crepes Suzette without the crepes or the oranges. This happened to be the one item that our hotel manager gushed about and said we HAD to try. It was palatable but certainly not worth a rave review.

The night seemed to go on forever. Despite the long waits between courses (and drinks) our waiter was always smiling and very charming. Eerily charming. Bizarrely charming. The awkward couple across from us were warming up nicely to each other as the evening progressed and their bottle of wine emptied. She was an American from Texas and he had an accent. Maybe Czech? Since she was doing all the talking, we learned she was a student studying in Prague and as she kept drinking her voice got louder. He just kept looking at her with puppy dog eyes. Where was Dracula? I looked down at the card the waiter had given us and noticed the slogan for the restaurant. It read, 'And no morning breaks the night in Svatá Klára'. Are they for real? I took this as a sign it was time to leave. We paid the tab which was almost $500 and left stunned. What happened? How could we have spent so much money on such bad food and side show? We never did see Dracula but we were told as we exited that Brad and Angelina had dined there when she was filming her movie in Prague. I asked how many times they visited. The answer was once. I'm pretty sure I know why.

[Steve]

Paul Bocuse in Lyon. The restaurant was a theme park of itself, and Bocuse's image was on every wall, plate, mug, etc. The entire experience was so bad and expensive that the comedic value was almost worth the 500 euro admission. The preparations felt more like the 19th century than even the mid-20th -- bress chicken in loads of cream that was somehow bland, just to name one.

Toward the end of the meal, Bocuse found his way to our table to greet us and receive our plaudits. For the Vegas-level mediocrity and showmanship, we had to oblige.

[Big Fella]

Circa spring 1992, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

The wife and I are on a road trip from Southern California to Denver, about three days out, at about 5 P.M. on I-25 between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, we work up an appetite, battling, rush hour traffic, all six other cars, and finally roll in to Santa Fe. We find a motel and then cruise around seeking food. We cruise the entire town, including the touristy main square, but since this is New Mexico, like dummies, we ignore all the Mexican restaurants.

We come across a Chinese restaurant in a shopping strip. We are fools for Chinese food, so we park and hit the front door. The foyer is all dolled up with Asian inspired furnishings and decor, including if I recall correctly, a couple of lucky, life size lion figures flanking the entry. We are greeted by a Chinese gentleman and immediately escorted to a table, with a white table cloth. Stomachs growling with hunger, we are thinking, Chinese decor, Chinese host, white table cloths, this has got to be good.

The first hint that something may be awry, is when our waitress appears, a twenty-something, overly talkative, overly friendly, probably a college student, from hearty pure WASP stock. We pay no heed to that first signal that the food Gods send us, and wrecklessly order a veritable feast. Soup arrives, what it was supposed to be escapes memory, most likely something benign like won ton or hot and sour soup. It is actually the world's worst rendition of won ton or hot and sour soup we have ever had. The ever hovering waitress senses that something is amiss and we politely confirm to her the soup was just not what we expected. Despite our protestations, the waitress insists on bringing us another, different, soup. Waitress retreats temporarily. We sample the second soup, not only is this soup the worst rendition of what ever soup it was supposed to be, it is the worst, most vile bowl of warm liquid we have ever tasted in our lives. It is so unspeakably vile that we are not sure that it has not significantly shortened our lifespans.

The rest of the meal goes downhill from here. It is all terrible, unappetizing, inedible crud. We have had better Chinese food out of a can of La Choy, a can that was damaged. We have been on the road all day, the last meal was 12 hours previous, so we gamely press on and try to force the mysterious concoctions down our throats, all the while Miss Congeniality hovers, like an annoying fly that has got past the screen door, trying, oh so hard, to provide a pleasant experience.

We pay the check and get out of this nightmare as quickly as we can, with very empty stomachs. But before we do leave we do notice the second hint from the food Gods, the restaurant is empty at the dinner hour, except for us. What finally awakens us is the third hint from the food Gods and we throw in the towel when we here a radio playing with the kitchen staff singing along, to the Mariachi music.

Now we do know that many of the finest, most sophisticated, successful restaurants in the United States have talented, hard working immigrants from all over Latin America in the kitchen. But in 1992, in Santa Fe, New Mexico, anyone foolish enough to walk in to a Chinese restaurant, instead of sampling the indigenous New Mexico cuisine, probably deserved to go to bed hungry that night.

The waitress did score a 20% tip though, we figured it was probably the only money the poor girl was going to make in that joint. We have learned from that experience, and make a point in all of our travels now to go for what cuisine is truly indigenous to the region, especially in less urban precincts. We also try to avoid revolving restaurants on top of any building and any restaurant that channels its patrons through a gift shop entering or leaving the establishment, or that might have audio-amniatronic "characters" as part of the dining experience.