Fish out of water in the water

Externally, I would have expected that my parents would have been amenable to the experience. Familiar Chinese food. Check. Servers who speak Chinese (sort of, but a different dialect). Check. Close to a familiar area. Check.

But I knew that this wasn’t going to be them. Not only was it restaurant week. Not only was it so very clearly Americanized Chinese food. Not only was that the website was full of words like “karaoke!” and “lounge!” And not only did the photos show huge gaudy decoration of gates, red, and enormous Chinese scrolls, and furniture that suggests an older era, completely absent in actual popular restaurants with Chinese people.

But I thought that with my parents, it could be possible. Some experience was possible. Some experience that would make up for all the guilt of not being a good enough daughter. And perhaps, just perhaps, the awfulness of restaurant week wouldn’t be present.

But the expectations from my parents and their frugality often don’t add up to a typical frequent diner experience. Especially a place where there’s a menu made specifically around liquor. You know those places.

We have no idea what happened before we arrived. Did the server say something? Did they say something to the server? My parents were already sitting at the table. As we arrived, a server quickly dropped off the menus and within minutes, I asked for the restaurant week menu. With the way that the server gave the restaurant week menu with a sour attitude, I knew this wasn’t going to end well. And with how my mom asked obnoxious question of whether the chefs were on strike after the server warned us that their kitchen was short-staff—”we have only one chef so dishes will come out slowly.

It took forever until someone took the order. The dishes did come out slowly. Well at least, one dish from the menu arrived. Then we noticed that several things were missing. The sauce for one dish. At least three house soups. Then the spring rolls. This was awful. Was it because we were the only table that didn’t order any alcohol save for a pot of tea? Was it because we were the only “ethnic” Chinese there which some would assume that we wouldn’t tip well? (To be honest, I would have except for this kind of level of service.) And so much more.

It was as if our table didn’t exist. Who knows. On the way out, the hostess said good night cheerfully and thanked us for coming. I thought about writing a yelp review, but I already knew when I had previewed the restaurant previously. And there was so little to choose from.

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