A few weeks ago, Toby and I were eating at one of our favorite Indian restaurants, Brick Lane. I had just finished my meal and the waiter cleared the plates. I went to grab my water when I noticed a baby roach running madly around the table. I lifted the water glass and put back down, directly on top of the beast’s head, killing it dead.
A week later, we were at Dumont, another absolute favorite. We were sitting at the back bar, ordering our meal when I noticed another baby roach running across the bar top. I lifted the water glass and put back down, directly on top of the beast’s head, killing it dead.
On Sunday, Toby and I were at Sea, not a favorite but we didn’t know where else to go. We just finished eating, when suddenly, a brown roach about the size of my thumbnail, ran all over my side of the table.
Holy Mother Of God. A roach.
I got up as if someone was burning my ass.
Can you pay so we can leave? I am not sitting back down.
Toby tried to grab someone to share the fact that a mammoth size roach was running all over my table. (He was already pissed about the fact that someone gave him a beer glass with a dead bug in it and instead of giving him a new beer, the guy removed the glass from the table, took it back into the kitchen, removed the bug and then brought the same glass back out to him. So it’s safe to say he wasn’t easing up anytime soon.)
Excuse me, man, but there’s a roach on our table.
The busboy then lifted my napkin and squashed it right there on the table.
We paid our bill and left and I never sat down again. As a matter of fact, I don’t care of Sex and the City and Garden State was filmed there, I don’t plan on sitting down there ever again.
Surely, this must be God’s way of telling us to stop spending so much money eating out and instead buy a farmhouse in upstate New York.
What the shit?
I go to all the same restaurants as you two – but I never have waitresses that try to sleep with me or see bugs in the establishments.
Maybe you two have bug/slutty waitress pheromones?
Maybe they smell you from a block away and just flock to you?
mike and i had brunch on sunday. a small mouse ran over someones foot, and literally every table in the place got up and left, as if an atomic bomb was about to go off—then looked at us like we were heathens for not leaving as well. but, we were hungry.
Andrea, the weirdest part is I would have been fine with a mouse. Roaches are a huge fear of mine. I am not sure what it is but that pretty much instantly writes off a place. Mice? They’re cute. :]
I was eating dinner with Kerry the other night at the dining room table when I looked up and saw a CHILD sitting there, chewing with his mouth open. I tried smacking it with my shoe, but I missed. So I got up and left without paying. Our house is just infested with kids.
I wish our house was infested with kids.
I don’t like roaches either. When I lived in Memphis, and worked on Beale street where all touristy stuff is, all the bars and restraunts are invested with roaches in the stairwells. So, don’t eat there. Even if it smells good.
:: mouth agape, look of horror on face ::
Um, oh my god. Our restaurants should be graded like they do in Canada – sounds like each of those restaurants you’ve mentioned would get a big fat F mark which would’ve warned you to stay away. I sincerely cannot believe that. I would’ve freaked. out. You’re a better woman than I.
::cough::It’s not tobyjoe’s fault that his boys can’t swim::cough::
Megan, the funny thing is these places are up there as some of the better restaurants. So, yeah, shocking. I mean, Sea is a bit overrated in my opinion. And the only reason people line up outside most days is because it was featured in a Sex and the City episode. But still… very very annoying. We’re going to start eating at home and saving money, me thinks.
I live right near Sea – you guys can come over, I’ll feed you, get you real drunk on wine, and then send you home in a Northside car so you can make babies.
“I wish our house was infested with kids.”
When we close on the farm, you can have all the brats you want.
Oh I see how it is, farmhouse blackmail. Or something.
screw the farm
close on a private label cabernet—you know you want to
after you get your 25 cases, you’ll be plenty drunk to have kids whether you like it or not
I want a farm. And a goat.
You could have a pet goat in brooklyn
But what would you call him?
You should get a vineyard. Make wine and babies. The goat can help out, too.
“(farm)house party” starring kids n’ play…word.
oh, do it you guys.
like uncle pats farm on ‘the sopranos.’
we could go fishin, pick tomatos and peppers and bury our enemies.