Walked in--basic to almost no greeting.
By the time I sat down, Bobby the busboy dashed in, dropped two tap waters, and disappears. I noticed what was perhaps black pepper. Nope--a dead fly parked right on my plate. I've had snails, but Escflygot? Yuck. Bobby reappears, clears the table next to me then sets new dishware--with same hands. Yuck. Seeing that I wanted to ask for new silverware but what's the point?
Knock knock?
Who's there?
No one--15 minutes into this hygiene disaster.
I said, "Five more minutes." But after two--and too many staff walking by, looking, then leaving--I knew like when my dad went for cigarettes when I was five... no one was coming back. I double-checked my Apple Maps. Yup, I was at the right spot. Only the word favorite seemed to be missing.
I notify management. A waiter finally shows up. He brought an apology but forgot to his name, the menu, the specials--pretty much everything else.
"Do you have Diet Coke?" I asked.
"Yes."
"One, please. The lamb. Bok choy. And wontons in chili oil, also please."
"Would you like brown rice or white?"
Offended I replied, "Brown or white... I'm not a riceist. I'll have both. Why, thank you very much."
He seemed perplexed. But I wanted to be very clear I'm a fan of both rices. In fact, I love all rices of people.
"And might I trouble you for a fly-free plate, please?"
"Oh yes, of course."
He returned with a Pepsi. No plate.
Maury Povich's voice filled my head.
"When it comes to whether that is a Pepsi--you said it was Diet Coke--the lie detector test determined... that was a lie."
Wontons arrive, dropped off by Bobby the busboy's hands. I thought to myself, Just please don't put a finger in it. Still no dish. Perhaps my napkin will do. Since my waiter had vanished, Bobby-as-waiter would have to do. He was now cleaning the table next to me. Somewhere in his fire drill of unsanitary resetting, he kindly obliged me with a plate.
Bobby's table now sloshed with mystery liquid.
Perfect here comes the hostess not to correct the slip-and-slide soaking the dining room, but to seat an unsuspecting couple in it. She said, "They just cleaned it," in a frail attempt to either convince them--or herself--that it was okay. She neither dried the table nor moved them elsewhere. Instead, she opted to do what any young person nowadays does... nothing.
Our main course arrives--so does a second busboy. Bobby #2. He attempts to take away my chopsticks but fumbles. No apology. Just nervous--and more rattled than I am. He absconds from restaurant justice as I abscond to the men's room, covered in red chili oil.
I laughed as I tried to prevent a frivolous dry-cleaning bill--and the embarrassment of going into the men's room with a dry crotch and coming out with a soaking wet one.
Upon my return, I swiped a new napkin and silverware--as we all know how this story's going. To my surprise, new chopsticks--no, not on a napkin or a dish, but directly on the table.
The food arrives. The waiter asks if there's anything else. White rice..? But if he won't say it, neither will I.
Dan Dan food NEVER disappoints. The staff? Well, that's another story. It was delicious.
Meal finished. The waiter retrieves the bill as Bobby #3 arrives. As he stacks a pile of dishes, he realizes he's doing it wrong, unloads, makes a mess, re stacks and leaves.
As they say--red chili "X" marks the spot--on the table and in my lap--is exactly where the waiter places the bill. I don't know his name, or where my white rice is, but I do know you never put a bill on a dirty table. Bullseye. I guess you do.
With two fingers, I pick it up like a diaper, drop a CC in it, and say, "Why not?" as I place it back down in the red chili. After all, who am I to try and evolve the hygiene code here? Waiter returns, swipes, thanks us, and says good night. No white rice??? Sad. I sigh. Bobby #3 returns just as I'm getting up to leave. To clean the table? Nope. Instead, he says the first thing that's made sense in the past hour.
"Would you like a water refill?"
Will I return to Dan Dan?
Absolutely. Why, you might ask?
Because no matter how badly they dropped the ball--or red chili in my lap--the owner is a true gentleman who makes absolutely amazing food. He cares, and it shows. Hard to find nowadays.
Now, while I may be Jewish and this might sound like a complaint--I promise: I ran out of those somewhere between parking and walking in. I'll be back. The food truly is--
(Interrupted)
Uh--sorry, I gotta go... my white rice just got here.
...Amazing. read more