b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Crap meals out » Popular | Search
This is a question Crap meals out

I'd chosen to take my in-laws to one of my favourite restaurants, only to discover it had changed hands the week before. We waited half an hour to get menus. The waitress broke the cork in the wine we ordered. She got our order wrong. The food was luke-warm, mine was overcooked, the rest was undercooked. After waiting another 40 minutes for the last course, we were told that we couldn't have any as the chef had "forgotten to de-frost the puddings".

Let's just say they didn't get a tip. Tell us of your crap meals out.

(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 14:22)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Every sodding family meal since the age of six...
...my Dad feels the compelling need to trot out his array of "hilarious" restaurant jokes.

Someone drops a plate - "Sack the juggler!" followed by howls of laughter.

The sweet trolley arrives - "Is that a trifle or am I wrong?" (to be said to sound vaguely like "a meringue") followed by howls of laughter.

The bread rolls turn up - "Do you have to use your loaf for this job?" "Do you earn a lot of dough?" followed by howls of laughter.

The Soup of the day turns up - "Oh souper!" followed by howls of laughter.

At the chinese when all the dishes turn up at once - "ooh lovely. Whats everyone else having?" followed by howls of laughter.

At the indian placing an order - "Couple of Naans and a grandad!" followed by howls of laughter.

When the bill arrives he hums the theme tune to 'The Bill'.

He once ordered shark just so he could hum the 'Jaws' music as it arrived.

I could go on (making a 'bra' out of his napkin, telling the waitress there's something wrong with his spoon and handing her his fork and don't even get me started on the "leg or breast" shennanigans at Christmas dinner every year) but frankly I'm losing the will to live.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 16:31, Reply)
Revenge is sweet...
Picture the scene... overpriced, bland meal, grumpy mare of a waitress and I finally make it through to the dessert.

I ordered the Sticky Toffee Pudding for dessert and what arrives? Naturally, one of Brake Brothers' finest. I mean, if they're only charging you six quid a portion for dessert, should they really bother making it themselves when they can just buy it?

Still, it was a bit cold, so I sent it back.

Microwaves are marvellous things. I could hear the shouting in the kitchen from halfway across the restaurant.

Perhaps I should have told them about the 3 2p coins I'd pushed inside the pudding?
(, Mon 1 May 2006, 9:57, Reply)
I Like This QOTW
So I'll be posting a few tales up on this subject.

As an IT contractor I've spent most of my working life away from home so I tend to eat out rather a lot. So this is the first of a few I'll post.

I worked in Liverpool a few years back and I had one very memorable meal there. It wasn't crap. At least not for me....

A few of us went out one evening to a very posh restaurant in Liverpool (Honest to God! Not everyone in Liverpool eats from the dustbins...). We had a decent meal which was washed down with copious quantities of wine so by the end of the meal we were all four sheets to the wind. At the end of the meal we were hanging around waiting for a couple of the others to get their coats. And the place we were waiting was next to a big ornate fountain, right in the middle of the restaurant. In this fountain were a lot of rather large goldfish.

Now being a bit pissed, a couple of the lads decided to try and catch goldfish with their hands. A quick snatch, a small splash and they'd come up empty handed. Now I've always prided myself on my fast reactions so I decided to show the lads how it was done.

I sidled up to the fountain and watched for a decent victim. Ah there! The big bastard with the crooked fin. As he swam towards me I slowly took my hands out of my pockets and watched him out of the corner of my eye.

Closer.... Closer...Closer - The VOOM! Like greased lightening I plunged my entire arm,shoulder and upper body into the pool - and missed the fucker by a country mile. They're faster than they look the fishy fuckers!!

Now, as usual, I'd overlooked something. When I hit the water hard and fast I set-up a bloody huge wave which rushed across the pool and then sloshed over the edge. Straight over a young couple and their dinner. They just sat there, frozen with horror, their knives and forks still clutched in their hands and just stared at each other. They were soaked.Their dinner was awash and a goodly portion had been swept onto the floor (I distinctly remember seeing a soggy bread roll floating away.) I was horrified at what I'd done and at the same time found it hilarious. Me and my party were pissing ourselves laughing and, even though I tried to apologise for my stupidity and I paid for their meal, you could tell that I'd totally bollixed their evening up.

(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 15:07, Reply)
More crap then meal out
Remember the Total eclipse a few years ago?
(where the moon covers the sun for a few seconds and it all goes dark. Really cool. No it is, really)

Aaaanyway, me and my mate Jam heard that the best place to view it was on the beach in a Cornish village called Falmouth. So we thought it would be cool to drive the 500 odd miles down there to get a better look at it (I know, i know)

Being northern dogsacks we hadn't been down south much and the whole experience got a little bit too much for us. We started to act up and become the typical loud and brash northerners that we looked lik. Mainly because it was fun seeing the look of contempt on the posh southerners faces and mainly because we were pissed.

Cutting a long story short.

We went out the night before the eclipse to an out door restaurant. This was a novelty to begin with. You don’t get many out door eating establishments oop north. Well, not counting hot dog stands etc etc

So, we ordered some grub and a few beers. They didn’t have any pies so we ordered some southern muck. Pasta or something.

Now the place was busy (due to the eclipse). So we settled down with our beers and enjoyed the view.

Cue several beers later. No food. Another beer. No food. Another beer. What were these shandy twats doing?? We only ordered pasta!

So, being reasonable chaps we complained nicely. They brought us out more beers for free (bonus). Still no food. Another complaint and they said that they had run out of pasta! So we re order and get more beers on the house.

So it comes up to the hour mark, still no food. Rather noisy complaint from us. More free beers from them. At this point we had had no food and had been sinking as many free beers as we could manage (all this on an empty stomach).

Then we notice other people who ordered after us being served with pasta!


Now imagine that scene from With Nail And I (in the tea rooms) but replace it with two very pissed loud northerners. “Fuck you we’re off. And we’re not paying for the beers cocker!” (or something along those lines). The waitress seemed quite pleased about this and cleverly made no attempt to stop us.
Their food looked and probably was shite anyway.

The funny part of the story is when we got back to our campsite I had a few drags on a funny cigarette. Surprisingly this sent Jam under and straight off to sleep

I on the other hand was left with a dilemma. I either needed to be sick or I needed to defecate. In my pissed mind I chose the latter. Which would have been fine if I was near a toilet!

It was pitch black and I was in a field with 100 other eclipse revellers (really families exploiting the cheap English camping holiday). Here logic took over. I crawled over and squatted down behind Jam’s car and laid a three day old log which was desperate to escape. Exhausted from this I and collapsed in the tent.

Come the dawn sun the only thing which cured my hangover was to watch from the tent as Jam went to retrieve some water from his car. Yep, you guessed it.

He trampled all over the man egg in his bare feet. The look of recognition/ disgust on his face as it slowly dawned on him that his feet were cover with cack was priceless! Some how I suppressed my mirth and blamed it on an imaginary dog that I claimed was hanging around the camp site. Which he believed!?

I know this doesn’t have a lot to do with food and it’s quite long. But to be honest, I couldn’t give a fuck.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 16:30, Reply)
brewers fayre
I got forced to attend a family meal in a brewers fayre crappy restaurant, aged 17. everything looked crap, so I opted for curry. later that night I began to vomit. And shit. and vomit some more. somtimes at the same time as shitting. A trip to A&E got me a prescription for some anti-vomiting drugs which wouldn't stay down because i was vomiting so much. at 10am the following day I collapse and fall down the stairs and am rushed to the doctors by my concerned mother. I am still wearing my vomit covered pyjamas and have known the doctor a while (he's the dad of a friend since i was 11), so it's a bit embarassing. I am rushed to his office where I vomit some bile over his desk. He decides that I need to go to hospital and arranges for me to be seen straight away. on arrival the nice lady doctor shoves a suppository up my arse and I pass out. much much later I wake up in a strange bed attached to a load of drips and still feeling the need to vomit. I press the button to call the nurse who duly arrives holding the worlds tiniest cardboard thing for me to puke in. I have a massive retch and cover the poor nurse in my puke. Then slowly oh so slowly, it dawns on me that I know this nurse. She is the mother of my brand new boyfriend.
she never liked me after that.

They analysed my blood and stools and decided that my food poisoning had been caused by the ingestion of human excrement. So the food in Brewers Fayre is offically shit.

I was in hospital for ten days and lost 2 and half stone!
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 14:53, Reply)
The World Turned Upside Down
So, I took the wife to a Harvester. I was on a budget, OK?

The World Turned Upside Down in Reading didn't do itself any favours by being directly downwind from the sewage works, but as long as they keep the windows closed, you're fine.

Any road up, we got our starters (mmmm... Prawn Cocktail, I literally oozed class in those days), and waited for our main meals.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Two hours later, the fire brigade asked the manager - within very shouty earshot - why there were still customers in the building, seeing as how the kitchen was a raging inferno and "the whole fucking place is about to go up".

"We didn't want to disturb their night out" he replied.

Result: Free meals in any Harvester for a year. I'm a sucker for punishment.
(, Sun 30 Apr 2006, 11:32, Reply)
Family meal
Once went on a big posh family meal to Spud'u'like.

In Cornwall I think.

Maybe Wales.

It was definely raining.

My cousin was asked what he wanted on his spud.

He said chips.

(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 23:40, Reply)
I'm Lovin' It
On the way home from work, needing a quick turnaround so I could go to the pub, I decided to go to the drive-thru at the local McDonalds (therefore it was a meal, I bought it whilst out and it was obviously crap, so this story counts, shut up). The quick turnaround part was slightly ruined by there being a massive queue. As I waited, impatiently tapping on the steering wheel, I noticed something rather odd. Every single car exiting the drive-thru contained people with massive smiles on their faces. Some were even laughing like retards, tears streaming down their cheeks. I gave the first few odd looks and began getting more and more intrigued as to what the hell could be so funny. As I waited I was imagining Ronald himself, handing out the burgers and blessing the patrons with his amazing comedic wit or, at the very least, a crudely drawn sign pinned, unnoticed, below the window reading "I am a cunthorse". But no. What did I see when I finally drove nearer to the window? Well it's the thing that has made me go "Awwwwwwww" in genuine heartfelt sympathy more than anything else has for quite a few years.

Standing at the window was what looked like a 12 year old boy but I'm guessing was, in reality, a late developer of a teenager. It was blatantly his first day and some neanderthal charver superior was standing behind him grunting orders at him, shaking his head and generally ripping the piss out of him whenever he got something wrong. He was struggling under pressure, screwing more and more things up the more he was shouted at, blushing furiously, being totally humiliated in public and couldn't understand why all the customers were finding it just so goddamn amusing. It felt cruel at the time but I just couldn't let his torture continue anymore. So I calmly pointed out that it was probably because he was standing at a window that made him visible to every car that went by, not only with his flies open, but with the end of his cock poking out for good measure.

If you're listening God, in my mind, he went on to win the lottery.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 20:27, Reply)
Mayo with that?

I used to work in the “restaurant” at Slough Ice Rink back in the late 80s. It was shit. Imagine the burger joint in Beavis & Butthead, except with lower recruiting standards, less rigorous working practices and zero supervision.

One guy who worked there was a likeable idiot called Mark. Absolute animal he was. He used to have a rather pervy fascination with one of the professional ice skaters that used to train there, a Scandinavian girl called Charlotta. Fair play she was proper fit and most blokes there fancied her, but you could tell with him it was a little on the wrong side.

Anyhoo, one day Charlotta came in and ordered a chicken salad roll. When the order was brought out back the usually terminally lazy and uninterested Mark suddenly perked up and jumped at the chance to make it. To everybody’s great surprise.

When he finished he stood in the middle of the kitchen holding the aloft in front of all the staff, then said “watch this” – then suddenly pulled out his erect cock, opened the roll up, and proceeded to wank briefly but vigorously until he popped his plums all over the contents. To everybody’s great surprise.

He then calmly tidied the roll up a bit, put the top back on, took it out front and served it to her. We all stood behind the counter and watched her eat it.

BTW Charlotta if you happen to be reading this (as if) – it was Mark Cleversley wot dun it. And he’s dead now so you can’t get him back. Ha. (but if you'd like to come and wank over my sandwiches feel free, any time)
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 17:25, Reply)
We've all had a dodgy kebab...
...but this really takes the cake.

So we were all pissed & wandering around town at god knows what hour when the inevitable cravings begin and we all headed to the nearest kebab joint.

I decide to get the kebab on rice - just chicken on rice with tomato sauce thankyouverymuch.

Get outside and are about to tuck into it when - horror of horrors - I spy an enormous, curly black pube peeking out of the chicken at me.

I reeled back into the kebab joint loudly proclaiming that I'd found a pube in my food (at which point half the people queing walked out). The guy serving looked at me and said "well, it can't be from anyone who works here" (eh?!?!)

The evening then culminated in me pulling my pants down to reveal my freshly waxed nethers and yelling "well it sure as fuck didn't come from me"

I even got a round of applause. Woo.
(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 4:01, Reply)
Okay - so not the classiest or most hygenic of restaurants, but still - as a student, its a tasty, yummy snack, with only a *slight* possibility of losing all sight and hearing due to food poisoning.


There we were - a group of us, 4 students, and a brother of one of the students, who was visiting us. We were sat there, by the door, eating away, when suddenly a tramp bursts through the door.

Now obviously, he's been to this restaurant before, as the manager, quick as a flash, starts striding towards the tramp, shouting something about "I thought I told you you were barred?". We think "Meh, fine, carry on eating". But what happened next nearly threatened my appetite to never return again.

Once the manager had reached the tramp, he had suddenly gone very quiet - and with a look of fright in his eyes, let rip with the most powerful projectile vomit I have ever, ever seen. Literally streams of bright red and orange sick were flying across the restaurant, and straight onto the manager. This lasted for a good few seconds - as the manager, all the employees, and every single person in the restaurant sat there totally gobsmacked.

The tramp, once finished, just looked at the manager, smacked his lips a couple of times as if to say "Ahh, that's better", and turned and walked out, as if nothing had ever happened.

Such are the goings on in my local area at Uni. Lovely.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 19:17, Reply)
Orange Squash
As a kid we used to go to Abersoch in Wales every year for our summer holidays. Every year we'd stop off in the same godforsaken Little Chef for some wooden food.

When I was about 8 we sat down for our usual crap food. I had a glass of orange squash with a straw.

I sucked up a straw full of squash, and very carefully and surreptitiously placed the other end of the straw by my father's earhole.

And blew. Hard.

Apparently the dulcet tones of 'Arrgh you fucking little cunt' followed by a clout round the back of the head is frowned upon in Little Chef eateries and we had to leave.

Me and dad still don't talk about the incident, though my step-mum thinks its hilarious.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 21:06, Reply)
Vomit and rummy bottoms...
My ambulance got sent to a local hotel where a guest had "D&V" (diarrhea and vomiting). He tells me the name of a local restaurant that he ate at earlier that evening and the dish he ate. Duly documented.
Get a second call to a woman at a different hotel suffering identical symptoms and she tells me the name of the restaurant and the dish she ate earlier.
Exactly the same as the first guy.

Just a minimum of two cases of an identical nature and it's a "notifiable poisoning" that involves the local health inspectors and with any luck the media. We then get a third call, this time to the restaurant itself where an employee ate the same dish earlier and is now suffering the same problems as the two customers.
We advise the manager that this is not an isolated problem and that he should withdraw the dish to protect any other customers and we also obtain a sample for the health inspectors. The manager then panics a bit and asks me if I will give him back the sample and not mention it to anyone, which of course I refuse.

Then he offers me a bribe. Not cash – but a free meal for two.
Yeah right, and I’ll bring my own drug-kit shall I?
(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 16:19, Reply)
Ooh! Ooh! I've got one, pick me! Pick me!
I had a meal with my ex-girlfriend in a pub one weekend, no special occasion or anything, just stopped off to eat.

Anyway, we were served by this girl who was about 15, very very shy to the point of being annoying ("Is everything okay?" every 5 minutes, etc).

But my favourite bit was when we asked what kind of fish was in one of the dishes.
"I'll ask the chef" she said, and toddled off to the kitchen, only to sheepishly return a few minutes later and say "Sorry, but chef says he doesn't know, as the packet only says fish, not what kind. It's white though, if that helps you?"

(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 14:33, Reply)
Things I Have Learned From This QoTW
1. Don't travel to England.
2. If you must travel to England, then for Christ's sake don't EAT anything.
(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 23:55, Reply)
Eating in a Happy Eater as a kid, by the side of a motorway somewhere.
Our food came, but my mother's steak was not done as she'd asked. She persisted with her sub-standard mastication until a young, clearly new waiter turned up, asking the usual, "Is everything all right?"

"Well, no actually," my Dad responded.

"Oh..." said the waiter, and promptly walked away.

(, Sun 30 Apr 2006, 19:31, Reply)
Medium Rare, please.
Once, whilst wondering around (as one does) at 8pm, I happened across a small, rather nice looking (from the outside, at least) restaurant. The prices were attractive and I was hungry, so I went inside.

It wasn't very nice at all inside.

Bare plaster walls, cracks in the ceiling, damp and a carpet so foul a pig would have put on wellingtons.

Anyhow, onto the food. Ordered a Sirloin steak, medium rare. Attractive prices, terrible engrish on the menu.

And waited.

And noticed that almost everyone else was waiting too.

And waited.

And contemplated the meaning of those little pieces of gunk you find in the corners of your eyes when you wake up.

And waited some more.

And when the steak finally arrived, it was cold. STONE cold, like it had just been whipped out of the fridge. Below room temperature.

It was also not medium rare, but well done.

Now, the thing that troubles me is that if it had been cooked, why the FUCK it had been put in the fridge before serving it to me?

I suspected it had been a leftover and had been taken out of the fridge but NOT re-heated.

And it had taken two hours to get to me.

I was not pleased. I berated the waiter in my limited cantonese. He actually retorted, telling me that he didn't have to listen to me
and that I was being unreasonable.

At this point, I lost my temper. I had just waited 2 hours for a steak that was cold when it got to me, not cooked as I asked and now the waiter was being derelict in his duties as a waiter.

I told him as much, in a very loud voice and spending particular attention to the fact that he was giving me backchat and as a waiter part of his job was to deal with complaints and he had better deal with this one and sharpish too.

I decided then that I wouldn't be getting the last two hours of my life back, calmly picked up my plate and handed it to the waiter, and walked out.

Half of the patronage, most still without sustenance, followed me.

Best part? The lady who had sitting next to me worked for one of the local newspapers as a restaurant reviewer.

Two weeks later, passing the same spot, where the restaurant had once stood was a shoe shop.

Been responsible for the downfall of a restaurant? Been there, done that.
(, Sun 30 Apr 2006, 12:57, Reply)
COMPLAIN - You usless twats
Yes, I could go into great length about bad meals I have had out or on a plane - indeed gut wrenching stuff.

However, what makes me more sick is reading all your whinging about bad food. Crap like 'I just ate it', 'didn't want to say anything' or 'looked / tasted horrible'.

Bunch of weak willed twats. The reason we have bad food in this, or any other Country is because we put up with it. If, for once, you made a stand, the rest of us would get better food and better service.

Next time COMPLAIN. If you are not happy take it to the Manager. Still not happy take it to the head office. Still not happy, speak to the local council / paper. They will give in. What have you got to lose?

Fucking sort it.

If all else fails, make her......
(, Sat 29 Apr 2006, 0:42, Reply)
What exactly is this meat?
I'm eating at a chinese in Wakefield. No qualms about the food, all is fine. Until a big black guy walks in carrying a dead cat by the tail. He slams it down on the counter and shouts "you're not getting any more till I get paid!" and storms out. Followed by most of the customers.

He MUST have been pissed, and just found the poor dead creature in the street somewhere. He MUST have. Or so I keep telling myself.
(, Wed 3 May 2006, 19:20, Reply)
West Sahara
In the desert. Literally the middle of nowhere.

My mate is a vegetarian. Find this little cafe type place in a little village, and the chap speaks French. (moi aussi)

So, no problem getting him to understand what a vegetarian would eat then.

The reply from the waiter was along the lines of:
'Mate, your in the fucking desert. There IS no fucking vegetation.'

Laughed until I cried.
(, Wed 3 May 2006, 18:35, Reply)
As I used to work with a chef....
I'm probably not the best person to go out for a meal with (not saying im gorden "fucking" ramdsy, cos he's an cuntybumface).

But me, my wife and her perents went out for a meal to pub down the road, that, so we were told, "did good grub". So off we go, all was well, until we actually walked into the pub, this is where the nightmare started.

First of, we walk upto the bar, asked for our table, all good. But then over walks my ex.... SHE WAS OUR BLOODY WAITRESS! So I'm sitting there, with my wife and in-laws and the ex is coming onto me while taking our orders.(with blaten cheesey lines like "We've got some nice rump, I know you like rump Matt *insert sleazy wink here*). So at this point the in-laws are giving me shifty looks, and theres a nice air of silence.

So we finnaly get our food. My steak, was supposed to be medium, looked more like the cow had been hit with a warm frying pan and put on the plate. But the best bit was my father-in-law ordered beef wellington. Cuts it open, and inside, along with the beef and the patê, was a chefs hat..... one stinking, sweating, cooked, black and white chefs hat... (not the tall ones before you ask).

At that point, we promply left. On the way out, the ex steps out with a "Aww was good to see you Matt" and then tried to hug me, but she was quickly stopped by my wifes fist.... floored her in one.

Don't think we'll be welcome back again.
(, Sun 30 Apr 2006, 1:44, Reply)
My grandparents and the fluffy stew
Many years ago my grandparents went to some place in africa I believe (will post when I rememeber) and ordered a stew. When they asked what exactly was in it, the waiter pointed to a box of...live kittens.

True story.
(, Sat 29 Apr 2006, 18:38, Reply)
Kids love a trip to McDonalds...
...but I reckon hundreds of the little buggers, perhaps even thousands are being denied this simple joy because thier parents are veggies or even worse, vegans - you know, the fundamentalist type that sniff with disapproval at you if you so much as pick up a drumstick.*

I qualify this statement with three phrases: Fruit Bag. Carrot Sticks. What the fuck.

You see, I've yet to meet a kid under ten who doesn't hop impatiently from one foot to the other at the prospect of a Maccy D's cheeseburger or at the very least, chicken nuggets. It's why they want to go there in the first place. And I can only imagine the bitter disappointment of the pillocks they've been stuck with as parents saying 'No no no, meat is murder, munchkin - you have a fruit bag instead'. Fucking fruit bag? If you were a nipper and in McDonalds, how gutted would you be to be stuck with that? Without burgers, a trip to McDonalds is utterly pointless and qualifies fully as a crap meal out. I mean, you don't go for the decor or the witty repartee of the serving staff, do you?

I've made a pact with myself that if I ever witness a kid being denied in such a fashion, I mean to buy an extra cheeseburger and slip it to the little tyke somehow - 'Here you go - see how the other half live, halfpint' :)

* /off topic but still worth a mention: A former girlfriend's elder sister did that to me once - she was one of the really hardcore vegans, as was her hubby. I've never seen a more emaciated pair outside of a country beset by famine or a rehab centre. The hubby was okay to talk to and a real music lover, but the sister was an opinionated cunt, especially when it came to preaching about veganism. And preaching she was at a barbecue hosted by some friends of mine. She went on almost incessantly, noticeably pissing off my mate who was preparing the fine victuals that most of us were enjoying. So, I ambled across to the barbie and reached for a drumstick with a quick 'watch this' wink at my mate before rejoining the group with my prize.

As expected, she made no attempt to hide her disapproval in either gesture or word. Whilst she wittered on with many a poisonous glance at me I ate my meaty treat with almost theatrical gusto. When I had naught but the bone left I told her that I have no problem with her choice of sustenance, and even though I myself don't agree with it, I respect her decision to chuck whatever she likes down her neck. However, I pointed out, since she obviously had no such respect for me or my choice not to break with the way we were made on that score (i.e. with incisors and canines in our jaws) then I felt complled to demonstrate how that lack of respect on her part made me feel. The foolish woman issued the challenge 'Go on, then'. To be honest, the act of eating and enjoying it inches away from her was originally intended as the demonstration I spoke of, but this subtle point was evidently lost on the insensitive twat. I decided that I needed to crank it up a notch. So, I pulled the front of her top forward and dropped the greasy bone into her almost non-existent cleavage. The resulting hoo-haa was most entertaining. The softarsed bint even demanded a lift home so that she could shower - a demand that I'm happy to report fell upon deaf ears. She had to make do with a moist towelette and my mate the chef giggling uncontrollably every time he looked at her.

She didn't speak to me for nearly 18 months after that and even once she did, never raised veganism vs carnivorism ever again. A result on both counts, I feel. And the GF? 'We always try to tell her to shut up, but she never listens to us - good work there'. What a girl she was :)
(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:40, Reply)
In Hanoi, I hired a lad to take me round all the sights on the back of his motorbike. At lunchtime I said I was fine going with him to where he'd normally take his lunch, to see a bit of real city life, as you will.
Took us to a back-alley open aired restaraunt, nothing wrong with it at all. Ordered lunch for me, nothing wrong with that either.
It was only halfway through the stir-fry he got me that I noticed all the roasted, hairless, quartered dogs hanging up in the kitchen.

Still, was pretty tasty.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 18:06, Reply)
I'm a bit cursed like this
I went into a different noodle chain (since defunct, thank god). I ordered a phad thai. (Yes, alright, I live in west London. It shows.)

What I got was a plate of overcooked rice noodles, covered in egg and drowned in lime juice. It was like eating rancid vomit.

I ate two mouthfuls, nearly threw up, then called the waitress over. She got the chef out - always good for a laugh, I guess most people chicken out at this point - who told me it's an authentic Thai recipe. Um, no. It's not. So how would you know?, he says.

"I'm Thai."

This, of course, is a blatant lie. I'm Anglo-Saxon top to toe. But the look of confusion was great, and being in a very PC-type area, he didn't have the balls to question why a little white girl was claiming to be from there, and I walked out without paying for my starter, main or drink.

A mate of mine who bought a burrito in Mexico City. She thought something tasted funny, and looked into the burrito. And realised she was eating COLD RAW CHICKEN. It hadn't even been so much as near a radiator. She had food poisoning for three days.

As a child, I was once sold a cheeseburger in Burger King with no burger in it. A 'cheese', if you will.

I have many more.
(, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 15:20, Reply)
A friend of mine once used to work in a greasy spoon in the city. Naturally he would come across many lovely folks, and several uptight businessmen.

One day, a particularly uptight businessman with severe penis compensation issues decided to have breakfast there, throughout the course of which he managed to be so howwible to his female waitress that she was found crying in the back room.

The cockwaggler then asked where the toilet was.


My friend coated the doorhandle to the toilet in chilli powder, before he arrived to it.

The man proceeds to open it, unzip his fly and cover his unprotected manhood in hot-as-fuck-turkish-owned-greasy-spoon-chilli-powder.

He sat back down again, uneasy in his seat, before letting out an almighty yelp, and running back to the toilet.


Apologies for my small willy
(, Tue 2 May 2006, 21:39, Reply)
I once got sausage, chips and gravy from a chip-shop
The woman behind the counter tentatively placed the sausage atop the pile of chips, and said "Mind that sausage doesn't fall off."

Being slighty pissed, I laughed it off, said "Yeah sure" and on my way out the door, struck a silly pose on one leg with one hand in the air whilst I went "Wooooooaaahhh!" whilst jiggling the tray of chips in the other hand.

The sausage promptly fell onto the pavement causing much ridicule from my friends who still rib me about it to this day.

Poetic justice.
(, Tue 2 May 2006, 18:56, Reply)
free curry
Back in the heady days of unemployment, my brother and I took a road trip to the Republic of Ireland on his faithfull GPZ500 Bike. Off we set, with a full set of camping gear on my back, with me on pillion to the depths of Ireland one shiny summer. Many a tea stop later, we arrive in Wexford, a charming place, and secure a camp site beside the sea and pitch our tent. All is well with the world. Bike engine quietly making 'pinging' sounds in the sun, tent pitched and we're preparing for a night out in a nice town. We find a club in Wexford (well, THE club) and secure entry, in exchange for several punts. (pre euro days) Inside, we find we can exchange our entry stubs for a free curry, provided by the club. wow, says us, great idea. The curry was rubbish. textureless and flavourless, it had no redeaming features whatsoever, over spiced, over cooked over priced at 'free'. I couldn't face mine after 1 mouthfull. Big brother on the other hand wolfs his, and mine, down in around 4 minutes flat. We continue our night out. ... several hours later, back in the tent, i am awoken by the sound and sight of my sibling franticly digging his way out of the tent in order to vomit. He can't get the zipper up. It's very much stuck. In the end, after 20 seconds of very frantic fighting, he gives up and with the strengh that only the truly desperate can muster, rips the lining of the tent, 'twixt front flaps and ground sheet and sticks his unshaven face out the resulting gap to hurl the 2 portions of curry onto Irelands fine green green grass.I giggle. We go back to sleep. Come the morning, we have to half crawl/half leap over the mound of vomit outside the entrance of our tent. on closer inspection, and to our wonderment, the puke has settled, upon ejection,into the form it was injested. That is to say, rice on the bottom, meat on the top. Nothing else sullying the fine disply, no carrots, nothing. It was almost a perfectly formed portion of curry, if slightly wafting of bile. After admiring this gastric wonderment, we realise we can't get back into our tent without disturbing this entity. Clean it up? Be buggered, we unpeg the dome tent and drag it 6 feet to the left and cover the extrusion with a placcy bag, secured with tent pegs.
(, Tue 2 May 2006, 0:25, Reply)
Last week me and my mate decided we fancied a nice meal in the new wetherspoons in Exeter.
We decided on curry but they had run out of naan bread, which to be honest was its selling point, so after much deliberation we ordered fish and chips, thinking that it would be nice served up with some delectable tartar sauce.

About 20 minutes later our food came, it looked horrible. The chips were brown and soggy, the fish looked a bit weird and the peas, well they were just peas but there was probably something wrong with them. This would all have been alright, however, there was NO TARTAR SAUCE. Enraged, we consulted the waitress, who said that they had run out. But WHY were we not informed of this as we were the naan bread, which like the tartar sauce had been the main selling point of our chosen dish?!

We begrudgingly forced down the lifeless disappointment that was our food, it was not great. Then we started playing around with sachets of mayonnaise, seeing if we could pop them with karate chops. We couldn't, but then I worked out that if we worked as a team, with me rolling up half the sachet and my friend doing the chopping, we were far more likely to succeed. And so, on the second attempt, a glorious spew of thick mayonnaise sprayed out about 10 feet from our table, or so we thought...

Suddenly amidst our childish giggling we heard an angry voice from the other side of the pub. Now this is a big pub, a converted church, and this cry of anguish was coming from 40-50ft away. A disgruntled student was pointing at a white blob on his arm exclaiming "that's not funny." and "do you want your chewing gum back?"

Suddenly it dawned upon us, we had utterly miscalculated the power of this new weapon. As Robert Oppenheimer said when he built the world's first atomic bomb; "I have become the destroyer of worlds.". Half the pub was coated in specks of thick gooey mayonnaise. The sofas, the chairs, the tables, and yes, the locals. All leading back in a triangular fashion to our table.

We downed our wine and ran away giggling uncontrollably. That fucking showed THEM.
(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 16:40, Reply)
the pizzler in sizzler
this story is one of my fondest memories of my younger cousin who passed away a few years ago from cancer and also a rather unpleasant dining experience.

when i was 9 or thereabouts my mum and i lived with my uncle and his famly in australia for about 6 months.

shortly after we'd arrived in the country the whole australian contingent of our family thought they'd take us to a sizzler restaurant for a big meal as we didnt really have big all you can eat buffet restaurants in england back then (1990) so it was something of a novelty.

the restaurant was heaving that night and we waited ages for our table to be ready, when we were finally seated i was sat with my two cousins at the end of the table and their mum disappeared to the other end to try and have a nice quiet meal.

the younger of my two cousins was only about 2 at the time and was playing up a bit as he wanted to run around and cause havoc (as any self respecting 2 year old might) but we made him sit down instead. once we'd started eating he complained he wanted to go to the toilet so i told his mum but she just ignored him (i think she'd partook of a little too much wine as was beyond caring if he made a scene). so his protests continue until it gets to the point he stops shouting and just stands up on his chair, drops his trousers and unleashes an arcing stream of piss through the air onto the table and all the food thereupon. his mum still doesnt really bat an eyelid so i jump up and pull his trousers up (i was a rather responsible 9 year old) and tell another adult what he'd done. cue a hasty request for the bill and an even hastier exit from the restaurant by our whole group. the look of shock on the faces of the other customers sticks with me until today but it was the one guy who was with his wife/girlfriend who saw it happen and laughed so hard he nearly choked that made it all the more priceless.

and that is my favourite memory of my departed cousin, the little pisser.
(, Fri 28 Apr 2006, 13:29, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1