“Did You Order the Flaming Swordfish… or ... A Study in Memory, Menu Mishaps, and Why I No Longer Fear Parsley
Your Order is Not Safe: The Absurd Theater of Modern Restaurants
Introduction: The Lie We Tell Ourselves at Restaurants
There’s a universal fiction we all agree to the moment we sit down and pick up a menu. It’s not written anywhere, but it hangs in the air between us and the person holding the tiny leather-bound book of specials.
The fiction is this:
“I won’t write this down. I’ll remember.”
What follows is a silent negotiation between optimism and dread, as the server nods with what I can only describe as the serene confidence of someone on trial for a crime they can’t recall committing.
This is not a criticism of servers. This is a celebration of human fallibility.
My Father, the Avenging Diner
I was raised by a man who treated restaurants as battlegrounds for consumer rights. He returned water for being too watery. He inspected bread baskets like they were contraband at customs.
He walked into kitchens uninvited. He asked rhetorical questions loudly:
“Why does the food at the next table look better? Are they celebrities? Are they children of royalty?”
Thus, I was conditioned young:
Never return food. Never complain. Never make eye contact with parsley.
Parsley as Passive-Aggression
Parsley is not food. Parsley is a message. A tiny, green, passive-aggressive reminder that somewhere between your order and the plate, someone gave up.
I have ordered "no garnish" more times than I can count. Yet, there it is: a little green flourish, mocking me silently.
I’ve come to believe parsley isn’t a herb. It’s a loophole in the Geneva Convention.
The Theater of Memory Over Notepads
Somewhere along the way, someone decided writing things down was an act of weakness. Servers perform this act of defiant memory not for efficiency, but for pride.
And who am I to stand in the way of someone’s one-man Broadway production of “Les Orders Misérables”?
Yet, inevitably:
“Did you want the salad with or without dressing? Was it dressing on the side? Did you say chicken? Or shrimp? Or did I hallucinate that part entirely?”
Memory is fallible. Write it down. Tattoo it on your arm. Record it in ancient runes. Just don’t trust your neurons.
Why I Won’t Send Food Back (And Neither Should You)
Returning food requires a level of bravery I simply do not possess. I have seen too much. I know what happens behind swinging kitchen doors after 9 p.m. on a Saturday.
I fear retaliation. I fear judgment. I fear an onion-based vendetta so deeply buried in my entree I won’t discover it until years later in therapy.
So I adapt. I eat what arrives. If my rare steak is still mooing? Fine. If my salad is sprinkled with artisanal aquarium gravel? Fine. If I ordered soup and received a flaming swordfish? Fine.
Because I was raised to survive. Not to thrive.
Dining Out as Existential Theater
Eating out isn’t really about food. It’s about the human need to believe someone else has things under control — that the world operates on a system of trust and competence.
We know better. But we keep tipping 20% because hope is the last condiment standing between us and chaos.
The Emotional Lifecycle of a Misremembered Order
Denial: “They’ll get it right.”
Anger: “They didn’t write it down!”
Bargaining: “Maybe it’s close enough.”
Depression: “Why is there parsley?”
Acceptance: “Fine. I’ll eat it.”
Repeat next Saturday at 7:30 p.m.
Why Parsley Will Outlive Us All
Parsley survives not because it matters. It survives because it cannot be stopped. It thrives on neglect, feeds on oversight, and flourishes in chaos.
It is the cockroach of cuisine, the petty tyrant of plating, the garnish that says:
“You may think you control this meal. But I’m still here.”
Eat, Laugh, Tip, Repeat
So no, I’m not giving my server a cognitive exam. I’m not here to challenge their recall abilities. I just want a meal — preferably without surprise greenery.
And if things go wrong, I won’t return it. I won’t complain.
I’ll smile, tip well, and write about it later.
Because life is short. Parsley is forever. And somewhere in the back, a cook is still laughing.
#DiningOut #RestaurantLife #ParsleyTrauma #EssaysOfLife#ModernLife #FoodAndFailure #SubstackEssays #LifeLessons #CustomerExperience #TheaterOfTheAbsurd