My aunt and uncle have lived their entire lives in a small Ohio town (population 1500), and I get over to visit them occasionally. The town boasts a well-known Amish-themed restaurant, and we always end up eating there.
Last Wednesday I dropped in for a visit, and as usual we went to the Amish restaurant. My uncle (who was never a farmer) keeps farmer's hours, so 5:30 seems a little late for dinner—that's when we got to the restaurant. Apparently the Masonic Lodge got there just before we did. Hattie, the cute waitress (she really is Amish) took our orders and three of us bustled off to the salad bar (my uncle ordered something much simpler).
We ate and talked for a long time. A very long time. Finally the main course came. Two orders of fried chicken (the menu said it was the best east of the Mississippi), one beef dinner (mine), and one thing that the menu claimed would be sort of a salad with a chicken breast (that was for my uncle).
My uncle's meal wasn't at all what he was expecting. The chicken was tough and under-cooked (perhaps all the Masonic business had put too much stress on the kitchen). My mother, aunt, and uncle complained all through the meal about the food (and remember that it had taken a very long time to arrive).
When Hattie came back to ask how everything was, they all just smiled and said, "Fine."
Later my uncle explained. They know all the people in the restaurant. He eats there several times a week. It's not worth making enemies for the sake of one complaint, he said.
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It's interesting being on the other end of the kitchern again. I'm serving at a really good italian retaurant here in Charlotte. When we get new cooks it makes my life HELL. Also when we get in parties of twenty, or so, they tend to constipate things for the rest of the tables. : ( Soooo many variables in a professional kitchen. Kinda wish I was Amish some times.
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