Warmed-up Bordeaux

“While traveling and studying in Japan, I lived with a relatively wealthy (and very lovely) family in Osaka. Since I’m from Australia they wanted me to feel more comfortable and at home, so they took me to an Outback Steakhouse place… we don’t actually have them at home, although I understand they’re popular in the USA. [Editor’s Note: Taken in context, this is one of the funniest sentences I have ever read.]

“Anyway, while we were eating a British couple sat next to us. I was excited to hear English for the first time in a few weeks, so I basically shamelessly eavesdropped on them. They ordered their meals and the man asked for a glass of red wine. It was eventually brought out to them, and after a minute I heard the woman asking the man if he could do something about the fact that the wine was frozen cold.

“He called over the waiter and told the man that the wine was chilled. The waiter cheerfully agreed that yes, the wine was cold, and wasn’t that so great?

“The man, slightly exasperated, went through an explanation of how this kind of red wine should not be chilled — it was a Bordeaux or something, I can’t remember, but definitely not something that should be served chilled.

“Anyway, after a lot of back-and-forth to break through the language barrier, the waiter finally understood the problem and exclaimed, ‘I’ll warm it up for you!’ The man spluttered and asked what he meant, to which the waiter cheerfully told the man he’d stick it in the microwave.

“I had to explain to my host family why I was choking on my steak because I was laughing so hard.” — Ken Smith

Do you Benedict?

“My then-boyfriend and I used to frequent the only diner in our area. It wasn’t particularly good or fancy, but it was 24 hours and always dependable.

“We stop in for lunch/brunch one afternoon and the place is nearly empty. The waitress is young and clearly new to serving, but pleasant enough and takes our drink orders no problem.

“When she comes back to take food orders, my BF asks for a BLT. She asks for his bread preference, and everything is fine. I order eggs Benedict.

“‘How would you like your eggs?’ she asks. No biggie, this question is probably habit and she’s just not paying attention. I tell her poached.

“‘Scrambled?’ No, I explain, I would like my eggs poached. Benedict. This explanation doesn’t help at all. She seems skeptical.

“‘Do you want any cheese on your eggs?’

“‘No,’ I tell her, “I would like my eggs Benedict. Poached, on top of an English muffin, with hollandaise sauce. She’s clearly baffled and also apparently the only person working the dining room.

“The hollandaise sauce is the big problem. She thinks she may have to charge me extra for that. She needs to talk to the cook to make sure they have it. I try to point out the item on the menu, but she’s insistent that she needs to speak with the cook.

“At this point, the cook has wandered out from the kitchen to run some food because the waitress is completely tied up at our table. She walks up to him, clearly flustered, and half-yells, ‘This bitch wants her eggs BENEDICT! Do you do that?’

“In the end, I also ordered a BLT.” — Alissa Levenson

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