I have written here several times down the years about customer complaints, both justified and idiotic. Working in hospitality they are an ineivitability. No matter how good you are, how consistent, you will get complaints.
Very few of them stick in the memory, but some, by virtue of their extreme idiocy, do. And one popped into my mind as I was plating up a dish this lunchtime, and I thought, why not, it's as good a thing to write a blog about as any. It's also an entertaining example of how events can play out in ways you may not expect at the time.
It sticks in the mind as it combined stupidity with a petty malice and venality which leaves me with no qualms about taking the piss out of it publicly. I rarely let bad reviews lie, if I feel they're unfair I might demur, if I feel they're reasonable I'll make a point of apologising. If they're stupid I'll take pleasure in replying very politely.
This one got ignored.
It happened on a Sunday, which is another reason I remember it. Sunday is a very busy day for us, so we have a shorter menu than those on the rest of the week. This table, a walk-in we'd never seen before (and, for obvious reasons, will probably never see again) didn't want the menu, she asked if she could have a Ploughman's. It was early in the day, I wasn't particularly busy yet, so said sure, fine, no problem. Sent it out, it came back eaten, checked back fine according to front of house, I went about my day.
A few days later I received an (extremely poorly written) email complaining about the meal. The lady seemed particularly fixated on "the pickled onions being mushy". This, dear reader, is because the "pickled" onions are roasted Borettane onions in balsamic vinegar, they're gorgeous, people come here for the Ploughman's specifically because of them.
Still, an unhappy customer is an unhappy customer, so I sent am email back explaining about the onions, a fairly pro forma regret expressed about her dissatisfaction, but gently pointing out that maybe the time to complain was when the staff asked you how your meal was. If you look at my replies to wonky reviews you will see this is a consistent theme of mine, and if you come away from this blog with nithing else, please take my heartfelt entreaty that, if you are unhappy with your meal when you go out, say something at the time. Most places want you to leave happy and satisfied, they will do something. Waiting a week and then sniping on the internet helps no-one, and certainly not you.
This was not enough for our Tina (her review's still up on Tripadvisor, two bubble). She emailed me back, demanding a refund, for a meal, I might remind you, that was eaten in full. She went on about the onions again. I replied, politely, that I wasn't going to refund her, because she and her husband had eaten their meal in its entirety, and refunding someone forty quid because they didn't like an onion seemed somewhat excessive.
At this point, Tina was taking up a but too much bandwidth for my liking, so when her next email dropped my reply was somewhat more terse.
This was in no small part because Tina's next email was a threat. She wasn't letting it go, she was upping the ante. I must refund at once, or a bad review would be coming my way. Aha, there we go. The crux of the matter. A good old-fashioned shakedown. How could I not have recognised the dance?
Needless to say, refund came there none. My reply to her would best be summarised as, ah, pithy.
And, a few days later, the review appeared. By now we had moved beyond the onions (though they were still in there) to a wide range of complaints, all of which were new to me, clearly, Tina had decided to go big. The bad review had to be written, and even she realised "I didn't like the onions" would come off as a little mad as the sole reason for it.
As I said before, I normally reply to bad reviews, this one I left alone, partially because I'd already said all I had to say to her, partly because it is such an off-kilter read that anyone who's been subjected to a haranguing by an elderly Scouse drunk will instantly recognise it for what it is.
And there you have it. My daftest complaint. And truly, I'm grateful for it. It's a gift that has given many times over, and so it was that as I plated a vegetarian platter and spooned some Borettane gently onto the plate, to nestle companionably between the cheese and the olives my sous chef answered the standard call of "not sure about these onions" with the standard response of "look a little mushy to me, chef", for Tina, you have entered our kitchen lore, and you will always be a part of it, and when my young chefs go out into the world, you will become part of the lexicon of their kitchens, too. You have becone immortal, Tina, though I know you'd trade it all for a refund.
The platter came back completely devoured, btw, they loved the onions.
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