Blog Post : My Horrible Restaurant Experience

 If you’ve read my previous blog titled "My Luck with Butter Chicken," you’ll already know the kind of luck I have when it comes to this one dish. In this post, let me tell you about a recent disaster that took place during a visit to the trade fair—yes, this is the story of "My Horrible Restaurant Experience".

Now, I’m someone who barely steps out of the house unless it’s absolutely necessary. But attending the annual trade fair is kind of a tradition. So this year, my family and I planned a weekday visit (Wednesday evening to be precise), hoping for fewer crowds and a more peaceful experience.

After munching on the usual fair snacks—popcorn, waffles, Delhi papad, and some cauliflower fritters—we decided to treat ourselves to a fancy dinner at a nearby restaurant. We reached there around 7:30 PM, which felt like perfect dinner timing.

But here’s something I don’t get—why do fancy restaurant waiters always make you wait just to take your order, and then make you wait even longer for the food to arrive?

Anyway, back to the point.

As soon as the waiter arrived, I asked my  regular question:

“Do you have butter chicken?”

He replied, “Yes, ma'am.”

And just like that, I was over the moon. Butter chicken dream activated.

So we ordered fried rice, naan with butter chicken, and chole puri.

                                                       Images from the restaurant 

                        

After about 10 minutes, the fried rice arrived. We shared it while waiting for the rest of our order. Then we waited... and waited. Finally, 30 minutes later, the waiter brought out the chicken, but without the naan. The chicken looked dull and unusually dark. Before we could question it, he disappeared.

Another 15 minutes passed, and he returned with the naan. So it took 45 minutes in total for naan and “butter chicken” to land on our table.

By then, we were starving and dug in immediately. And oh, my. god.

The chicken was way too salty and smelled awful. The naan? Undercooked and rubbery.

We called the waiter and asked, “Is this really your butter chicken?”

And he casually replied, “Oh, that’s pepper chicken.”

My little heart—full of butter chicken expectations—shattered.

I asked him to try the food himself. He tasted it and agreed: “Yes, it's too salty and undercooked.” He even tried tearing the naan and failed—it was that bad.

As he was about to take the plate away, my sister took a piece of the chicken and cut it in half.

It was red. Bloody. Uncooked.

I felt like throwing up right then and there.

The waiter apologized and said he wouldn’t charge us for the meal, which was honestly the bare minimum at that point.

Feeling defeated, disgusted, and still very much butter-chicken-deprived, we headed home. On the way, my sister tried to cheer me up by suggesting we stop for ice cream, but the place was too crowded and I just wasn’t in the mood.

That night, I went to bed on an empty stomach, nauseated by the lingering chicken smell and still dreaming of a butter chicken that never was.

This post is a part of Blogchatter's #BlogchatterFoodFest campaign.