Too noisy, or too meaty? Don’t moan at me if a restaurant doesn’t cater to your every need or whim
Recently I received an email from a woman who wanted me to do something about chefs using nuts in desserts. Her husband has an acute life-threatening allergy to peanuts, and she was furious that so few sweet things were open to him. I replied politely that, while I was sympathetic to her husband’s condition, she had to be realistic. The condition affects around 1% of the population and expecting chefs to design their menus to cater to such a tiny minority was a victory of hope over expectation. Refreshingly, she admitted she hadn’t considered how few people were affected. Her husband would just have to reconcile himself to the default of vanilla ice cream, which may be dull but, all things considered, is better than dying of anaphylactic shock.
If only all the people who whinged at me about the perceived failings of restaurants were so reasonable, but they’re not. My inbox groans under the weight of “what about my needs?” fury. There are the ones who complain about chefs having the temerity to open restaurants full of hard surfaces into which they then pipe the crack and ricochet of noisy music, rendering conversation all but impossible. There are those who rant, with the boggled-eyed fury of the blasphemed-against pope, about the iniquity of seating that hasn’t been designed specifically with their arse in mind. How bloody dare they? There are those driven to distraction by small print and low lighting, by the lack of a serious beer menu, an unwillingness to cater to small children, or a refusal to install a basement torture garden for passing members of the BDSM community. I may have made one of these up.
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