James K.
Google
Let me paint a picture for you: I took my family out for a nice dinner, ordered a steak for my son, medium rare, just how he likes it. What we got looked like it had been cooked in the fiery pits of Mordor. It was so overdone, I thought they were pranking us with a piece of roof shingle.
No big deal I sent it back politely. You know, like a normal person who doesn’t enjoy chewing on boot leather.
Fast forward through our entire meal. We’re done. Plates cleared. Dessert menus offered. And guess what never showed up? That’s right: The mythical replacement steak. At this point, I’m convinced it either never existed or it went to college and started a new life in another state.
So I tell the server, “Hey, since we never got the steak, just take it off the bill, cool?” Apparently not cool. Because out stomps the manager like she’s auditioning for an episode of Cops: Steakhouse Edition, threatening to call the actual police if I didn’t pay for the steak we never received.
I don’t know what’s more disturbing—the fact that someone thinks this is a reasonable business practice or that they’re willing to waste 911’s time over a piece of imaginary meat.
Anyway, I paid. Because I didn’t want to get arrested over a phantom filet mignon. But you can bet your gristle I’ll never be back.
If you enjoy overcooked meat, undercooked service, and the thrill of being criminalized for asking not to pay for food you never got, this is the place for you.