Sending Back Drinks

Recently while at Chevy's Mexican "restaurant," I sent back a veggie quesadilla because the carrots resembled wood shavings and the cheese was like plastic.

I got a new quesadilla, which of course was just as bad, but I left with a sense of accomplishment. That I'd stood up for my rights.

Contrast that with a recent visit to Bimbo's 365 Club in San Francisco, a 1920s style night club replete with prohibition style alcohol levels. I ordered a Stolichnaya (streetname: Stoli) with grapefruit juice (streetname: Greyhound) and received a glass full of iced grapefruit juice (streetname: grapefruit juice).

Considering that there was a two-drink-minimum and the juice itself was $4.50, I was justifiably angry, but did nothing about it.

Two weeks later at a semi-posh restaurant called Caesar's in the same North Beach neighborhood my roommate and I ordered $4 Greyhounds. The waiter set them down next to each other, and I was startled at the difference in color.

Whereas my roommate's drink was light yellow in hue, mine was a robust canary. I took a sip and was nonplused to find that while vodka was detectable, my roommate was clearly getting more bang for his buck.

It's important to note I had two other Greyhounds at a Chinese restaurant two hours earlier. I had watched the bartender make them and they were easily two parts alcohol to one part juice. (We tipped that bartender $5 on a $16 bill). I called the waiter (Sid) over politely explained that although I wasn't prone to such behavior I was sending my drink back due to lack of alcohol. He understood, but to my surprise he took both my roommate's and my drink.

Upon his return, the waiter put two drinks on the table that were considerably lighter in color. My roommate's's drink was nearly transparent and mine had been altered from a robust canary to a satisfying flaxen color.

To call the request a success would be an understatement.

Later in the evening I excused myself to the lavatory. On the way back to the table I stopped in the restaurant's bar, a fine establishment with a jukebox that played actual 45s.

Leaning heavily on the bar, I ordered a Greyhound and settled onto a stool. I took two large sips and perhaps feeding off my earlier success, said to the bartender, "You know, this is mostly juice."

"Well, you know I put quite a bit of alcohol in there," he said as he poured what amounted to at least another full shot of Stoli into the glass.

"But that's it," he said.

I thanked him and complimented him on his tie, inquiring as to who the artist of the familiar painting was. "Seurat," he said walking away. Next time I will compliment the tie before sending the drink back, but the endeavor was unquestionably a success.

— Aaron Tassano (aaronaroundthecorner@yahoo.com)

— graphic by Mike Fisher (crspeedy@crspeedy.com)