Are you an adventurous eater? Have you ever ordered something, only for it to be very different from what you expected? We've collected a series of stories about restaurant diners doing just that, often with hilarious results.
When Fried Fish Means Fried Fish
“A few years ago, I volunteered for two months as a teacher in El Salvador. A group of teachers invited me to the beach for lunch one day. The invitation was really an honor.
We arrived at a beach club. It was my first time ordering seafood in Spanish. I saw ‘pescado frito’ on the menu, which to me literally translated to ‘fried fish.’ I thought it was perfect, just like fish and chips back home. We went for a swim while the cook prepared the food.
When the meal arrived, it was not a fillet but a whole fish looking up at me on the plate. Like many Americans, my dining experience is pretty far removed from the animal from which the meat was taken. I’d never eaten an entire fish. But this was not a situation where I could send it back.
I told one of the teachers who also had pescado frito that this was my first time eating a whole fish. She kindly showed me how to eat it and avoid the bones. It turned out to be one of the best seafood meals of my life.”
When the Name of the Menu Item Embarrasses You
“Not me but my innocent best friend embarrassed herself in front of the steward and other people sitting nearby.
One evening while returning from airport, we (three of us) saw this newly opened musical cafe opened, heard our stomach grumble, went straight ahead.
So my friend is a pure vegetarian (literally and metaphorically). She grew up in the most conservative environment. So she’s in the learning all sorts of new smutty stuff.
We sat, drank water, and started discussing what to order from their never-ending menu. Zeroed down to Pasta and Pizza. We gave her the responsibility to choose Pizza as she’s a vegetarian whereas we ordered Chicken Pasta Alfredo. She called the steward and ordered whatever we had decided. Then turning to us she says loudly (music was playing so had to up the voice), ‘I ordered chicken alfredo pasta, garlic bread, and still if we have some leftover we can go home and have a threesome.’
To this the steward is staring at us blank face, the people eating at a table dropped their spoon and turned towards this table which was talking of threesome, while at another table, the mother started whispering something to her kids. The third person on the table (her husband) and I were dumbfound at what she was saying.
She saw our faces and says again ‘What?! We are three people so I decided to have a threesome, wouldn’t that be awesome and tasty!’
At this, I immediately snatched the menu and saw that the restaurant had a pizza called, ‘Threesome.’
That was the quietest lunch I ever had in a restaurant without taking my head up and looking around.
We explained later to her what that means. We still pull her leg for that one.”
Yeah, That’s Not Cheese
“I ordered head cheese while in Germany. I couldn’t tell by the name what I’d ordered and felt adventurous. But not that adventurous. I was living in Germany as my husband was serving in the American Army there. I was showing my parents around and we were on a Rhine River cruise. I took one look at this single slab of gelatinous chunks and was not able to take one bite. They thought it was hilarious that I was so stupid to order something without knowing what it was. They wouldn’t offer me any of what they ordered and I was too embarrassed to order a second time so I skipped a meal.
In case you don’t know what head cheese is, this is what Wikipedia says: German Sülze. Head cheese or brawn is a cold cut that originated in Europe. A version pickled with vinegar is known as souse. Head cheese is not a dairy cheese, but a terrine or meat jelly made with flesh from the head of a calf or pig, or less commonly a sheep or cow, and often set in aspic.”
Yeah That’s Pronounced, Oh Never Mind
“Not something I ordered, but…
One Summer evening, while in college, I took a new girl out on a date, to one of my favorite Mexican restaurants. She was incredibly attractive and beautifully dressed. We both were in our early twenties.
We started out by ordering drinks. I ordered a Margarita, and after some lengthy indecision, she proceeded to tell the waiter that she wanted a ‘Cogg-Nack’ (adult beverage) ‘on the rocks.’ It was pretty obvious that the Hispanic waiter was holding back a grin while I just looked back at him, sheepishly. With this kind of a great start, I couldn’t help but think this was probably a fairly accurate preview of what our evening’s dining experience was going to be like. Fingers crossed, nonetheless.
Part of her meal order was ‘Gaaz-paacho’ (her pronunciation of Gazpacho) soup and when it was served, she indignantly complained that her soup was cold and loudly asked ‘what kind of restaurant IS this?!’ After I and the waiter convinced her that it’s supposed to be that way, she turned to me and said (equally loud) ‘well, I guess what can you expect from people that can’t learn to speak English and don’t they know that soup is supposed to be hot?’ Yikes! I frantically hoped I could find a trap-door to fall through, though I’d have been happy to just crawl under the table and disappear..
She suggested that I order some ‘Naa-Choze’ (her pronunciation of Nachos), after which I shared with her, and, for the time remaining, we somehow got through the rest of dinner without her instigating any additional drama.
Yeah, she was a real gem, and, in case you’re wondering, in spite of the fact that she was hot, there WASN’T a second date.”
Pepperoni is Just Peppers, Right?
“Oh boy have I been dying to share this story!
So I was in the Philippines in 2013. Now being a hardcore vegetarian nonalcoholic who doesn’t even consume eggs (whether separately or as an ingredient) or seafood, I had a very tough time finding palatable food there. And the fact that I couldn’t (read hated) cooking made things even worse.
Now this one day I got a craving for pizza. I went to this pizza place near my apartment and looked for (affordable) pure vegetarian options to choose from. I would like to highlight that I didn’t own a smartphone back then (yes it was really 2013, there’s no typo there its just that I’m that big of a miser), and I am not that good with certain food names in English, especially the non-vegetarian ones.
So I found this amazing option which looked good and seemed pocket friendly so I ordered it. Its name was very similar to a popular pizza topping so I thought it will just be having more of it. Without taking much of your time, I’d like to reveal what I ordered – Pepperoni Pizza.
I thought, ‘Pepperoni…ummm…what is that? It sounds like pepper. I think Italians must call pepper as pepperoni…it does sound like an Italian word. So this must be a good spicy pizza! I’m gonna have it today!’
When it was served, I couldn’t see a single bell pepper on top of it. In stead, it had these weird red coin-like toppings. I thought maybe Philippinos like their peppers in this shape, who cares.
I grabbed a slice and took a bite. It was nowhere near spicy or even crunchy like a pepper. And it smelled a bit funny also. This was tasting suspicious. Now I felt too embarrassed to ask the waiter in a foreign nation what these red coins were. And I didn’t have access to the internet to Google the ingredients of Pepperoni Pizza. But I did spend quite some amount on this pizza and there was no way I was going to waste my hard earned money. So I decided to remove the suspicious stuff from the pizza and just eat the base with the delicious cheese.
When I came home, first thing I did was to fire up my laptop and Google ‘Pepperoni Pizza Ingredients’, and viola! My immediate reaction was to brush my teeth as long as I could.”
Ah Yes, the Mean Mugging Fish
“I was in Sicily at a seaside restaurant. I was an American student of Italy, dining with eight other student travelers.
The air was open, linen white cloths on the table, magical purple night sky in the backdrop, and a handsome waiter with prominent and attractive Italian features. I knew being so close to the sea I needed to order some sort of fish entree or I would be missing out on the traditional local fare.
I point to the menu and ask the waiter, ‘Quale preferisci?’ (Which do you prefer?)
Complimented by my question to ask his preference, he straightens up with flattered pride and clicks into action, choosing a fish for me.
As I continue to take in the magnificent atmosphere, I am chatting with the lovely girl next to me. The food starts to come out, one by one. The handsome waiter comes over to me, ready to present the dish he chose for me. He leans over and gently places the dish in front of me. It wasn’t just fish, but a whole fish, eyes and all.
I don’t remember its whole face nearly as much as I remember the eye staring back at me. Yes, I know, silly American doesn’t know what international fresh, fine dining looks like. I wasn’t accustomed to getting mean mugged by my dinner.
I look back up at the waiter. He is beaming, waiting for a pleasing reaction. I give him one of course, with delighted smiles I thank him for his choice. I am not one to offend.
As the fish and I are having a staring contest with the napkin upon my lap, I hear a little gagging sound.
‘Oh my God, are you going to eat that?’
I forgot the girl next to me was a staunch vegan. The ‘don’t kill a fly’ kind, let alone a precious fish with what once was beaming happy eyes, frolicking in the ocean. For her it was the equivalent to tearing into the flesh of Dory from ‘Finding Nemo.’
Knowing my vegan dinner neighbor was not able to withstand its cold dead eye, I try and cover up the eye with a potato. It doesn’t work. She gets up and moves to another seat, and for a moment, I was embarrassed. Especially because I didn’t quite know how to eat a fish with eyes, bones and skin intact.
It was a fleeting moment indeed. I ate the heck out of that fish, despite her gagging, even from another seat.
If you thought that wonky fish eye was going to stop me from tearing into some Sicilian delight, you were mistaken.”
I Said What I Said
“I grew up in a small Midwestern town, so naturally if we went out to eat anywhere, it was at least a 20 mile drive. When I was around 8–10 years old, my family decided we would enjoy dinner at one of our favorite Chinese restaurants in the next town over.
I think there were maybe around 15 four-top tables total in the place. The food was decent enough, and obviously my family enjoyed it every now and then.
Whelp, that day I knew one thing – I wanted to try to use chopsticks. I had talked about for the entire 20 minute drive over. I talked about chopsticks as we sat down.
Naturally, when it came time to order, the waitress asked me what I wanted.
I said, ‘Chopsticks.’
That answer threw her for a loop. She rephrased it by asking something like, ‘What else would you like?’
Again, I reiterated my original statement. I wanted chopsticks.
A few more minutes of this back and forth continue, including my parents trying to clarify and get me to place a real food order. Eventually, the waitress gave up and walked away to put in the rest of the family’s orders.
I was pretty proud of myself. I would get those chopsticks!
Sure enough, when the food came out, the food was presented to the rest of my hungry family as the waitress placed my desired chopsticks in front of me.
Oops.
I turned bright red and wanted to just leave the place. Consider it a grade school light bulb moment. I realized what I had done.
My parents had their laugh and asked me what I wanted to eat. The waitress was standing by (obviously a few steps ahead of me) and took my real order. It came out faster than ever (thanks, Waitress)!
Of course, to really put the icing on the idiot cake, I tried chopsticks and found them to be difficult (shock, I know). I ended up using a fork after all.
Let’s just say that it took years for my family to stop making fun of me!”
I Can Handle it, Promise
“I’m not a very sophisticated eater, but I do at least pride myself on being able to enjoy most foods, so when I went to a Korean restaurant and the waiter advised against the dish I had chosen, I considered it a matter of pride. I thought I must have chosen something so esoteric, so exotic that he didn’t think a simple Australian like me would be able to handle it. I wanted to prove him wrong. Even when he came back to specifically say that even the chef wanted to warn me about my choice, I didn’t waver. In fact I grew truly intrigued about what was soon to be presented to me.
Now, perhaps you’re imagining that in the end what showed up on my plate was so bizarre, or maybe so spicy, that I ended up with something absolutely inedible. Nope. What I ended up with was a pile of the blandest, most tasteless boiled meat that I’ve ever had. It really was just a slab of grey meat, with nothing accompanying it. In retrospect I assume the waiter was trying to tell me that what I’d ordered wasn’t really a meal as such, but rather some sort of side dish that was intended to complement other foods.
It wasn’t bad. It was certainly edible. But it was possibly the most boring ‘meal’ I’ve ever had, and it was particularly disappointing as it was one of the very few opportunities I’ve ever had to eat at a relatively decent restaurant in a big city. My girlfriend at the time was with me, and I already felt somewhat unsophisticated compared to her. This didn’t help.”
When the Friend Who Likes Fish Doesn’t Like Fish
“This happened years ago. A classmate of mine from out of town showed up at my front door unexpectedly. He wanted to know if there were any good fishing spots around. ‘Sure,’ I told him, and, since I was off that day, I offered to take him to some of my hotspots. Several hours later, he had a cooler full of crappie and a couple of nice walleye.
He was ecstatic and grateful, and offered to buy me a pizza. We stopped into the pizzeria across the street from the University. He asked me what I liked on a pizza. I told him I liked everything except anchovies.
He went to the counter and ordered the pizza, and was most emphatic with the staff that the anchovies were to be confined to one half of the pizza—his half—and that absolutely no anchovies should be on the other half. When the counterman brought out the pizza, he made an elaborate show of ensuring that the half of the pizza on his side of the table had anchovies, and mine didn’t.
I was hungry, but not starving, and I watched as my classmate took a slice of pizza and started in. ‘JIM!!’ he exclaimed, ‘DON’T eat any of that pizza!’ Angrily, he slammed is slice back down on the pan, took it up and slammed it on the counter. By this time, we had a pretty good audience.
‘Is something wrong with the pizza?’ the counterman asked.
‘You’re GD RIGHT there’s something wrong. This pizza tastes FISHY!!'”
Woo Woo On The Beach
“It was fine Saturday morning. Being a holiday, I woke up late and next planning to go to Trivandrum (Thiruvananthapuram) where I’d have my lunch and take a walk on the beach and perhaps catch a late evening show with friends who was supposed to land in city by evening.
As I was about to leave, my landlord asked me whether he can drop me somewhere as they are also going to Thiruvananthapuram. The choice was obvious – 50 kms drive in scorching sun on a scooter or a comfortable ride in an air-conditioned car. I said yes and hopped in. We were four people in car: Me, landlord, his wife and his daughter who was about my age, probably.
We talked throughout the journey where he asked about my plan and even joked about who goes on beach alone? etc. To which, his wife Chipped in: Maybe he’ll find someone there. It was a good ride.
Upon reaching the city, they insisted that we should have lunch together. We ordered food and feasted contentedly. Soon, the waiter asked for desserts and we said we’ll let him know in few minutes after deciding.
Landlord: So, what will you have in desserts?
Me: I think ice cream should be fine. Any flavor.
Landlord: So, should we drop you at the beach after this?
Me: No, I will take a cab.
His wife- in an attempt to extend her teasing session- He must have to go with some girl. Let him enjoy.
All this time, waiter was standing there at a distance and waiting for us to order our dessert.
Uncle: Bring one large chocolate ice cream for the boy. Chocolate cookies for me and madam, and what will you have dear (to his daughter)?
Before she could speak, I resisted: Why large chocolate ice cream for me?
Landlord: Take it young man. I know you like it. Also, it will be very hot outside at beach.
Weird logic, but that’s that
Waiter (to the girl): And what will you like to have, Madam.
Her: I would like to have woo woo on the beach.
Awkward silence Being a dirty mind myself, it was very hard to suppress my laughter. So is the waiter. Landlord and his wife were dumbstruck with their mouth opened.
After about 10 seconds of awkward silence…
Her: Wait… what? No. I mean the ice cream. It is name of the flavor. Look into the menu.
Most awkward lunch ever“
It’s on the Menu, Right?
“In Iceland back in 2002, my friend and I ordered seconds, not really realizing what that meant.
In our defense, the menu of the place (which was one of the more expensive restaurants in Reykjavik) plainly stated on their menu, ‘If you enjoy your meal and wish to continue it, please just ask your waiter!’
Now, we were in a group of six, three guys and three gals. And both my friend and I had ordered lamb, since this was after all Iceland and obviously the main course would have to be domestic. And indeed, the lamb was exquisite, and we were very curious about that menu statement, because none of us had ever seen that proclamation at any restaurant anywhere in the world.
So, my friend and I decided to inquire with the waiter. My phrasing (it was I who was selected to ask) was something like, ‘How would a person go about inquiring for further servings, like your menu suggests?’ And the friendly waiter replied, ‘Why, you just ask!’
So, I did ask right then and there, and so did my friend. The waiter looked at us like a deer in the headlights. It could not have been a more different reaction to the one he had given us mere seconds earlier! He was clearly at a loss for how to address this circumstance.
To his credit, he recovered himself and said, ‘Very good,’ turned on his heels and went back to the kitchen. I really wanted to run after him and say, ‘Only kidding, please forgive us we are just stupid Americans!’ But that didn’t happen; instead our whole table quietly agreed ‘Wow!! THAT was awkward.’
Maybe the headline should read: ‘Foreign culture meets American all you can eat dinning norms!’
We realized this after the fact, but in all probability the waiter was very proud that the patrons would not go home hungry. The fact that we were hungry after what is considered a generous portion, embarrassed the waiter. Later a friend of his probably explained how huge American portions are and he understood us, but at the time, we were embarrassed.
What made it worse was how long it took for the second helping to come out. It was clear that, just as with our first servings, the second ones were made to order and prepared as deliberately as any other plates served in that restaurant that night. We weren’t expecting that. OF COURSE we had to devour every last bite on our plates, because asking for a doggy bag would have been even more rude and beyond insipid – both of which we already felt like!
So after a total of two hours, we finished our meals (including the seconds), and sheepishly asked for the check.
We tipped lavishly, thanked the waiter profusely for the hospitality, and skulked out of there as quickly as possible, never to return.
The meals were fantastic! But sadly, their quality was far exceeded by our own embarrassment. To this day, I wonder if anyone else has ever asked for seconds – and whether the menu still offers that.”
Possibly the Purest Salad Ever Served
“It was a girl’s night out and we started the evening at an Asian restaurant. New to the group, Tami (who is a basic burger and fries kind of gal) did not want to cause conflict by suggesting a different eatery. She suffered from food disorders as a teen, and she also has social anxiety. The LAST thing she wanted was extra attention. She just wanted to fit in with a peer group; something she’s struggled with her whole life. So, although nervous about the menu, she joined us for dinner.
Everyone else seemed well versed in the foreign cuisine, and being a vegetarian, I easily found an entree without meat.
Tami, however, was beginning to panic. She had avoided ordering as long as she could and now the waiter along with all of us girls were looking at her.
She held up the menu to cover her mouth as she asked if they had any American food, like French fries.
‘No ma’am, I’m sorry,’ was the waiter’s reply.
Not being able to pronounce the unfamiliar items, Tami pointed to a dish that seemed fairly close to a salad.
I didn’t realize how particular my friend was about food until that night. After each ingredient was translated into laymen’s terms, Tami whispered her requests for certain items to be left out of her dish.
One by one the waiter began serving our meals, and with each plate set on the table, we ‘Ooooed’ and ‘Ahhhhed.’ The restaurant was known for its elegant display of main courses.
Tami got her meal and it was also beautifully displayed, but her dinner had only one ingredient; lettuce. All the other items were omitted to accommodate her picky taste.
I knew what was going on now, but others started questioning her, saying they hadn’t seen her dish on the menu.
‘What is it?’ someone asked.
Tami dodged the question as her head strained in all directions to find the server.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry to be such a difficult customer, but do you by chance have any ranch dressing?’
The young man tried to cover his laugh with a cough and chuckled, ‘No, sorry.’
Tami, wanting to fit in on her first night out with the girls, sure made an entertaining first impression.
With a defeated look on her face and slumped shoulders, she took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly and began eating the plate of lettuce with her chopsticks. The good news is that drinking relieves some of her anxiety, so things got better as the night unfolded.”
Perhaps Finger Food Was Not the Best Idea
“Like many Americans, one of my first experiences at a ‘nice’ restaurant happened before a high school prom. Prom is one of those rites of passage that involve formal dress, and since this was the 80s and I loved Madonna, I was also wearing dangly rhinestone earrings and satin elbow gloves.
Not the best outfit to eat a messy meal, but how was I supposed to know what was involved in eating a lobster.
I was feeling self-conscious anyway. Although it served lobster, the restaurant was on the casual side of fancy, and our prom crew were by far the most formally-clad people in it.
I order the thing, and was horrified when, minutes later, the waiter came up and wrapped this plastic thing around my neck. The lobster bib completely covered up my dress, making me look like a two-year-old at a New Year’s Eve dinner. Imagine a young woman in a floor-length strapless gown, a plastic bib, and a slightly sheepish look on her face and you’ll get the idea.
Trying to actually eat the crustacean was an ordeal in itself, especially when I was trying to avoid getting my gloves dirty, and keeping my rhinestones out of the way. All the other kids at the table looked elegant in their tuxedos and bow ties, their graceful jewelry, their wrist corsages, while I sat there sweating in my plastic lobster guard.
Though the lobster was delicious, I was too embarrassed to really dig in, though I like lobster and I’ve had it several times since then — bib and all — but never on a formal occasion.”
When a Reasonable Request Puts You in an Unreasonable Situation
“I worked for a few years as an office manager/warehouse supervisor at a wholesale business. Our company had grown rapidly, and we got a booth at the big trade show at the Los Angeles Convention Center. Looking back, I’m sure I was just there to be eye candy. The big bosses did their presentation, I smiled. I hung around the booth smiling and answering questions. So afterwards, as a congratulations, our big boss takes us out to a FANCY steak house.
I was 22. I was in college as a Biology major. I had JUST completed a midterm where we had to identify parasites, and one of them was gross, and had to do with red meat. I’ll spare you the details, but it was awful.
So there I was, at a fancy steak house. I had very recently learned to be very afraid of steak. This was a FANCY steak house. So I ordered my steak. I used to love it before stupid advanced Bio classes. I ordered, ‘super extra well done, kill it totally.’ I had NO idea what a faux pas this was. There was a horrified gasp from the table, and I swear the waiter lost all color in his face.
Next thing I knew the CHEF came to our table. He looked SO sad. He asked me if he could please ‘butterfly cut’ my steak with apologies spilling out of him. My boss is staring at me like I lost my ever loving mind.
Mind you, I’m 22. This is the first steak house I’ve been in. I had NO idea what a butterfly cut was. All the big bosses at the table were staring at this tableau with horror. Other diners are turning in their chairs to stare. I told the Chef, ‘Oh yes, that’s fine!’ with a big smile. He left and I got a lecture from my boss about how when you are in a steakhouse, you never ever order well done. I melted into the floor.
Props to that chef though. Not a hint of pink, and the juiciest best steak, free of fat, and oooooh so good. Yeah. That was the last time my boss took us to a steak house.”