Although I willingly participate in most day-to-day civilities and am big fan of manners in all forms, I hate the way “how are you?” has become an empty phrase that really doesn’t want a true answer. Whenever possible I try and let the asker know something real about my state, even if it’s an unpleasant “miserable,” a sentimental “blue,” or the somewhat philosophical “could be worse,” and I usually add a brief explanation if it's solicited, but hey, no hard feelings if it isn’t. The same holds true in a restaurant—even more so—because, well, I’m paying money for the answer to be “good!” When I’m dining anywhere more ambitious than a greasy-spoon type place, if the waiter asks me how the food is, I’m going to tell him the truth, and yes, I will, when called for, send it back.  I understand that this is really tough for a lot of people, that they would rather eat their meal stark naked than complain about their food, but I would like to say to diners everywhere: it’s ok to turn your nose up as long as you do it nicely.

The other night my sweetie and I stopped in for a late-night dinner at a famous downtown bistro (whose name recalls either a demon or a biblical king, although I suspect it refers to the term for a 12-liter bottle of wine or champagne). The night was cold and we were happy to get seated right away and decided easily on some classic French fare: beausoleil oysters with mignonette, frisée au lardons, and steak frites. When the first course arrived my heart didn’t quite sink but it did start to feel tired and a little waterlogged; the chunks of bacon in my salad were not only huge but way undercooked, lacking the crispiness that comes from taking the time to render the bacon, and tasted kind of like salty erasers. Two of the oysters were excellent, the other four dry and somewhat flat-tasting. Not rejectable; just disappointing. Our waiter kicked the salad back to the kitchen without blinking, and my much-improved salad arrived minutes later. For the rest of the meal our waiter clearly wanted to know “how everything was” and why. We let him know that while the steaks were perfectly cooked they were not the filet mignon we were expecting but an inferior tougher hangar steak, and the Béarnaise sauce was short on vinegar, pepper, and tarragon (i.e. all the things that give it flavor and make the steak sing with happiness).

TMI? Maybe. But we shared our opinions with him because he asked, not because we like fussily critiquing our food (well, we do like it a bit...). I believe that keeping your mouth shut about subpar or inedible/undrinkable food or drinks, is not only going to leave you feeling cheated, but also does a disservice to the restaurant.  They are in the business of making you happy, and if you don’t politely, graciously tell them something’s wrong, they don’t have a chance to fix it and make it better for the next diner. Even if you decide not to send a dish back, if the waiter asks how everything is, I say tell him or her what’s going on. They can choose to do what they like with the information, but I can almost guarantee that if they ignore it, they won’t be in business very long.  

Now I have had a couple of nearly flawless meals at this bistro (which is saying quite a bit, since as you may have gathered, I’m kind of on the picky side). But I’ve also worked in restaurants and have a lot of sympathy for how challenging it can be to get consistently good food out, especially at an enormous and always-busy place such as this. Not that I’m making excuses, but chefs have bad nights, often due to circumstances beyond their control. The frenetic, elbow-to-elbow intensity of kitchen work, the outsized and often eccentric egos and personalities drawn to the profession, and the often superhuman effort involved in feeding large groups of people make for some interesting stories. Don’t Try This at Home: Culinary Catastrophes from the World’s Greatest Chefs is a funny and illuminating look at just how close even master chefs such as Daniel Boulud, and Ferran Adrià come to massively screwing up. It includes stories about foie gras dipped in chocolate, a meringue made of kitchen towels (and another one flooding out the kitchen), a blind line cook, and finishing a lunch service with the kitchen floor covered in live eels. It helps when service is slow, or the food isn’t right, to take a step back and imagine what kind of insanity might be exhibiting itself back in the kitchen. It’s always a good thing to put yourself in another man’s clogs.

I’ll never know what, if anything, special was going on behind the scenes the other night, but our waiter offered us dessert on the house, and when we politely declined, he pretty much insisted, letting us know that the kitchen was very intent on comping us desserts. We took that to mean they were grateful for the feedback. And though, in all honesty, the desserts were pretty awful, we did make an effort to eat them because it was a very nice gesture. I’m sure we’ll be back, hopefully on a better night, when the kitchen has run out of desserts.

How do you feel about sending food back in a restaurant?  Have you had good or bad experiences with it?

Although Carolyn Grifel has been cooking, baking, and devouring cookbooks since she was old enough to read, it took her four decades to finally devote herself to professional cooking. She received a degree from The French Culinary Institute in 2009, while working at Epicurious.com. Since graduating she’s been a chef for Sweet Deliverance, as well as the executive chef at the historic TA Ranch in Buffalo, Wyoming. She’s currently a private chef for a family of five in NYC, and the enchanted mother of a 9-year-old named Stella.