There’s a Mongolian Barbecue restaurant we like to go to.
Jane and I like it because we like the food, and the boys like it because
they get to eat won-ton chips and jello, and little Anne likes it because
we’re all there. Plus, they’ve always been very friendly when we come
in, despite the fact that we always bring in a troop of messy little
kids. So we enjoy ourselves, and tip well.

The last time we tried to go there, they were closed; the sign said that
they’d be closed for a month, as they were on vacation. So we waited;
and tonight we tried going there again. Lo, how the mighty have fallen!

They looked at our kids with disdain. The table wasn’t particularly
clean. The beef hadn’t been trimmed well, and was full of gristle. The
steamed rice and pocket bread arrived when I was almost halfway through
eating, instead of when I got back to the table with my barbecue. The
rice was dry, with crunchy bits. Jane
had to ask for water repeatedly. We asked for a booster seat for James
repeatedly, and never got one. Plus, the Diet Coke tasted off, though
that can happen to anyone. The pocket bread was better than usual; that
was the sole point of light.

So happens, we didn’t recognize any of the servers. My suspicion
is that it’s under new management; or perhaps a new branch of the family
that owns it came out to run it; or perhaps there’s a different team on
Sunday. But however it came to happen, we weren’t impressed, and I doubt
we’ll go back any time soon.

Sigh.