Digging Their Own Graves

There has been a Japanese Hibachi restaurant in our area for decades before it was a trend. It is unique for the time — dinner and a spectacle of service. The food is top-notch and — according to the adults — the drinks are phenomenal. It is my go-to birthday dinner growing up.

I don’t go there for some time due to financial problems limiting “special eating out” to “value meals, once in a long while.” Once things get better, I finally convince my now-husband to come with me and give it a shot.

And things turn bad quickly.

Hostess: “Hello, table for two? Hibachi or no?”

Me: “Actually, this is his first time here, and it’s my first time back in a long time. We were wondering if we could see some menus before we sit down so we know what we’re looking for?”

Hostess: *Instantly turning icy* “You can’t take the menus home, sir.”

Me: “That’s not what I’m asking. We’re just not certain if we do want hibachi-style or not yet. May we please look first, and then sit?”

This goes back and forth a minute before she finally deigns to — GASP — let us look at a menu before sitting and placing a drink order! And I’m glad we did; all their signature dishes are gone, replaced with generic fare you could find at any of the dozen other places that have opened up within a twenty-minute drive, at $10 to $15 more per meal. I know it has been a while, but that is double the price inflation anywhere else. It is the equivalent of seeing a quality steakhouse turn into a Burger King with fancy placemats but charging even more.

Husband: “Ooooh… That’s a little…”

Me: “Yeah, I’m sorry, but this is kind of way out of our price range at the mo—”

The hostess snatches the menu out of my hand.

Hostess: “You should know what you want before you go out!”

Me: “Yeah, we knew what we wanted, but we just wanted to make sure you offered it; you don’t.”

We left, with the hostess still shouting at our back. The place closed down a year later, and it’s now a funeral home of all things!