Day 106: Dine and Dash isn't really an option is it?
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
It's probably a common assumption that not being able to pay for your dinner at a restaurant is all around embarrassing for everyone involved. But after tonight, I can assure you that it's only embarrassing for the person who is supposed to be carrying the cash.
Before I spill the gory details, I thought I would at least let you know what we had. My favorite Peruvian dish is Lomo Saltado which Elizabeth orders along with a Peruvian drink called Chicha Morada (made from purple corn, delicious and similar in taste to apple cider). I order the Ceviche de Mariscos (fish, shrimp, clams and octopus "cooked" by the acidity of lemon juice) and a Pepsi (didn't see that they had Inca Kola, a yellow Peruvian cola that tastes like Big Red).
I tell you this because had we even considered we only had $95 pesos in cash, we could have order a number of other items and been fine, but we made zero attempt, absolutely none, to do so. Apparently, our euphoria of finding a Peruvian restaurant while in a new part of town was too strong to consider such mundane things.
Once I had realized that my rough estimate of our bill would be more then we had I had for the bill, hoping for some billing miracle but we were on the hook for $105 pesos. With a confirmation that they didn't take credit cards, I was scrambling for some sort of translation of "I'm an idiot and we don't have enough cash. Is there an ATM nearby".
I left Elizabeth behind as an international sign of "good faith" while I ran down the street. Three different banks and a half mile later, I returned in defeat. The single ATM card I had on me wasn't working at any of our normal banks. "Invalid operation"??
I'm stuck with three crappy options. 1) Get Elizabeth's attention through the window and gesture somehow that she needs to make a run for it; 2) use my debit car to purchase a Pepsi next door to replace my $10 peso Pepsi; or 3) Suck it up and tell them we will return tomorrow with the $10 pesos and tip.
Of coarse I picked option 3. My apology was apparently a great show because everyone was smiling ear to ear (the waiter, the owner and Elizabeth). So tomorrow, we have the pleasure of retracing our steps to find this mystical Peruvian restaurant to clear our balance. But the waiter will have to wait to get his tip from the owner, because he doesn't work again until Wednesday.
I guess a plug for their website is also in order: El Cocoroco
Before I spill the gory details, I thought I would at least let you know what we had. My favorite Peruvian dish is Lomo Saltado which Elizabeth orders along with a Peruvian drink called Chicha Morada (made from purple corn, delicious and similar in taste to apple cider). I order the Ceviche de Mariscos (fish, shrimp, clams and octopus "cooked" by the acidity of lemon juice) and a Pepsi (didn't see that they had Inca Kola, a yellow Peruvian cola that tastes like Big Red).
I tell you this because had we even considered we only had $95 pesos in cash, we could have order a number of other items and been fine, but we made zero attempt, absolutely none, to do so. Apparently, our euphoria of finding a Peruvian restaurant while in a new part of town was too strong to consider such mundane things.
Once I had realized that my rough estimate of our bill would be more then we had I had for the bill, hoping for some billing miracle but we were on the hook for $105 pesos. With a confirmation that they didn't take credit cards, I was scrambling for some sort of translation of "I'm an idiot and we don't have enough cash. Is there an ATM nearby".
I left Elizabeth behind as an international sign of "good faith" while I ran down the street. Three different banks and a half mile later, I returned in defeat. The single ATM card I had on me wasn't working at any of our normal banks. "Invalid operation"??
I'm stuck with three crappy options. 1) Get Elizabeth's attention through the window and gesture somehow that she needs to make a run for it; 2) use my debit car to purchase a Pepsi next door to replace my $10 peso Pepsi; or 3) Suck it up and tell them we will return tomorrow with the $10 pesos and tip.
Of coarse I picked option 3. My apology was apparently a great show because everyone was smiling ear to ear (the waiter, the owner and Elizabeth). So tomorrow, we have the pleasure of retracing our steps to find this mystical Peruvian restaurant to clear our balance. But the waiter will have to wait to get his tip from the owner, because he doesn't work again until Wednesday.
I guess a plug for their website is also in order: El Cocoroco
Tags:
Argentina,
Buenos Aires,
food

