Last week, I took part in the massive disappointment known as Restaurant Week. Tempted by tapas at an affordable price, I seized the opportunity to dine at a restaurant where my student-sized wallet might not usually be so welcome. The meal went fantastically — we were seated at an intimate round table, and the conversation was as delightful as the pork buns. After dessert, I sat back and began to digest. As everyone was winding down and planning the rest of their nights, our previously surly and bewigged waitress dropped off the check, grinning from ear to ear. “You guys have a lovely night, mmkay?” she purred. We smiled back, not knowing that our ‘lovely night’ was about to be taken to the cleaners.
The bill was astronomical. We hugely underestimated the real cost of a restaurant-week meal. This could have been avoided had our waitress not been so eager with those sangria pitchers. Even though you enter the pact knowing the food is produced en masse and only showcases a sliver of the regular menu, Restaurant Week’s real draw is the allure of the bargain. $70ish per person later, we stumbled out of the restaurant in shock at having our financial expectations for the evening so completely demolished (it’s a recession, people!).
We could have spared ourselves some pain if the pretense of frugality that Restaurant Week is based on wasn’t such a complete and total farce. A number of my peers and I left campus that night thinking that a $35 (plus tax and tip) night out seemed fairly reasonable for a special occasion. To add insult to injury, food poisoning struck our party. Restaurant week, have you no mercy?
