Service

One of the drawbacks of living in Northern Ireland is generally a poor level of service. Particularly in restaurants. The gorgeous tableau of food in London and prompt service offers a contrast to NI, where you have to seek someone out if you want to be served, or to pay, or there’s a problem with your meal. I walked out of a restaurant in Derry after waiting for 10 minutes for someone to take my order. I’m not the most patient soul either. And I tend to let my tank get too low, which means I get a bit wifty and unsteady on my feet.

I went into a typical lunch spot in Belfast recently. Small bins of chicken, ham, bacon, tomatoes, onions, etc. I ordered a grilled cheese. The woman who took my order had a plastic glove on one hand and her other hand was bare. Before she turned to me to take my order, she had been kneading a pile of chicken pieces and bacon. After I ordered, I went to get a drink out of a nearby refrigerated case. I didn’t see who made my sandwich, but I didn’t have a good feeling about this. The other three people behind the counter were, say, early 20s, and busy talking about their weekend. I sat at a table, overly hungry, as usual, and watched to see what would happen when my sandwich was done warming. I heard a ding. No one responded because they were deep in conversation about something more important (except the meat kneading woman). Then the one-gloved woman turned from her pile of meat, pulled my sandwich from a small oven, put it on a plate and WITH HER BARE, MEATY HAND, reached into a bag of potato chips and pulled out a handful of crisps, which she put on my plate. She brought me the sandwich.

In a very even voice I said, weren’t you just handling raw meat? She said no, all the meat is cooked before they get it (David later explained that the pink and white bacon-looking strips would have been boiled so, although they look raw, not technically raw). I calmly said that vegetarians prefer not to have their food in proximity to meat. In a testy voice, she offered to make me another sandwich. I declined--I was near fainting due to hunger (and nausea). I didn’t eat the crisps, just the grilled cheese. I didn’t feel great the rest of the day, but I think that was more mental revulsion than any kind of meaty bacteria.

I’ve told a few people about this and they all aver that this is pretty much par for the course.
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