Last night we were meeting another couple at a restaurant for dinner. I already knew the woman but hadn’t yet met her boyfriend. When they arrived and we were introduced, her boyfriend proclaimed: “When she told me you were a chef I said I hope he’s not one of those A**holes who sends everything back.” Somewhat taken back by this unexpectedly hostile greeting, my trepidation began to rise. I had my doubts about the restaurant to begin with. Fate loves to stick it to me whenever it gets a chance and here was an exquisite opportunity to twist the knife. I was doomed. Something was destined to go wrong with my meal and I was going to be faced with the decision to accept it or have my dinner guest conclude I was a bodily orifice. Hear that faint but increasingly loud whistle above? That’s the bomb dropping.

Well, let’s get right to it, cause you already know what’s coming. I ordered the stuffed lobster and when it arrived it was ice cold. Not lukewarm, but ice cold. It tasted like it had been resting in the refrigerator before being served. So here I was faced with the dreaded conflict I had predicted. Well, despite the angst the situation engendered, I’m solid in who I am and where I stand on things. There is no excuse in the world for serving ice cold food and I refuse to consume it to curry favor with anyone. I promptly returned it and was served a hot stuffed lobster in its place. It didn’t taste that great but I wasn’t going to push the issue any further. Instead, I extended an olive branch to my judgmental new friend and paid for dinner.

Generally speaking, people seek to avoid conflict and the negative appraisals of others. I wonder how often individuals suffer through inadequate food for just those reasons; because we don’t want to make a “scene” or because we fear others will see us as a pain-in-the-ass, (or an even worse part of the hindquarters anatomy), if we take issue with the food. Obviously some people are meeker and will put up with almost anything. Conversely there are the more aggressive and entitled amongst us who evince no hesitation to complain about even minor culinary slips.

But let’s put the variability of individual character differences aside for the moment and focus on the external reality, namely the food. At one extreme are minor flaws that don’t merit confrontation. Had my lobster been at least warm for example, I wouldn’t have batted an eye. On the other hand, ice cold food, spoiled food, well done steaks that were ordered medium-rare, and anything with an insect in it, should never be tolerated.

The problem arises with the almost endless series of gradations in-between the extremes. The proverbial “gray zone.” How do you detect with precise scrutiny when a mishap has crossed that elusive “ah let it go” line into the realm of intolerability and justified protest? Sometimes the error, in and of itself, doesn’t cross the line, but rather has been preceded by a series of blunders which have incrementally pushed you past the point of no return. But once again, exactly how many sequential little flubs warrant a formal complaint?