The Fully Packed Restaurant Goes Into Dead Silence

One day my friends and I decided to go out to eat while we were out in Hattiesburg. We choose a Japanese restaurant which was OEC. I had been holding out on going to the restroom for so long. Once orders were placed, a friend and I rushed to the bathroom because I could no longer hold it. I was in such a rush that I went to the first door I saw in my view. However, it ended up being the men's restroom. As soon as I opened the door, my friend yelled wrong door and her eyes had widen so big. It was too late! All I could do was stop and look. I was in despair. The men had begun to stop talking and begun to stare at me with big eyes also. At the same time, my friend, the men, and I looked at each other accordingly. One man shouted wrong restroom, and I politely replied I was sorry for coming into their restroom and closed the door. Nevertheless, I felt very embarrassed at first, but once I told the story to my other friends who waited at the table, we all laughed.

After discovering remarkable knick-knacks within a few other small shops, I met up with other travelers from my journey and embarked towards a local eatery to eat lunch. I quickly ordered a lemonade to begin the meal with and then began to read the lengthy menu. The offerings of the restaurant were much different from what I was accustomed to at home. Exquisite dishes I had never heard of were listed one after the other in a six-page book. While most restaurants I had visited had a staple item, such as steak or chicken, this restaurant had a variety of options for a variety of different entrees. Overwhelmed by the possibilities, I asked out server for a recommendation to which she responded that the lemon-pepper chicken was a favorite of the locals. Although apprehensive, I happily agreed to order the lemon-pepper chicken and was pleasantly surprised at the presentation, taste, and quality of the dish. The dish was presented with the chicken on one side of the plate, and the bed of orzo pasta laid across from the chicken breast in an arc-like shape. The chicken was extremely moist and seeped with flavor. I ate slowly, savoring every bite while also anxiously waiting another. The chicken was accompanied by a side dish made up of orzo and a blend of spices that I was sure I could not order anywhere else on Earth. Like the chicken, the orzo blend was seasoned and

As I walk across the street lit only by a sign that reads, Perkins Family Restaurant, a faint chatter of people can be heard. Cautiously, I approach the front doors and nudge my way through the crowd of people waiting to be seated. The smell of alcohol hangs in the air as I make my way through. Pausing just outside the crowd, I stop to compose myself. The restaurant is bustling with activity. Every table is filled and many are pushed together in order to accommodate the large, boisterous parties of college kids. Customers are everywhere, they run throughout the restaurant greeting acquaintances and joining random booths. They remind me of ants running about an anthill.

The place was deserted, the only other customers a young couple in a corner booth. I sit in a corner booth of my own and flip through the menu, but nothing seemed appetizing. When the time comes I end up ordering a cup of coffee from the college-age looking boy who then takes my menu and promises to be back in a minute with my caffeine-filled goodness. I trace patterns on the smooth table as I look out the window, enjoying the clear view of the full moon.

Candee Graham grabs my hand and picks up the keys, I sit on the car very surprise and also anxious. He says, “the restaurant is just minutes away”. We arrive and the first thing that caught my attention is the biggest chicken wing on top of the roof of the restaurant with colorful lights and

Typically it would be a sandwich and some chips, and occasionally a fruit, but she didn’t want to take that anymore. That was a basic meal, something regular everyday people would bring. Definitely not a meal that would help her reach this far-stretched goal. She wanted to bring something that she assumed other kids would have, so she brainstormed the entire day. Around night time, her mind was hopeless. She couldn’t come up with anything. A sense of defeat and helplessness hit her like a powerful wind. When she started up to go to bed, she saw a magazine at the corner of her bed. On the cover was the one thing she knew would save her life...TACOS. This was perfect, Sally thought, what other better way to fit in then bring tacos for lunch? Since the taco is a traditional Mexican dish, she knew that this would give her cool points. Once the kids saw that an American girl, who they probably didn’t have the best opinion about, had tacos for her lunch, it would be astonishing. Not only were tacos a good choice, but it didn’t hurt that tacos were one of Sally’s favorite meal. The taste of the tangy salsa and the golden, runny, and magnificently melted cheese just dances on her tongue. Anytime she eats tacos her taste buds squeal, as for they are having a delightful time. The freshly diced tomatoes trickle into her mouth. The slices of lettuce that are just a tad bit crunchy with each scrumptious bite. Can’t forget the most important aspect…..SOUR CREAM. This glorious creation was one that she had extreme gratitude for. The smooth and creamy texture, the buttermilk, tangy, ranch-like taste. The illuminating shade of white like the clouds that levitate in the sky. It was everything a girl could ask

Forty Nine million Americans struggle to put food on the table and my family was one of them. We were forced to eat Maruchan’s on end, which at first, as an oblivious thirteen year old, thought this was luxury until our third day. The smell of shrimp soup was the smell of hell for us. School was our only escape

Last year, the weather was winter we are decided to eaten dinner outside. I and my friend walk into Applebee’s restaurant in the pearl. the restaurant is no one only just hear the music and the place lights was dimmed. Whatever, it was empty just me and my friend looked each other surprised the place is creepy. Then, we are sitting our table and the waiter give us menu so we can order the dinner. I order the Italian chopped salad and my friend order pasta and the food was tasty after that we are order desserts cheesecake ice cream was delicious. We are all time talking and laughing heartily that day we are enjoy. The waiters are wearing colorful uniform and two waiters are just standing talking each other because no customers in restaurant

It was a warm day at Tiapolis, my utopia. I was walking down the street inhaling the amazing aroma that filled the air. I could smell the delicious food being coooked in the kitchens of the surrounding area. I walked into the nearest restraunt and was seated immediantly. In Tiapolis, you don't have to wait on anything. I ordered my usual meal. My usual meal contains chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, corn and a Pepsi.

We rang the doorbell at my grandpa’s house and my uncle answers the door, “Hi Kata!!!!” he says. “Hi Mayonnaise”,I say. I call him that because of how white his skin is. As we were walking into the house I noticed a light switch behind the kitchen wall that I had never noticed before . “Mayonnaise, what is this” I asked. Before he could say another word, I flipped the switch and spanish music started blasting throughout the house. It was a pretty small average house, but it had a giant garden instead of a backyard with a variety of different fruits and vegetables. I was shocked, I jumped,I definitely was not expecting that to happen in any possible way. I flipped the switch and the music turned off. I asked my grandfather, “What is that!? “You like Spanish music?” After that whole thing, I played monopoly with my brother and my uncle as my dad quickly fell asleep on the couch. Once we had gotten a bit further into the game, my Uncle dared my brother to put a clothespin on my dad’s nose. As usually my dad snored like it was nobody’s business, and the bad part was that it didn’t stop until he woke the next morning. So, of course my brother took the challenge and grabbed a clothespin from the line and put in on my father’s nose. My father stopped breathing for a second, then quickly woke up looking like a dork with a clothespin on his nose.

Meanwhile, the youngest daughter is working at a very western fast food chain, Wendy’s, food is made quickly and mass-produced. The way that the father cooks and presents food is meant to given appreciation to presentation and tastes, but with the westernization of food and fast food that appreciation is getting lost along with tradition (Awalt, 2004). In another scene, the daughters are seen packing up all the left over food from dinner very carefully to be

Slugishly making her way to the automatic sliding doors she made it inside, the air conditioned place sent chills down to her bones. "Noodles, noodles, noodles . . ." She muttered under her breath and finally found them on the fifth isle, grabbing the chicken flavoured cups and secured them in her arms. She waited in line for around four minuets, it felt like four years, she desperatly needed something digesting in her stomach.

Meanwhile in the same restaurant, a wealthy businessman decides to feed a little girl he finds on the streets. Grossly malnourished, she has no complaints as she stuffs her face with the expensive food place in front of her. As grateful as she is, her insatiable hunger outweighs the words of gratitude her manners are forcing her to spit out.

One evening, my father came home earlier than usual from his 12-hour shift as a cook. He rushed through our bathroom supplies and hurried outside to the back shed. I noticed he had wrapped one of his fingers in napkins. When I asked him what had happened in Cantonese, he brushed it off as if it was nothing. My older sister tried to confront him, but he angrily told us to not worry about it. My mother then pulled us aside and whispered to us that he had accidentally cut off a piece of his finger.

Crash. One, two, no, three plates hit the floor. I could for all intents and purposes feel my spirit drain from my body as that sound rung throughout the restaurant. I paused for a moment to recollect my thoughts, looking up to see a collection of dirty plates, bowls, and pans stacked nearly a foot high on the shelf and beginning to collect around my feet as there was nowhere else to put them. With a stack of plates so tall, the grease had allowed a plate to slip and take several others with it to crash onto the stone floor. Ah yes, this was dinner hour, the busiest hour of the night, on Friday, the busiest day of the week in general, and it was my first week on the job. Straightaway came the manager, Rachel, as well as a few of my coworkers. She looked to see glass scattered