A trout, is a trout, is a ??? | Columnists | Summerville Journal Scene

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A trout, is a trout, is a ???

Published Tuesday, October 27, 2009 1:13 PM

By Judy Watts
Summerville Journal Scene ®

Apparently the old adage, “The customer is always right,” skipped a generation.

My sister was in town to visit her college student daughter and me so we ventured out to a restaurant we’ve enjoyed in the past that has a really great stuffed trout.

We were seated almost immediately, were greeted by a perfectly wonderful woman who would serve us for the evening. (I have to note here that I’m a good patron who almost never complains and tips 20 percent or better.)

Niece ordered and then my sister and I both ordered the trout. We settled back to enjoy our visit. Our dinner came, and it was delicious, but mine was somehow not as fabulous as I remembered. But to tell you the truth, we were enjoying our conversation so much, the meal was secondary.

We were almost finished when Niece asked quietly,

“I thought ya’ll ordered the same thing.”

“We did,” Sis said.

“Then why don’t they look the same?” Niece asked.

For the first time I noticed that I was not eating a light, white, finely flaked fish like trout, but a large flake, salmon colored fish. In fact, it looked exactly like salmon. And it tasted like salmon. And the texture was not the super-fine texture of trout. Don’t get me wrong – it tasted great. But I suddenly realized this was a trout of a different color.

About then a young man came to clear the table.

“Tell me what kind of fish she is having,” I asked. He looked at my sister’s plate and said “trout.”

“What kind of fish am I having?” I asked.

“Salmon,” he said. I explained to him that we both had ordered trout.

“I’ll go get the manager,” he said. I told him there was no need to do that because the food was fine, but I just wanted them to note that the order came out wrong. (In the back of my mind I figured someone else was eating my trout and wondering why the salmon was so white.)

A few seconds later the manager came out.

“I’m told you believe your order was wrong,” he said politely.

“Well, we ordered the same thing, but we didn’t get the same thing. I believe mine was salmon instead of trout. But it was fine. Really. It was delicious.”

“You both had trout. I brought it to the table myself.”

“They didn’t look the same.”

“She had a silver trout and you had a golden trout.”

Okay.

“And the texture of the golden trout would be more like salmon?” I asked.

“No. It would be like trout.”

“Then I didn’t have trout. But it’s fine. Really.”

He disappeared and in another few seconds, the chef arrived and stooped down at the end of our table, resting his arms on it and his chin on his wrists.

“I hear there was a problem with your order. We’ll be glad to take it off your check.” He whispered.

“I don’t want you to take it off my check. It was delicious. I just thought I should mention that we ordered the same thing but did not get the same thing. But it’s fine.” I whispered back.

“Well, you both had trout. Hers was a silver trout and yours was a rainbow trout.” (How many different kinds of trout did they have back there?)

To tell you the truth, at that point I was bordering on angry. I explained that I’d brought it to the attention of the young man who had cleared the table and he had confirmed that it looked like salmon to him.

“He’s only been here three weeks,” the chef whispered dismissively.

I really was not a happy camper at this point and got down on eye-level with him.

“And I am a 60-year-old woman who has eaten a lot of trout and salmon, and I’m telling you that what I had for dinner tonight did not appear to be a trout. What I had was fine, and I don’t want you to take it off my bill because I ate it and enjoyed it. But it wasn’t trout.” We were both still whispering.

“You both had trout – but they were different kinds. Would you like a dessert?”

“No. Thank you. I don’t want dessert. I want our bill.” He left the table.

The lovely wait-person who had served us ably during the evening arrived with our bill. (She wasn’t speaking to us at that point, but hurrying the process along to get us out of there.)

We paid our bill, and I left her a 20 percent tip.

And it was fine. And maybe the manager and chef were right. And maybe it was worth it to them.

But I’ll have a hard time going back there now.

And I really do like their stuffed trout – the silver one, that is.

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