Hm, I’ve been a little lax in posting, in part because I haven’t had a lot to report. Last weekend was one of those where you go into it thinking you know the whole agenda and somehow Monday morning dawns and you did nothing originally planned. Saturday DPaul and I bagged on the big annual Mardi Gras event — for the first time in 13 years (14 for DPaul) — for a variety of reasons, not least because we were wiped out. I spent all week giving notice at my job, and that was plenty exhausting, if rewarding.
The other monkey-wrenched plan was Sunday’s Oakland taco truck crawl with a group of Mouthfullers. Despite a fair amount of enthusiasm leading up to it, moods ran tepid as soon as it became clear that horizontal rain was headed our way. I had to agree: Eating tacos while standing out in the elements in industrial Oakland didn’t exactly sound like my idea of paradise. So instead we stayed home, watched, oh, 8 episodes of Lost (first season — gotta catch up!) and ordered Indian food. That’s when it all went wrong.
The rant continues after the jump.
We’ve ordered from Rasoi a number
of times, probably one or two times a month on average. Although I have
always felt the Indian food in San Francisco lackluster (and I just
don’t have the energy to schlep to Berkeley every time I have a jones
for it), Rasoi has always satisfied my needs an iota better than the
rest of the pack. So we did the usual thing, ordered a bunch of stuff
from the Website, and plunked down for yet another episode of Lost.
At 7:05, one hour and 15 minutes after we ordered, I called to check on the status. The guy on the other end said he’d call me back after trying to reach his driver. Ten minutes later, not having received a call, I called back, and got a vague assurance that the food had left and was on its way. Ten minutes later I called again and got the same runaround. We decided to not get worked up about it and sit down and watch more Lost. (Damn, that show is addictive!)
Finally, at 7:50, two hours after we first ordered, the doorbell rang. DPaul ran down to get it, and when he came up we found that the food arrived in a total state of disarray — all the containers had exploded open and the various dishes had pooled in the bottom of the bag, tepid and intermingled. I was furious. I called and screamed at the woman at the front desk there, demanded to speak to the manager, demanded our money back. The manager was busy with another customer (one as upset as I was? Rough night!) and the only way they would refund our money was if I brought the food back into the restaurant. Yeah, I’m gonna schlep into the Mission with a bag full of lukewarm Indian food in the rain at 8 pm on a Sunday. It wasn’t until I was done harassing the person at Rasoi that I noticed that, above it all, they had delivered the wrong order entirely. We ate what was salvageable … and watched more Lost. (So, like, what’s Lock’s story, anyway?)
But I’m upset. As I’ve said, Rasoi fixed my Indian food jones, and now I feel like I can never eat their food again on principle alone. I wouldn’t have been so bent out of shape — anyone can have an off night — but they were utterly unapologetic every step of the way. In four calls (and, after the fact, one email), I was either given empty assurances or, worse, attitude. If this is how they treat loyal customers, they don’t deserve any. Luckily, we have a handful of other Desi joints within delivery radius, and they are suddenly back on our radar.