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And, would you look at that? We’re back with an all-new edition of The Gripe Report, your home for complaints, gripes, and petty bitchin’.

I’ve got to say I had a pretty good week thus far, but I did get a reminder of something I can’t stand when I went out to eat with a college buddy of mine and our girlfriends.

We went to a nice kind of trendy place that had some pretty standard-issue options — I had grouper fish and chips, which were great, but I think I could’ve rented a fishing boat for an hour to catch my own grouper for the same price — but on the many I did happen to see one of my least favorite words: “deconstructed.”

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That jogged my memory that I hate any food that doesn’t arrive at the table in constructed form.

Nothing annoys me more than when a restaurant offers something like a “Deconstructed BLT” because all that means is you’re about to get a plate with a tiny hunk of pork belly, a piece of lettuce, a cherry tomato, and a crouton.

Bon appetite, douche.

I’m not dumb enough to order anything like that, but my affinity for constructed food doesn’t stop there: If I order something in a restaurant, I want it to arrive at my table constructed and cooked.

I love fajitas. I hate ordering them at a restaurant because they come out with half the produce section on another plate, they hide the tortillas in some kind of basket, and then the meat and veggies come out steaming like a ground-display firework. Then you have to sit there doing culinary arts and crafts before you even get to take a bite.

Question: why is it that tacos can come out of the kitchen neatly assembled, but when it comes to fajitas, the chef can’t be bothered? They are simply different permutations of the same ingredients but for whatever reason, I’ve never seen an assembled fajita emerge from a restaurant kitchen.

But that’s not as bad as any place that makes you cook your own food. I can’t wrap my head around those. Isn’t that the point of going out so you don’t have to cook? So then why would I want to pay someone to bring me pieces of meat that I have to cook over a tiny Weber built into the table or dunk in a boiling pot of broth?

If you want to grill your steak, here’s a pro tip: go buy one at the grocery store and do it at home.

I have a theory that these places do this just so you can’t complain. You can’t flag down the server and say, “Hey, just FYI, my steak was a little overdone,” because that’s on you. It’s user error. They’re not going to comp your steak because you got distracted by the game on TV and forgot to flip it.

Restaurants, just do us all a favor and both cook and assemble our food. That’s what we’re paying you to do.

I’m Matt Reigle, and I approve this message…

Thanks for having your kid dirty up that cart I’m going to put my food in… (Getty Images)

Kids In Shopping Carts

Alright, moving on.

Here’s one from Ken that I don’t think I’ve ever considered, and from now on I’ll probably notice it all the time:

It’s just one of those things that gripes me every time I go into a grocery store someone has their children sitting in the basket with their shoes on or even a diaper, not giving a thought that the next person is gonna put their food in there and then take it home and put it in their refrigerator. No one knows what that child has walked in before they put them in the cart now the cart is contaminated.

…

I’d like to thank Ken, for ruining shopping cars for me…

I don’t know about you, but I use that little kid seat area for some groceries, but I think I’m going to maybe reel that back in a bit. I get most of the stuff we buy in packaging, but still, like Ken pointed out, that stuff is going in your cabinets and fridge and so is whatever gross nonsense that kid has stuck to them.

Remember, pretty much everywhere we walk is filthy. I’m not saying we all need to pop our shows off every time we step into someone’s house like they do in Japan (although, I don’t hate that idea), although I’d appreciate not having that Petri dish on the bottom of your kids’ New Balances smeared all over my food.

The same rule applies to suitcases. I only recently thought of this, but the wheels of any suitcase are nasty as hell. Don’t put it on your bed to pack or unpack unless you want to sleep in motor oil, cigarette ash, and God knows what else.

No one wants to sit at the next table away from this guy. (Getty Images)

Too-Much-Information Restaurant Talk

We started with restaurant talk, so why not finish with restaurant talk?

Take it away, Kevin!:

I have two gripes regarding restaurants.  

First one is for older people (I’m 57 so I’m getting close).  Since none of you can hear, you speak loudly at your table.  I could handle that except all you talk about is every ailment that you and your friends have.  I’m just trying to enjoy a nice meal and all I can hear is the group, three tables over, talking about their prostate exam, the cleanse for their colonoscopy, and getting a scope shoved down their nose to check on a sinus infection.  Please stop!!

Second, no one should ever blow their nose at the table.  Cold season is coming, please go to the restroom!!

Thanks,

Kevin in Gibsonia

…

First of all, blowing your nose at the table is a psycho move. Like quick dab with a paper napkin if you’ve got a bit of snot running out is one thing. But a full-on lean-into-it nose-blowing should get you thrown in an asylum.

Now, that TMI table chat. I don’t like that either. However, in fairness, I think medical talk is so deeply ingrained in geezer culture that it’s hard for them to talk about anything else.

I also don’t know why, but it does seem that the more grotesque the ailment or procedure is, the more the person has to talk about it. We can all stomach someone getting a new pair of glasses or getting a dental filling, but no one will talk about those, they’d prefer to talk about stool samples and catheters.

And Kevin is right, this is always loud as hell and it’s all because of hearing issues. Someone needs to teach the elderly how to text so that they can fill each other in on their skin tag removals while the rest of us sit there and assemble our fajitas in peace.

….

Well, I think we’re going to call it a Gripe Report.

Join us next time, and while you eagerly await the next installment of The Gripe Report, why not send in your own gripe?: mattreigleoutkick@gmail.com