I still don’t know what possessed me to take my wife to a local BBQ restaurant for our 25th wedding anniversary. Oh, it was also Valentine’s Day.

My wife clearly deserves better than a chopped pork special served on a paper plate, and I’ve had to channel my inner Spartan to endure my kids’ relentless shaming over the blunder. After several beach weekends and fancy restaurants, I’m well on my way to redemption.

So, recently, our 33rd anniversary was approaching, and I searched the Open Table app for reservations. I give a lot of thought to these decisions now and have a few requirements:

• Online reviews of 4.5 stars or higher
• A restaurant we’ve never been to
• Not a franchise
• A town we’ve never visited (if possible)

These careful calculations led us to an Italian restaurant in a small town an hour away. I overlooked its strip mall location—I mean, what else is an authentic, locally owned joint going to do?

When Battery-Operated Tealight Candles Can’t Save the Mood

As someone who seeks out and loves local dives in Americana tiny towns, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by many holes in the wall. So, as we entered the restaurant, the bright fluorescent lights and cheap, battery-operated tealight table candles didn’t deter me.

But I can be slow to catch on sometimes. Or maybe it’s just my positive nature.

However, my first suspicion of trouble was when I asked our waitress in this Italian restaurant for an Italian beer. When in Rome, right?

My request hit her like water splashing on a circuit board – tilted head, wide eyes. “I’m not sure what…”

“It’s Peroni, isn’t it?” I chimed in.

I am so uncomfortable with making strangers uncomfortable.

The Red Flags Start Piling Up

Clue #2 came when Sandra ordered the filet mignon and asked to substitute fettuccine alfredo for the garlic mashed potatoes.

More neurons misfired in the waitress’s brain.

“I’m not sure we can do that,” she replied.

Just ask, ok?

Surely, they have a big pot of noodles swimming in hot water and enough alfredo sauce warming since early afternoon.

Turns out, they couldn’t make the substitution.

No worries, Sandra likes mashed potatoes.

This Isn’t a Filet, and I’d Stake My Honor on It

But my words really can’t do justice to the $40 filet mignon. For starters, I can’t put my hand on the Bible and confirm that it was actually filet mignon. And I’m sure the chef wouldn’t, either.

It was just a bit thicker than bologna, but not as tasty—especially if you pan-fry it in butter. Give me a grilled bologna and cheese sandwich any day.

Strike three!

But the mandated garlic mashed potatoes were good. They just needed salt, as did my linguine with shrimp and clams.

Bad Lighting, No Salt – Even Jesus Would Complain

No salt and pepper on the table. Is that a fancy restaurant thing?

Our waitress said she would bring salt, and we waited patiently while our food cooled. Salt would have to be the salvation for this meal, so we waited a little longer. Finally, I walked to the bar and asked for it.

As I returned to the table, I looked around the place, noticing the other diners. A few of us were dressed in business casual—nice pants, shirts, and sports coats—but most people opted for tennis shoes, jeans, ball caps, and hoodies.

Ah, the dawn of awareness is starting to rise.

A Final Course of Disappointment

We finished the meal, and the waitress cheerfully asked if we were ready for dessert—dessert we had already ordered as part of the meal. No thanks, just pack it up. We’re ready to pay.

Back home, we sampled the dessert platter with our daughter, hoping for redemption in the form of something sweet. Our verdict? Straight to the trash. Honestly, if we had brought the entire meal home, it probably would have met the same fate.

The Harsh Reality About Online Reviews & The Lesson Learned

What did I learn from this experience?

Of course, this place had 4.6 stars—because the only people rating it were the same ones who think a gas station hot dog, sunbathing all day on an aluminum roller under a heat lamp, is gourmet dining.

That’s the problem with online reviews—they’re a textbook case of selection bias. The people leaving the ratings aren’t a random sample of diners; they’re the ones who already like this kind of place.

The ones with higher standards?

They aren’t eating here.

Beyond the fact that you can’t completely trust online restaurant reviews, the broader lesson is to be wary of popular opinion and mindful of who is shaping the narrative.

Self-selecting audiences often shape popularity metrics, reflecting values that may not align with yours.

Just because something is highly rated or widely praised doesn’t mean it aligns with your standards, preferences, or expectations.

So next time, I’ll investigate more thoroughly before trusting collective wisdom.

Maybe we’ll go back to the BBQ joint. It’s actually quite good.

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