I don't go to Ihop anymore, not after a few bad experiences like the one described in the letter I'm about to share. (Plus, I don't end carb-loaded foods any longer!) It's a shame, because I love that they give you a carafe of coffee... unfortunately, the servers tend to just disappear after that. I'm not saying, of course, that everyone who works at Ihop is terrible at their jobs; just that the Providence location seemed to have a higher-than-average number.
I wrote this letter a long time ago, probably about 3 or 4 years ago, right when I first started dating Nick. I wrote this during one of our much-missed writer's nights at Mel & Kat's place. I was going to mail it, but then I forgot all about it until I found it while cleaning last week. I figured I'd share it here instead of just tossing it in the recycle bin. Ahh, memories...
Thanks to you, I may never know the wonders of the marionberry. Nor will I experience the tantalizing sensation of lightly-lemoned pancakes. No Oregon berries will whet my palate. In fact, I may never eat pancakes again, and it's all your fault.
Yes, Ihop, I blame you, faceless corporate entity of flapjack fame for the false advertising that has left my mouth watering for weeks on end, craving sweet delicious bites of Oregon berry pancakes. 'Yes, I will celebrate the United States!' thought I. 'No, I've never tried a marionberry!"
Today, for the first [and last] time, I came to Ihop. We ordered the Oregon berry pancakes. After being asked to pay in advance, a truly abymssal business practice, I must confess - as why should I be expected to tip before receiving any service? - we were informed that the pancakes we'd ordered were not available. Instead, having already paid for the premium pancakes, we were offered a bland and boring selection of ordinary pancakes. What could we do?
I have but one question, Ihop: what the fuck is a marionberry?"