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Why did the tomato turn red at the expensive restaurant? It saw the salad dressing!
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Why did the smartphone break up with the expensive restaurant? It couldn't handle the high maintenance.
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Why did the credit card go to the expensive restaurant? It wanted a good swipe!
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Why did the millionaire bring a ladder to the expensive restaurant? He heard the food was on another level!
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What did the rich steak say to the expensive wine? 'I've got good taste!
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Why did the chef go to therapy after working at an expensive restaurant? Too much emotional baggage in the kitchen!
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Why did the bread go to the expensive restaurant? It wanted to become toast of the town!
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Why did the fork apply for a job at the expensive restaurant? It wanted to be a part of the elite dinner society!
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Why was the dessert at the expensive restaurant so confident? It had layers!
Menu Mysteries
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I went to this high-end place the other day, and I swear, I needed a translator just to read the menu. It's like they're playing Scrabble with ingredients. Tonight's special is a delicacy of organic quinoa-infused, wild-caught kale essence, drizzled with a reduction of essence of essence. I had to Google three words just to figure out what I was eating. Give me a menu that speaks my language: Burger, fries, and a side of 'I don't have to mortgage my house for this.
Leftovers or Lifesavings?
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I brought my leftovers home from one of those fancy places, and my refrigerator has never felt so insecure. The leftovers are in there sitting on a golden throne, surrounded by my regular groceries looking like peasants. I'm considering taking out insurance because, at this rate, my leftovers might start demanding a pension plan.
Amateur Sommeliers
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I love how they hand you the wine list, and suddenly I'm expected to become a wine connoisseur. The waiter is standing there, and I'm pretending to know the difference between a 1997 Merlot and grape juice with a fake ID. I swirl the glass, sniff it like I'm a bloodhound, and then nod like I have a vineyard in my backyard. Just bring me the one that won't make me regret checking my bank balance tomorrow.
Dress Code Dilemma
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I walked into this expensive restaurant, and they gave me the once-over like I was auditioning for a runway show. The waiter looks at me and says, Sir, we have a dress code. I'm thinking, Buddy, my best outfit is a T-shirt without stains. Is that classy enough for your castle of cuisine? I'm just here to eat, not to impress the fashion police.
Reserved for the Elite
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I tried to make a reservation at this upscale restaurant, and they asked, Do you have a reservation? I said, Yes, in the 'I Can't Afford This Place' section. They looked at me like I was about to run away with the silverware. Just let me in, I promise I won't spill ketchup on the linen napkins.
Fine Dining Follies
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You ever been to one of those fancy, expensive restaurants where the portions are so small you need a microscope to find your appetizer? I ordered a salad, and they brought me a single leaf with a side of air. I thought I was on a hunger strike, not fine dining! I had to stop at a fast-food joint on the way home just to feel full. It's like they're charging you for the calories they're not giving you.
Waiter Mind Games
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Have you noticed how waiters at fancy restaurants play mind games? They bring you a plate, describe it in exquisite detail, and you're sitting there thinking, This better taste like heaven for the price I'm paying. Then, when you take that first bite, you're hit with a flavor explosion... of disappointment. I swear, they're training magicians in the kitchen.
Dessert Drama
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Dessert at these places is like a suspense thriller. The waiter presents the dessert menu like it's the grand finale, and I'm waiting for the big reveal. Our signature chocolate lava cake, prepared by a team of dessert wizards. I order it, and it arrives—two bites of chocolate goo in the middle of a plate. I've seen bigger explosions in a microwave.
Plate Picasso
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I ordered a steak, and when it arrived, I felt like I was part of an art exhibition. The chef had painted some unidentifiable sauce on the plate, and there were these green squiggles that looked like they escaped from a toddler's coloring book. I'm just trying to enjoy my meal, not decipher a culinary masterpiece. Picasso would be proud, but my stomach was sending me an SOS.
Tip Terrors
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At these fancy restaurants, they act like the tip is a secret code. If you don't leave the right percentage, they give you this look like you just insulted their grandmother. I'm sitting there calculating percentages on my phone like I'm solving a mathematical puzzle. Let's see, carry the one, divide by the square root of my budget for the month... I feel like I need to enroll in Tip Etiquette 101 before I can enjoy a meal.
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