Now and then a group of friends or family members will all meet up with the crazy idea that they'll agree on a restaurant and have a great time together. They won't.
Basically, any time a group of people gets together to go out for dinner there is a 50% chance it will never happen. In part because no one wants to drive a vehicle that has a human being stuffed into litterally every available pocket of air. The person who has been chosen to bear this burden will inevitably make a case for staying in, unless handsomely compensated for gas milage.
Couple this with all the hemming and hawing about where to go in the first place and the fact that all the decent options require reservations to seat large numbers and you end up with fuck it let's order pizza.
At least one member of the group will ask to go to an "ethnic" restaurant. Whatever that means. You will spend the next fifteen minutes arguing about what countries count as "ethnic," how spicy curry is or isn't, and whether you wanted something authentic or if Panda Express will do.
General rule of thumb: Other than Greek, European cuisine never counts as "ethnic." And even the most un-pronouncable dining establishment will never be authentic enough for your asshole uncle who has been around the world three times.
When I say "the kids" won't eat anywhere but McDonald's I am not actually referring to children by age. I am referring to anyone, be they four or forty-four, whose taste buds have remained in the same state since birth. They don't want to eat anything with a flavor or texture. They don't want to try anything new. They don't want to go anywhere where they can't order a colorless item with all the garnishes and condiments stripped off and a side of plain french fries.
You would tell this person to go home, but they are either the only person whose company you can actually stand or they're a blood relative and it's their birthday.
Everyone is allergic to something these days. A few unfortunate souls are allergic to multiple things. Or intolerant. It means something different but the outcome is the same: you can't eat shit.
It is as frustrating to the sufferer as it is to those around them. Imagine going through life knowing that all those delightful smells and delicious-looking dishes are off limits to you. And not everyone can pop a before dinner pill and downgrade their suffering to a mild case of the farts. There are actually people who have to order bland food not because they want it, but because there is an ingredient in the sauce that will either asphixyate them or cause their intestines to dissolve into bloody pulp. Yum.
Believe it or not, there are several very good reasons for not eating fatty shit. Maybe you're too poor to afford the steak tonight, maybe you're trying to impress your vegetarian date, or maybe doctor told you that one more pound of lard will make you burst through your own skin like an overcooked sausage. Whatever the reason, you'd like to order a nice, safe salad or vegetable stir fry, something with a little less- oh for fuck's sake! They put bacon in the salad. There are seven god damned salads on that menu and every one is a sweaty greasy festival of bacon, bleu cheese dressing, and spicy mayonnaise.
You could ask for the salad without the lard, but what you'll get is a bowl of chilled leaves. No one at this restaurant knows how to pair vegetables, fruits, and nuts delicately into a meal! Everything edible is viewed as nothing but a garnish for meat. There is nothing wrong with meat (unless you're a vegetarian) but as an intelligent, curious, omnivorous creature you had hoped to enjoy a little variety. Too bad the children decided where you were eating tonight.