Amuse bouche? Not hardly. Update.

Another food-related non-recipe post. Matt and I went out with some friends last night, to a local wine shop that has tastings on Friday nights. They usually have a local winery pour their latest and/or greatest, with the winemaker there to talk about it etc. Last night, though they had a tasting of South American wines. They were pouring Montes Cabernet, with which we are familiar, and a Viognier that was absolutely to DIE for, called Tupungato Mendoza. (What does that mean in English? Am intriqued.) It's from Argentina. The evening ambled on, and suddenly we were all hungry, so we decided to go to a nearby Italian Bistro, a place that I have heard a lot about, and where Matt goes for lunch quite often. We were kind of excited to try this place for the first time. It's a family restaurant, and quite pretty. The menu looked amazing, and we ordered our pasta dishes and opened a bottle of Pinot that Hangover brought (what, did you think we ever go anywhere without him? Psh.) and settled in for a long, warm evening of fun and relaxation.

Except.

We were kind of a big group (about ten), so the restaurant had set up a table in the middle of the room, rather than along the wall, which was fine. The only problem was the table I was facing, a four-cover table with two young men sitting at it, obviously at the tail end of their meal. Obviously at the tail end of their bottle of wine, as well. They were talking rather loudly, which normally isn't a problem for anyone, especially in a crowded restaurant, but their volume made it impossible to ignore their language. If I closed my eyes I could almost convince myself I was in a truck stop, it was *that* bad. Literally (and I don't use that word lightly!) every. other. word. started with F. It was incredbile.

Can you believe I actually lost my appetite?

Reconnoitering in the ladies' room, we (the girls, not Hangover and Matt and I) just hoped that they would pay their check and go. They ended up not leaving until just before we did, and we took our sweet time, too.

What do you all think? Should we have said something to the manager? (There were only two other tables in that room, so it might have been obvious who had complained, and that kind of drama is not the kind we like, so...)

Updated to ask: What do they do about this in China?