A request to modify a dish, which the chef is renowned for doing, proved all but impossible. They brought me the wrong entrée. A tablemate’s scallops were bland and as rubbery as pencil erasers. They never did bring a salad, even though we ordered one. The waiter then blamed the kitchen. The rating plummeted — 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 … meltdown.

Maybe that is why our waiter simply disappeared, never to be seen again. I went right past “1: Combative” to the opposite end of the heavy-metal guitarist’s amplifier, which is to say, I went to negative 11. I was too speechless to fight.

Instead, I shuffled out of the restaurant in a sort of catatonia, pausing at the front desk to mumble out a complaint. A manager called me at home, apologized for the experience, and invited the four of us back. The restaurant, he said, would pay for the meal we ate and the one we’d return for.

So, I don’t know what to think of the software. On the one hand, we had a disastrous evening. On the other, we got two free meals at one of the best restaurants in America.