Can I get steak instead of fries?

Today's diner is all about choices. Maybe they're on the south beach diet, or the atkins diet, or weight watchers, or the zone diet, or whatever wildly restrictive plan that seemed most enticing to them. I understand the importance of regulating calories and watching your carbs, protein, etc. But there has to be some margin of error allowed when going out to eat. Some restaurants cater to these diets and that is great. Others, actually most, don't. It is not the restaurant's responsibility to list calories for you or other nutritional information. If you're that concerned about your diet you should already know the basic nutritional information regarding the foods you most commonly eat. And you should be able to make an educated guess toward the number of calories in a sauce or side dish - is it creamy? is based in animal fat? These are some of the very basic questions you can ask yourself to help determine just how unhealthy of a sauce you are eating. Or remember this easy gem - the better the food tastes, the worse it probably is for you. I try my best to answer my guests' questions about the food and to be as helpful as possible in assisting with diet friendly choices, but there eventually comes a limit. One or two modifications on a dish are fine. Perhaps you'd like the sauce on the side, or the vegetables to not be cooked in any oil. Okay, these are reasonable requests. Maybe you'd like all white meat or a vegetable in place of those starchy ole potatoes. Perfectly acceptable requests that clearly have a dietary purpose.

It is not okay, however, to begin drastically changing the menu because the exact dish you once cooked for yourself at home is not on it. Why can't we make you regular mashed potatoes instead of garlic mashed potatoes? Because they're not on the menu! Why can't we make you a breaded chicken breast with pasta? Because there is nothing breaded on the entire menu and we don't even carry pasta in the restaurant!! The audacity of such requests amazes me everytime I hear them. This might have something to do with the anger that usually accompanies these requests. People who want to invent their own dish usually feel very entitled to this dish, and as such will not hesitate to bark and spit at anyone who keeps them from it. I LOVE these people. Nothing at work gives me greater pleasure than forcing them to order an item off the menu. Usually there is a lengthy discussion involving many inuslts hurled toward the server and the telling of many lies. "The last time I was hear they did this," "I'm a regular they always do this for me," "They always do this at your other location." These guests also feel the need to explain our job to us - "It's really not that hard, just do it," "I don't see what the problem is and I want my salad," "The kitchen will understand, it's no big deal." Oh really? You personally know the chef and line cooks making your food? You've already spoken with them and explained that while cooking for three hundred other people they should set aside the time to prepare you a completely unique and special dish at the exspense of everyone else's dishes? In that case why don't you just go ahead and put the order in yourself and run it to the table. You seem to know your way around our restaurant very well.

I've gotten off into a very angry waiter rant and that is something I try to avoid here. So Ill try to bring it all back together for a point and a few basic reminders: 1)Do not ask for more than two changes to your food unless you have a legitimate food alergy. You are wasting the cooks' time and causing everyone's orders to take longer. 2)Be friendly and polite when asking for major changes to the menu. If a guest is cool about it I have no problem going out of my way to get them the exact dish they want. The minute they begin raising their voice is when I start saying no. 3)Be prepared to pay. Just accept that changes to the dish often involve a charge. You are asking for something extra, and as such are paying an extra charge. It's how restaurants work. It's how all commerce works - more services cost you more money. And finally, in response to may favorite request to date - No, you cannot have a side of steak in place of the french fries. And yes, there will be an upcharge - the price of a steak. And are you serious?

Hey big spender

This evening was an exceptionally special one. I'm not feeling so hot as I am coming down with something nasty. The massive amounts of congestion in my head helped to me hear about half of what people said to me and it was difficult to project over the noise of the crowded dining room, thanks to the cough that kept me up all night. This is one of those unfortunate waiter moments. I'm always telling people how much I love making money and having a flexible schedule and never working overtime, etc. etc. And it's true! There are a lot of perks to working as a waiter, but there are a few disadvantages as well. One of the biggest is the lack of sick time. I can't call in sick and just expect to catch up tomorrow. There's no half days or paid time off. Calling in sick not only means I screw over my coworkers by leaving a hole in the roster, it also means I don't make any money - money I probably need for things like medicine and reassuing comfort foods or massive quantities of drugs to drown my sickly sorrows in. Calling in sick usually involves finding your own replacement. It's ok to be sick or have something come up as long as you get the shift covered, which is not always an easy thing to do. So, not wanting to deal with the three ring circus that is calling in sick, I took one for the team and donned my apron for another night of wacky antics and delicious steaks.

I'll share with you the highlight from my all star cast of diners this evening...
The trio of business associates - one gentleman and two ladies. They had very important matters to discuss. In fact everything was so important it was such a hassle to be interruped by the waiter to do tedious things like order food and drink. Thankfully though, I was able to make them laugh and thus my intrusions were forgiven. The meal ran smoothly, the meeting came to an end and it was time to pay the check. The lone male reached quickly for it as I brought it to the table and said, "I'll take care of that," as he slipped his mastercard into the book. Now, I've come to associate credit levels with the design on the card. If the card is a solid, unatractive color, I usally cross my fingers that there will be enough left over for a tip. But for some reason I didn't think anything of his beige mastercard with the hideous diamonds on it (I'm curious if other servers will agree with this - but I also suspect that shady credit unions go hand in hand with hideous logos. Check out your own card - you know what kind of credit you have - does your card match?) The card was declined...six times...on three computers. Great. I printed a receipt that said declined, circled this, and brought it back in the book, saying, "I'll be back with you in one moment," as I discreetly pointed out the declined receipt to our pick up the tab hero.

Great discussion ensued at the table that involved pointing at me several times and a lot of checkng through walets and head shaking. After a minute or two of this I returned to the table and picked up the book, now with another beige diamond faced card, this one bearing the name of one of the ladies at the table. "Sorry about that, this should be fine." "It's no trouble. I'll be back in a moment." I ran the new card and brought it back the table, wishing them a good night and thanking them for their business. Five minutes later I returned to the table to collect the receipt and my tip from the book. There, on their $124 tab was my tip...$0. Of course. It was my fault the credit card was declined and awkward moments ensued. My fault that he doesn't know how to manage his money and also feels compelled to impress his friends. And my fault that she got stuck paying for the meal. Of course it's the waiter's fault. I placed the receipt in my pocket and though about I just paid four dollars to wait on these people. Next time I'm calling in sick

Check it out

My friend Stephanie has entered the world of restaurants for the first time. And she has thrown herself into the back of house as well. Good luck Steph on your endeavors as a pastry chef! If you're curious about what it's like to learn the art of pastry making in a trendy New York eatery or how it is in your first weeks in a restaurant then check out her blog, pastry monkey (pastrymonkey.blogspot.com).

Thanks nice lady

Today's post is brief and lovely - a moment of calm, if you will, in the sea of chaos that is the restaurant I work in. During my shift last night I was carrying several plates to a table and had to pause in the aisle to let an elderly woman pass by. She looked to be roughly 712 and had the most beautiful braids. In fact, everything about this woman was beautiful and somehow peaceful. We locked eyes from a moment and grinned before I sped away to drop the freakishly hot plates I was carrying. Later that evening I happened to walk past her booth where she was seated alone. I stopped by her table and said, "Excuse me ma'm, but you have the most beautiful hair." She took my hand, which surprised me and replied, "thank you, you're very nice." We looked at each other and held hands for a moment before I told her that I was happy to meet her. "I'm very glad to meet you too," she told me, and we shared an extended moment of smiling and hand holding before I pulled away and rushed off to check on my onion soup for table 706. It was a strange, peaceful, and calming moment in a place that usually leaves you feeling wrecked and depleted. Thank you cool old lady for brightening my day and granting me one of those special human connections with a total stanger.

Ja, Gunther, do you vant some help vid zos beers?

I overheard the above statement while walking past the bar during last night's shift. Gunther was struggling to deliver four beers to his friends waiting at a nearby cocktail table, causing his companion to make this query in her thick German accent. I giggled to myself, partially over the name Gunther and the memories it conjured of the old SNL skit Sprockets, and also over all of the feelings waiters have about foreign tables. In the movie Waiting when the hostess informs one of the servers that she has sat her a foreign table, the server asks, "are you mad at me?" while another server screams, "foreigners, I hate foreigners!" Sadly, sometimes we do hate our foreign customers. It is a royal pain to take all that extra time explaining things to the table. As I slowly explain each item on the menu, over enunciating each syllable, I watch as my other tables grow anxious looking for me. Falling deeper and deeper in the weeds at the hands of this foreign nemesis is no fun. The language barrier presents some interesting problems. Typically each person at the table speaks about three to seven words of English, excepting the host of the table who has mastered our language and commands a vocabulary of at least two or three dozen words. The host will undertake the difficult task of ordering for the table, something that always amuses me. The host never orders for individuals, rather he lists an array of dishes that will simply be brought to the table. For example, "Please for to bring one steak, a chicken, the fish, and the vegetables." Thus begins the order taking adventure. We struggle way through temperatures and side dishes, substitutions and courses. It is no easy task explaining that the catfish comes with whipped sweet potatoes and spinach so they must choose which item to replace with fries, or that the BBQ combo sides trade out together and that you can't pick and choose.

Sometimes I fantasize about learning foreign languages just to better communicate with my customers. Then I realize what a wildly small minded fantasy this is - I am not dreaming about learning a foreign language to better myself or to travel the world, I am dreaming about learning a foreign language to bring people their steaks in a more efficient manner. After taking the order there is another guessing game. Which "American beer" should I bring the table, or which "vegetables" might they enjoy as their side dishes? Typically I bring Sam Adams and corn, as these both seem very hearty and American to me. If I could bring apple pie as a side dish I would. There is also the problem of figuring out where the food will go. Many times I have taken the order from a large foreign party and then must randomly assign each dish to a seat number. In these cases if I am lucky enough to see my order come up on the line I usually find some reason to go hide in the back. I'll save the thrill of auctioning off the plates for the food runner or one of my wonderful fellow servers.

Once the meal has finished there comes the final gem of the evening, the tip. Herein lies the reason we hate serving foreign guests. I understand that waitstaff are treated differently in Europe. They are paid a real living wage and do not need tips to live. If tips are given, they are small and more of a method of communicating the service was excellent. This is not the case in the States. I make something absurd like $4.12 an hour. My check reads, "this is not a check," because my hourly pay is so small it is eaten up by credit card tips in a matter of hours. I need your tips to pay my rent and feed myself - your tips are my livelihood. It is difficult to accept that Europeans don't know this. I know not to leave a large tip in a European eatery, that this is considered rude as I am flaunting my money. Is it really too much to ask to expect Europeans to understand our customs in turn. Sure, we have a stamp that we can put on the check, explaining in several languages that the tip is not included, or "non incloso." This stamp does not explain that the industry standard is twenty percent or that leaving me five dollars on a two hundrend dollar tab is actually more insulting than leaving me nothing at all.

At the end of the day it's best not get upset over something that will never change. My foreign guests will always want a well done filet with french fries and an "American beer," and they will always leave me five to ten percent. It's best to remember those diamonds in the rough - the rare foreign tables that know the ins and outs of our culture and tip well, order easily, and get in and out with minimum amounts of grief. So please stop by anytime you like Gunther. We'll keep the Sam Adams flowing and well done steaks coming.

Kids say the darndest things

Well I was supposed to write this post last night, but I decided to watch videos of people's grandmas on youtube until 3:00 am instead. So my apologies to those at work who I asked to check out my newest post...here it finally is.

Last night while working on the patio, one of my coworkers waited on a family of five. When he got to the daughter, who was around six or seven, she asked for the kids cheeseburger. He asked her, "how would you like your burger cooked," to which she replied, "cut into triangles please." Yes! Often times we hate waiting on children because, as my old friend Coco says, "children don't order steaks." This is true, they don't order thirty dollar steaks. Instead they order seven dollar kids meals that include ice cream and a drink. And you know what...that is ok - they're children! And they often say and do the funniest things in our restaurant.

Another time one of my coworkers fell victim to our kitchen, which on occasion can take anywhere from 30 minutes to four days to get your food out. As she finally brought the order to the table, the small five year old took a tater tot from his plate, shook it in her face and told her, "you took to long with my grilled cheese." Seriously?! It hurts my heart when things like that happen. Here is another child being taught from an early age by his parents that is perfectly acceptable to harrass the staff. Too many parents teach their children that it is ok, in fact normal to be as rude as possible to the waitstaff, and as such we find ourselves getting dissed by children as young as five years old.

Once, while waiting on a family of four from San Francisco, I asked the son what he wanted to drink. The yong lad (about age 8 or so) thought about it for a moment and replied, "I'll have a Roy Rogers on the rocks. Easy on the rocks." Yes! Thank you Grandma or whoever ordered that drink this way infront of that boy, because that was one of the best things I've heard at work in a long time.

Thank you children for the entertaining things you say. You are a delight. Until you start ripping up your food into tiny pieces and throwing it on the floor. And until your start running and screaming through the restaurant while your disinterested parents assume the waitstaff to be a fleet of free babysitters. That is when you have begun to overstay your welcome. That is, unless you ordered the thirty dollar steak. In that case you are allowed a little time to, as my drunks told me the other night, "let it all out."

Bring me another bagamagamfp...yeah

Okay, so we all like to get intoxicated from time to time. I've certainly had my fair share of drunken nights out and there have been those nights that were dragged out just a little longer than they should have been. Mind you, these nights usually are spent at bars or clubs, or at my friends' apartments, where it is perfectly acceptable to drink until I truly believe I can speak another language and also think that it is okay to shout everything and make outrageous demands. I typically do not drink to the point of severe intoxication and then head out for a bite to eat at a restaurant. Sports fans love to do this. I do not mean to be ignorant and stereotype all sports fans, but many of them love to get all jazzed up in their team's signature colors, consume roughly fifty two beers, and when the game is over head out to one of their favorite night spots for a bite to eat and a game of harrass the waiter. Tonight the restaurant was a sea of yellow as the Iowa fans swept through in a barbecue consuming frenzy. The majority of these fans were very nice people, commenting that we need to open a location near them and that our homemade sangria is, "super!" Yes, thank you, it is, and hopefully one day we will open a location near you so that you might enjoy steaks and ribs to your heart's content. But there always has to be that last table - they somehow know they are your last table of the night and they are hell bent on behaving in such an absurd manner that no matter how well your evening has gone you will leave the restaurant furious do to their antics.

This special table consisted of three middle aged guys dressed to the nines in their bright yellow Iowa hoopty do . I approached the table already angry, as they were sat ten minutes after the patio closed, but reminded myself to be friendly as this was not their fault. I began my obnoxiously long corporate greet only to be interrupted by this request - "Bring usss shome hash browns with cheeses and yeah, um, yeah and some mrmphgrm." "Sorry guys," I replied, "we don't have any hash browns." "What, then just bring out some potatoes you know, and, uh, the cheese with the onions and the stuff." I hide my disgust behind a wildly artificial smile and begin determining each individual's level of drunkeness. I make sure to make each of them repeat back their order to me and ask them some random questions about temperatures and the like, trying to make them talk as much as possible. The guy in seat one it turns out is only mildly intoxicated and just rude. The guy in seat two is also mildly intoxicated and apparantly determined to get hash browns and he repeatedly asks for them. I finally tell him that I'm going to bring him some hash smothered and covered in the hopes that he will think he is in a Waffle House and calm down. The guy in seat three speaks complete gibberish to me but manages to perfectly state, "I'd like the bud lite bottle and not draft," so I figure I'll reward him with one beer before I cut him off. Before sending in their drink order (3 beers) I also find out that they are staying in a nearby hotel and are not driving a car tonight. We are good to go with one round of drinks!

When I return with the beers they begin grilling me on my sports knowledge. Those of you who know me will see the humor in this line of questioning. I don't even know what team from Iowa they are rooting for, much less the sport they play. This is tricky you see. These guys are drunk and hopped up on testosterone and the thrill of boozing and clubbing in the big city. They want their waiter to be a dude who can shoot the shit and crack a dirty joke or tell them his favorite football play of all time and why. I vaguely mumble something like, "Yeah, what's his name can't throw for shit. Maybe if he had an arm they might have stood a chance tonight," and cringe while waiting for the response. "Damn straight!" "Isn't that the truth?!" THANK YOU JESUS! I can't believe my bullshit actually worked and these guys believed me. I am now grateful that they consumed those fifty two beers before coming in. They ask for another round and I tell them about the bars up the street, suggesting they would probably enjoy a beer there. Thankfully they understand the unspoken message that their drunk asses need to go and they give up on the beers. After a few more requests for items we don't carry and some more unintelligable mumbling I bring them a check and tell that that do to a city ordinance they must vacate the patio after 11:00 pm (thank you random city laws!). They pay, ask for my reccomendations on where to, "let it all out," and stumble toward the exit. I think of the poor cocktail waitress they are headed for and laugh to myself, imagining them "letting it all out," at the next place.