Friday, February 27, 2004
MEETING AT THE RESTAURANT
"Hi. I'm here to meet a friend at 7 pm."
Hostess 1: "I think she might be here already."
I scan the foyer but do not see her. "Has she already been seated?" I ask.
Hostess 1: "No, she went to the ladies room. Short blond hair and bags?"
I hadn't seen my friend in over a year but I couldn't imagine her cutting her hair short. And did the hostess mean shopping bags or bags under my friend's eyes...
"No that doesn't sound like her," I say.
Hostess 2: "Oh no but she just looks like she would be your friend! And she said she was meeting someone here at seven."
I brace myself for a marked change in my friend's appearance. And then I see the woman who Hostess 1 and Hostess 2 think looks like she would be my friend. Her hair is shoulder length, not short. The same length it was the last time I saw her. She is wearing a leather jacket (so am I) and a pretty scarf (so am I). The bag in question is a duffle bag she just bought. We give a great big hug.
Hostess 2: "See I told you! Look at you two. You got the look!" she clucks appreciatively.
She indeed looks fabulous. As always.
HELP WANTED OK, so I don't mean to sound like I'm always bashing Americans. Or worse that I'm a snob. But in other parts of the world, restaurant wait staff must undergo rigorous instruction until they have learned to not only serve wine correctly, but have also mastered the art of unassuming attentiveness. This is true for high-end as well lower-end restaurants. The goal for the waiter/waitress in training is to become as serviceable and quiet as the fine-linen napkin you unfold onto your lap. This kind of professionalism is unfortunately rarely exhibited by most fast-food-raised wait staff in the States. Look, if I go out to enjoy dinner with a friend or with hubby, I don't need or want a specious side-order of vacuous college student leaning into my table mis-pronouncing 'Frittura Di Calamari.' Furthermore these college kids have an absolutely deplorable sense of timing -- no doubt from having no first-hand experience of what it means to linger over and enjoy a multi-course dinner.
WHERE'S THE BEEF? On this particular evening, our superficially peppy waitress seats us and while we are still just pulling off our jackets, asks if we would like anything to drink. She extends the wine list while neither my friend or I are in a position to grab hold of it. She leaves the table as she should but then just as I begin perusing the wine assortment, pops back over to tell us about the dinner specials even so we haven't even cracked our menus open. Then our whirly waitress disappears altogether until I have to finally call a young gentleman over to get us some wine. I order a bottle of one of my favorite reasonably-priced Chardonnays: J. Lohr "One glass?" he asks. "No two please." What, does he think I'm planning on drinking down an entire bottle of wine by myself while my friend looks on?
LIFE, SHE'S A GOOD Fortunately the wine softens the glaring shortcomings of the personnel and I settle in to listen to my pretty friend bring me up to date on family, career, vacations, books, and gossip. She tells me that she loves to read my blog page and I feel absolutely honored given everything else she could be reading instead. She only gently scolds my insensitivity regarding my too-often-mentioned size-2-ness and I promise to take note in future blogs. Mind you this is a woman who just turned fifty and got carded at a pub just a few short years ago! Our lives are rich and we are both in good places. We have interesting jobs which are thankfully subsidized by adoring hubbies. We savor two Irish coffees, split the eighty dollar check, and I think life is good.
"Hi. I'm here to meet a friend at 7 pm."
Hostess 1: "I think she might be here already."
I scan the foyer but do not see her. "Has she already been seated?" I ask.
Hostess 1: "No, she went to the ladies room. Short blond hair and bags?"
I hadn't seen my friend in over a year but I couldn't imagine her cutting her hair short. And did the hostess mean shopping bags or bags under my friend's eyes...
"No that doesn't sound like her," I say.
Hostess 2: "Oh no but she just looks like she would be your friend! And she said she was meeting someone here at seven."
I brace myself for a marked change in my friend's appearance. And then I see the woman who Hostess 1 and Hostess 2 think looks like she would be my friend. Her hair is shoulder length, not short. The same length it was the last time I saw her. She is wearing a leather jacket (so am I) and a pretty scarf (so am I). The bag in question is a duffle bag she just bought. We give a great big hug.
Hostess 2: "See I told you! Look at you two. You got the look!" she clucks appreciatively.
She indeed looks fabulous. As always.
HELP WANTED OK, so I don't mean to sound like I'm always bashing Americans. Or worse that I'm a snob. But in other parts of the world, restaurant wait staff must undergo rigorous instruction until they have learned to not only serve wine correctly, but have also mastered the art of unassuming attentiveness. This is true for high-end as well lower-end restaurants. The goal for the waiter/waitress in training is to become as serviceable and quiet as the fine-linen napkin you unfold onto your lap. This kind of professionalism is unfortunately rarely exhibited by most fast-food-raised wait staff in the States. Look, if I go out to enjoy dinner with a friend or with hubby, I don't need or want a specious side-order of vacuous college student leaning into my table mis-pronouncing 'Frittura Di Calamari.' Furthermore these college kids have an absolutely deplorable sense of timing -- no doubt from having no first-hand experience of what it means to linger over and enjoy a multi-course dinner.
WHERE'S THE BEEF? On this particular evening, our superficially peppy waitress seats us and while we are still just pulling off our jackets, asks if we would like anything to drink. She extends the wine list while neither my friend or I are in a position to grab hold of it. She leaves the table as she should but then just as I begin perusing the wine assortment, pops back over to tell us about the dinner specials even so we haven't even cracked our menus open. Then our whirly waitress disappears altogether until I have to finally call a young gentleman over to get us some wine. I order a bottle of one of my favorite reasonably-priced Chardonnays: J. Lohr "One glass?" he asks. "No two please." What, does he think I'm planning on drinking down an entire bottle of wine by myself while my friend looks on?
LIFE, SHE'S A GOOD Fortunately the wine softens the glaring shortcomings of the personnel and I settle in to listen to my pretty friend bring me up to date on family, career, vacations, books, and gossip. She tells me that she loves to read my blog page and I feel absolutely honored given everything else she could be reading instead. She only gently scolds my insensitivity regarding my too-often-mentioned size-2-ness and I promise to take note in future blogs. Mind you this is a woman who just turned fifty and got carded at a pub just a few short years ago! Our lives are rich and we are both in good places. We have interesting jobs which are thankfully subsidized by adoring hubbies. We savor two Irish coffees, split the eighty dollar check, and I think life is good.
Comments:
Post a Comment
