Tag Restaurants

If Only the ER Served Magaritas

Michael 1 Comment

We almost expected to hear Anthony Edwards, aka E. R. Dr. Mark Greene, shout “Clear!” and apply the defibrillator paddles to the piece of meat in front of him, grilling it to the perfect fajita filling.  The hustle and the bustle far exceeded that of most inner city emergency rooms on a Saturday night after the local team won its first (pick your favorite season) championship in over 50 years.

Ok, let’s catch you up so you can enjoy this tale also.  Last weekend we paid a visit to one of our favorite local eateries.  A very small authentic Mexican restaurant with no designs of growing larger.  On a lucky Saturday night we’ll be led to a quiet table for two tucked into a corner as far from the hostess stand as one can get in a room the size of a generous living room.  Here we’re treated to the basic three courses where we relish in the opportunity to be served by trained, professional waitpersons in our favorite quietly comfortable restaurant.  Good food.  Good service.  Good company.  Good time.

Last Saturday we headed to our dining quarry figuring to have a drink in the bar before dinner.  We’ve ventured into the bar, considerably smaller in scale to the rest of the operation just as another couple was called to their table.  We settled into their vacated seats at the far side of the square cornered horseshoe and decided that we were so comfortable, and since we never had there before, we would have dinner right there at the bar.

Eating at the bar is nothing unusual for us.  We do so quite often.  We’re low enough maintenance that the bartenders aren’t unduly burdened by having to play waitperson while already performing in the role of barperson.  Many of the places we’ve come to call home for dinner out have the bar in the middle of the room and thus in the middle of the action.  The ideal seat for people watching.  So with our history of bar dining and a new opportunity in front of us, we embarked on our first such supper at our favorite comfortably quiet restaurant.  Boy were we in for a shock!

“Clear!”  Well, how about “Smith!  Party of 4!  Jones!  Party of 2!”  Every 15 minutes or so the hostess, a little bitty thing, stood in the doorway of the smallish space and bellowed out a prospective diner like a conductor crying the stops of the local commuter train with a voice that would fill all outdoors.  “Behind you! Cold ice!” the bar back routinely called out with as much frequency as the people search.  And the people kept on coming.

They packed themselves in like they were filing into the afternoon rush hour subway.  Parties of 2, 4, 8.  Eyes slightly glazed after a long day of shopping? housework? painting?  We don’t know what the Saturday afternoon activities but whatever they were those activities led to a need for an adult beverage.  And soon.  Drinks were called for from the second row behind the stools. 

“Ford! Party of 6!”  “Margarita! No Salt!”  “Lincoln! Party of 4!”  “Dos Equis! Draft! Make it two!”  At one time we counted 38 people in the little room.  The fire marshal generously rated the space for occupancy by 50 people.  The designer squeezed 14 stools around the counter.  There wasn’t a time that the other 36 hadn’t conveyed their desperate need to soothe the fever that responded only to the medicine served in a chilled glass.   Ice when it wasn’t being poured into the holder 20 pounds at a time was transferred into quart sized mason jars then filled with tequila and the other makings for their specialty margarita and attached to the industrial blender that sounded like a second cousin to a turboprop airplane.  When at last their names were call, parties would leave for the dining room, clutching their chilled glasses like the secret remedy from the healer of the high desert. 

Standees took their vacated seats, new patients crowded in from the outer room.  “Nachos with queso!”  “Frozen or on the rocks!” “Heinz! Party of 6!” “More chips please!” “Rocks! No Salt!”  “More Ice!” “French! Party of 2!”

All around the conversations bubbled to the top, mixed with the televisions (two, about 20 feet apart, on different channels) and stirred into the bustling chatter of the staff, creating a confused sound track.  “Temperatures will be higher than…the upstairs really need to be…ordered last week and now they say…it’s the third meeting between them…when I said…do you want another…chilly night before…rebounding and that has to get better than… dark blue with gray trim.” 

One of our regular waiters spotted us from the service area waiting for his orders.  “Trying something new?” he shouted across the room.  “You know us, we have to try it all!” we answered.  Our attention divided between the bartenders going through tequila, ice, and chilled mason jars and the patrons going through tequila, ice, and chilled mason jars.  The bar persons whirling into high gear, resembling the blades spinning in the drink mixer.  The bar crowd shifting into lower gears as the cactus juice mellowed them in preparation for dinner.  Eventually.

And so they came, dazed, confused, smarting from spring cleaning, comatose from too much Saturday television, sore and achy, looking for healing in the emergency rooms of bars.  And a margarita.  Rocks.  No salt.  No glass.  Just a mason jar and one really big straw.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Terms of Appreciation

Michael 3 Comments

You know that every so often new words are officially added to the English language.  We’re not certain exactly how the process goes but we know that “somebody” figures out that we are using non-words so often that eventually “they” decide to make those words official and add them to the language.  Fortunately language isn’t like the physical law of conserving matter.  There is nothing that says there only so many letters available and when you build more new words you have to lose some old ones.  We can keep adding words all we want and we don’t have to put any of the old ones away.  But is sure seems like there are some words that we just don’t hear anymore.  Two of them are “thank” and “you.”

You knew you were getting set up for something.  But really, have you noticed that “thank you” is going fast.  Particularly at the grocery store, bank, convenience store, restaurants, and fast-food drive thru windows.  (We’re pretty sure “thru” is one of the new words we’re allowed to use so we will.  Besides, ‘drive-through’ looks weird.)  And it’s not just that “thank you” is disappearing.  It’s being replaced.  Instead of an expression of gratitude when we hand our money over to the aforementioned clerks and servers, we are now being told “have a good one,” or “there you go” when change is involved.  Quite often, and particularly at the drive thru, we’re told nothing at all.

We don’t like it.  We’re not certain who is in charge of expressions of gratitude but “there you go” doesn’t cut it.  We’re prepared to begin a letter writing campaign so if any of you have a clue as to whom we address our concerns please let us know.  And quickly, before “thank you” disappears into the altogether.

While we’re at it, there are some other phrases we’d like to see when we’re attempting to buy goods or services. 

When we finally get to the head of a check-out line at the local do it yourself center we can do without “did you find everything ok?”  Usually the person asking is a teenager working part time after school or on weekends and has no clue as to what we are buying let alone where we would find whatever it is we couldn’t locate.  “Did you find everything?” is a fine phrase but quite useless by the time one gets to the check-out corral.  Maybe the do it yourself powers that be could shift a few employees to the aisles where the confusion begins to ask that question.  But at the cash register we’d like a return to the old standby of “Hello, would you like some help to your car with that?” particularly when “that” is 500 pounds of wood, nails, shingles, and hardware for a backyard shed that we never did find the instructions for.

When we are out for our weekly dinner date we’d rather not have the server greet us with “can I get you something to drink?” before we’ve even decided which chair who will sit in and do we drape our coats over the backs of the chairs in which we do eventually sit or across the seat of a vacant one.  We’d prefer “You guys get settled in and I’ll bring you a couple glasses of water.  Then if you’d like a drink or an appetizer you can let me know.”  We’ve already had issues with the customary check in question “Is everything ok?” (See “You Want Fries with That?” posted in LIFE, Dec, 12, 2011.)  It’s a great question made up of great words.  It’s just that few servers actually mean it.  And the ones that do are serving in restaurants that if everything wasn’t ok the dish would not have ever made it out of the kitchen.

And can we please dispense with the recorded greetings at the drive thru windows!  It’s bad enough every time you call any business that you are greeted with an auto-attendant.  Why do we now have to have (in an overly cheerful voice) “Would you like to try one of our new triple bypass burgers with the works available only for a limited time?!” This is then followed closely by the bored “Whenever you’re ready.”  Instead let’s move on to “Our menu hasn’t changed since 1955, what will you be having?”  It’s either that or the terribly unimaginative “May I take your order, please?”

There are some terrific new words and phrases that we didn’t have when we were first learning to use a dictionary like the Internet, technical support, and twenty-four hour fitness center.  That doesn’t mean that we can never use the oldies but goodies except in trivia games such as encyclopedia, repair manual, or housework.

We’re all for change.   We just don’t want to be told “There you go” when we get it.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

You want fries with that?

Michael 2 Comments

Another Saturday night was in full swing.  Even though it was the coldest night since Thanksgiving and one of only two shopping  Saturdays left until Christmas (no, we don’t count Christmas Eve as a shopping day – sheesh!)  the stores were full, the parking lots were full, and . . .  yes, the restaurants were full.  We will wait for almost anything worth that wait – good music, good hockey, good movies, good plays – but food, nope, we just aren’t going to wait for that.  There are too many restaurants with the same offerings to wait 45 minutes at one restaurant when a similar entrée is beckoning you from across the street.  And thus we were led astray by our rumbling tummies and fell into the abyss that was once a stalwart of family dining in our part of the world.

It’s our go-to restaurant when everything else is packed, when we can’t agree on where to go, or when we want that “you’ll never get a bad meal there” and we don’t want “there” to be home.  What it turned out to be was the exception to the rule.  First we got led to a sticky table with a crumb festooned banquette right off the open doorway to the kitchen.  The waitress was quick enough to come for a drinks order but that was the last time we saw her that evening.  No, that’s not true.  We did see her again 20 minutes later when she brought out the drinks.  That was however the last time she brought a correct order to us. It wasn’t a hard order – She of We ordered the meatloaf and He of We was having a pot roast sandwich with fries and gravy over everything.  Fattening, yes.  Difficult, no.  After making the 45 minute wait at the restaurant across the street seem speedy she came out with the correct but quite cold orders.  When she returned for the customary “how is everything?” we told her of our cold food, which by now could have chilled fresh brewed iced tea.  She stormed off in a huff, our former plates balanced precariously on her forearm, declaring “I’m never working a Saturday again!”  After only a moment away she returned again to ask if we wanted our meals re-prepared and simply heated.

To make a long story short, after three more trips to the kitchen, two additional exclamations of “I’m never working on Saturday again!” two visits by the restaurant manager, and an impromptu dance routine just inside the kitchen doorway,  we left with “We’re never going there on a Saturday again.”

But wait, should we strike an otherwise enjoyable rest stop from our list of acceptable establishments because they no longer hire professional waitresses?  Nobody hires professional waiters or waitresses any more.  There seems to be some backlash against professionals in the service industries.  We don’t understand why.  It takes a particular skill to handle a handful of restaurant tables each with a handful of diners even on a not particularly busy night.  The fault isn’t that of the misguided woman who thinks waitressing is a piece of cake.  It’s not even the fault of the manager who hires people who show contempt for their busiest night.  It’s the fault of the people who patronize these restaurants and stores but don’t complain when served up shoddy service.  It’s the fault of those who won’t return on a Saturday night but not tell anyone why.

We think something has to be done.  The only way we are going to get skilled and practiced service is to demand it.  Waiters and waitresses have to understand that if they do a mediocre job they get a mediocre tip.  When asking how everything was at the end of the meal they should expect, and want a critique of their service.  If the service is so bad that the manager is waiving the check, the waitress’s first thought should not be “there goes my tip.”  Managers have to know that the answer to every service complaint is not free dessert.  If a problem means meals will be delayed bring out some appetizers while the delay is happening.  Owners have to know that competent training and honest evaluations go a long way in making an establishment a continued stalwart in the field.   

When confronted with poor service we often ask ourselves what workers at these places expect.  It’s work.  But it’s work that’s been done for years by competent, yet still pleasant professionals.  We say bring them back.  And put them in charge.  And if it means we have to pay a little bit more for the service it will be worth it.

Even just for the meatloaf and a pot roast sandwich with fries and gravy over everything.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?