She stopped, looked down at me sitting at my table with the look of fear in her eyes said it, “What’s wrong with you?” Sensing that she had totally misinterpreted my sounds of excitement, I replied, “I’m just over-joyed about getting this fantastic hamburger.” Her expression of shock quickly morphed into a broad smile. “I love these burgers too”, as she started on her way again.
Indeed, the burgers at The Butchery in Bells Corners were the best ever; a thick cut of hamburger, covered with sautéed onions and melted cheese within a warm bun was always looked forward too. Today was no exception, even if I did scare the wits out of an old woman!
I had a worse experience than that with a hamburger a few years ago. As one of the volunteers helping prepare the Whitewater Museum for its spring opening, we ended up in a nearby restaurant for a bite to eat. My order was the only one forgotten. The cook reacted quickly and said he would whip my burger up in no time. When it arrived, it took only one bite to realize it contained no hamburger meat at all. After a brief encounter with the cook I told him, “Stuff your dam restaurant.” Afterwards I became the butt of a joke with others who sang “Bob, you’re mainly because of the meat.”
When I am at a higher-end restaurant or watching a movie with scenes of one, I often imagine being the waiter in that particular place, performing all essential duties vital to the success of the restaurant with stature and pride. I would be the server with a good knowledge of the wine list and even be able to recommend food–wine pairings. Of course I would be dressed in black and white with a long, white apron (extending from the waist to the ankles). I would even carry extra spoons with me for patrons since they dropped them so frequently.
It would always irk me if someone had a gourmet dish then poured a run-of the-mill condiment over it. Revolting! There are those who don’t have a clue about napkin etiquette, especially when someone at the table blows their nose in it. Everyone knows that’s rude (except for the person doing it).
“Manners aren’t set in stone; they’re written in sand,” according to a hospitality manager’s blog. “They evolved with the times, less formal now than back in our grandmother’s time,” he continued, “but putting anything on the table is still frowned upon.”
However like most illusions we have a part to play in, there are downsides. In being a renowned waiter, unfortunately I can foresee not paying enough attention to details and getting a client’s order wrong or worse, delivering a dinner to the wrong table.
And that brings me to a situation where a dozen men go to lunch once every month but the bistros vary. A few mistakes I made in the past always means that one of group explains to the waitress that I must be the last one served. The waitress inevitably asks why that is. The ritual given is, “A couple of times in the past, he has accepted a lunch that wasn’t the one he ordered and he started eating it, screwing it up someone else at the table. To prevent this we make certain that everyone else is served before him.” This routine has become so familiar and frustrating to me that I try valiantly to get back onto the honour system. At least after all this time, it should be voted on. They did hold a vote. It was turned down by all except one. He thought we were voting on having more dessert!
I know all about eating-out etiquette but to practice it is another matter. Sometimes it is cool to simply lean your elbow on the table or not fold your napkin properly. Conversations needn’t be orderly or respectful. I prefer to say what’s on my mind to whoever it might be and to heck with protocol.
I suppose the best way to negotiate through one’s life or a relationship is compromise. I perfected that one day when Sheila made BLT’s and forgot the bacon in mine. She was astonished at my meek reaction.
