The last time I looked, the restaurant business was a “service” business. I’m not so sure, anymore. Allow me to illustrate. I was in midtown, last Saturday and it was early. You get the picture, 8:30, Saturday morning, midtown. Not exactly the busiest time of day or the busiest day of the week for any restaurant in that particular area. I’m going to have to be careful here. I can’t tell you where I went, or even the exact location. Restaurant owners and chefs are suing restaurant critics these days. I find that utterly absurd, but as a mere mortal, I certainly don’t wish to garner the ire of the dining gods. Anyway, there I was, in sleepy midtown, and I walk into this restaurant. It’s a small European chain here in New York, and I’d always enjoyed the food and the ambience in their various locations. As per the instructions posted on a sign at the entrance, I “wait to be seated.” The “hostperson,” or whatever they’re called these days, leads me toward the darker, rear of the restaurant. Please note the place is on a corner, framed with two grand walls of windows. I stop following and politely request any one of several empty tables next to those walls of glorious morning light. At this point, I’d say the place was, perhaps 30% full. I was immediately met with a not altogether pleasant attitude and a long winded and thoroughly unwelcome explanation about not burdening the “waitstaff” by putting too many people in one area and adversely affecting the “good service” I would otherwise be afforded if I sat where I was told. What I should have done was left the place, right then and there. But, I didn’t. I was hungry and ready for some of their excellent coffee, and didn’t wish to act in a rash manner. I was shown to a table against the wall. I suggested, again, I would rather sit by the windows. The hostperson looked at me, again with obnoxious attitude, and allowed I could sit there if I could “fit” between the closely placed tables. At this point, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, not only could I “fit,” I did. But wait, it gets even better, or worse depending on whether or not you have a taste for second rate comedy.
Once seated, a waitperson took our order and we requested water. A rather long while later, a second waitperson came to take our order. When we explained our order had already been taken, the second person gave us a puzzled look and took it again. As yet, no water had arrived, via either waitperson so we repeated our request. By this time we’d been seated for at least fifteen minutes. After a reasonably brief wait, the second waitperson arrived with some of our order, coffee, two plates, each containing a croissant, and no water. We were served none of their exquisite French butter, and none of their luscious Belgian preserves, just two plates and two croissants, which needless to say, were not warm. When I requested butter, jam and water, I was met with a sullen look and the question, “You want butter and jam?” Considering one of the words in the very French name of this ridicules place is “Pain,” I certainly was not spared the irony. And, I can assure you, had I not wanted those condiments, I would never have requested them. Another five minutes ensued before everything we’d ordered, not once, but twice, was finally brought to our table, not to mention, apparently the place was rationing butter that day, not just water.
We laughed through what had become a truly memorable meal, albeit for all the wrong reasons. And we weren’t the only ones having the problem. Everyone around us was experiencing the same difficulties. We all kept nodding and smiling at one another. But, enough is enough. You can be sure I’ll never cross the threshold of that midtown restaurant, again, though I might be persuaded to return to their place near my apartment, after a reasonable cooling off period. I will add I’ve never experienced such unpleasantness at that location.
Having said all of this, the question begs to be asked, what has happened? I mentioned, in the beginning, the restaurant business, to my understanding, is a service business. One can make their own breakfast, lunch or dinner, to be sure, but once in a while, one feels like going out and having somebody else do the work. For that privilege, one has the option of paying for the “service.” It was never my intention to walk into a restaurant, be lectured about the overburdened “waitstaff”, be told to basically shut up and sit where I’m told, and then be abused by truly miserable “service”. There was a time when a customer who patronized an establishment was treated well by simple virtue of the fact that without customers, the establishment would go out of business. There are any number of boutique, self-sustaining, ecologically correct purveyors who offer a great cup of coffee, and even a decent croissant if I’m inclined to serve myself. Of course in those places, the “tip jar” is placed strategically in front of the register. What left is there to say? Welcome to Hell’s Dining Room!