Bring back Little Miss Manuel

Hello everybody! I am back to help you all with your little problems. I was just too busy to commit to the other blog full time. But I am so lucky to have my lovely Manuel because he is going to let me write on here instead. So if you need a hug (metaphorically speaking, we aren't allowed to hug kids anymore because the naughty priests and scout masters went too far) just send me an email and I'll cure what ails you. Awh I love you guys. Big, metaphorical, hugs all round.

Now, down to business, two people have made Little Miss Manuel sad and want to cry. First of all there was that really Silly Billy, Ian Paisley Jr. Oh what a, I want to swear but that makes the baby Jesus cry, poo poo head. In an interview with smarty pants Irish music magazine "HOT PRESS" Mr Junior Minister for Equality said:

"I am pretty repulsed by gay and lesbianism. I think it is wrong. I think that those people harm themselves and - without caring about it - harm society. That doesn't mean to say that I hate them. I mean, I hate what they do."

I am all for free speech as long as there are no swear words and you don't make people cry. But we have to exercise control. Not a big factor in the DUP or Politics in the North of Ireland as a whole. What a w hole. He said that he wasn't speaking as a minister when he made these remarks. Now, Mr Paisley Jr that is a load of codswallop isn't it? If you are going to go around saying things that are full of hate and espouse a medieval attitude then you need to let us know when you are speaking as a private individual, when you are speaking as a member of the DUP, and when you are speaking as the junior minister for equality.

Maybe a selection of hats would be useful. When you are prattling on about the multitude of people you don't like or approve of you could wear a white pointy hat. And when you are speaking as a member of the DUP you could wear a, oh eh I think a white pointy hat would be good here too, maybe a blue pointy hat would be better. And when you are speaking as junior minster for equality maybe you shouldn't speak at all!

If the KKK hat fits...

Ian you need to help us, help you, you silly, silly (King)Billy. Let us know in what voice you are speaking. That way in future we know whether we should laugh it off (private individual), or get cross and upset (Junior Minister for Equality). Don't have me to send a letter home to your dad!

do your sums or you are going to hell

Another big poo poo head that made me break a crayola this week was Cardinal Keith O'Brien of the Catholic Church in Scotland. A fun time organisation on a par with Al-Qaeda in Iraq. Cardinal Threats, as I now call him, has warned Catholic MP's that their position on abortion could have them excommunicated from the church. Now most religions work on a certain level of threat, that is understood. Be good boys and girls and you wont go to hell. Manuel has been to Leeds so he says has no fear of hell. Jews, Christians, Muslims all use the bogeyman to keep their followers in line.

But to use the pulpit to threaten elected officials is so out of order it beggars belief. MP's are entitled to their religious beliefs but they are not entitled to use them in public life or to influence public policy. And in the same way religious leaders are not entitled to put pressure on elected officials in this way. And taking a lecture on the protection on children born or otherwise from the Catholic Church is like taking advice from the Nazi's on antisemitism.

if the Nazi hat fits...

Little Miss Manuel says anything that unites the Free Presbyterians and The Catholic Church should be avoided at all times and actively fought against. Sill Billys/Seans.

The joy of Stereotypes

not necessarily
Granny-stabbing-hubcap-stealing-tracksuit-wearing-scumbags

I love a good stereotype. They are easy and save you from having to be reasonable. In a way stereotyping is the less bloody equivalent to spraying the room with machine gun fire, at some point you are going to hit someone who deserves it. For example if you say everyone from Liverpool is a "Granny-stabbing-hubcap-stealing-tracksuit-wearing-scumbag" chances are you will malign a few innocent souls but on the whole you have will nailed your point.

Now, not everybody from Liverpool is a "Granny-stabbing-hubcap-stealing-tracksuit-wearing -scumbag", there are a fair few like that, but it would be unfair to describe everyone in that way. Those (very) few innocents are guilty by association. Just in the same way as not all Scottish people are tight fisted gets, and not all Welsh people enjoy a fiddle with a sheep. Some people let the side down and the rest get tarred with the same brush.

But not all stereotypes are negative. For example "all black men have huge schlongs", "all Asians are good at math", and "all French women are hot". But even these positive stereotypes have their problems. For example what if you are an ugly French woman or you're black and you're small?

And then we come to the Irish. Oh my. Wikinerds has a wonderfully enlightening list of Irish stereotypes.

* alcoholism
* dislike of the British
* often has red hair or freckles
* whimsical
* high birth rate
* Leprechauns
* dirty
* musical
* cops
* Catholic
* the color green
* beat their wives

Now when I first read this I thought it was rather amusing. But then I went all Celtic Tiger-ish and decided that it was out of date to say the least. In the North of Ireland we all love each other now and 30+ years of sectarianism and tribalism has been solved and put to bed by the wonderfully tanned Peter Hain. I don't even switch the TV off now when the British national anthem comes on! That's progress! So to say we hate the British is now defunct as a stereotype. And with the recent influx of migrants your average Irishman has moved his hate/bile on to them. This annoys the shit out of me considering that the Irish inhabit every corner of the world.

But the alcoholism bit really wound me up though. I've worked in England and have seen them crazy kids go for it on a Saturday night. We have seen Ireland become a slick, modern country with huge growth over the last ten years. Some of the biggest companies have bases here now. Bags of spuds have been replaced with bags of money. The economy is amongst the best in Europe. We are all fucking minted, apparently. Now you can't do that if your pished.

Well you say that, but apparently you can. The last report on Alcohol Consumption by the European Commision shows that the Irish spend more per head on booze that anywhere else in Europe. Each household spends nearly €17,008 on alcohol each year. What? That's mental! That is apparently 3 times more than any other country in Europe and ten times more than the Greeks. It's fifty quid a day! Fifty quid a day on booze?!

So with that in mind it is clear that some stereotypes are indeed true. In fact as I type this I am as drunk as a, well, as drunk as an Irishman. Even the cops here like a good drink. Even the cops who feature in Safe Driving adverts.

Fuck it we are still the greatest lovers. I'm off to down a bottle of Gin and beat Little Miss Manuel*.





Who's laughing now?

*no Little Miss Manuel's were hurt in the making of this blog.

Life is all about choices, so choose wisely.

Chocolate Willy
"Waiter, do they cum with cream?"

Bank holiday weekends, what a joy! They are much the same as any other weekend but with a few slight differences, people are slightly giddier on the Friday, and practically out of their minds with joy come 8pm on Sunday night. This contrasts sharply with the usual Sunday "feeling", the one that has them in tears as they have to leave the bar, go home and lay out their clothes for work on Monday morning. The few that stay on after 8pm end up performing the "I've got a terrible cold" phone call to the boss at half eight on the Monday morning. Obviously none of this applies to those with children, who instead of going out on a 3 day bender like their single co-workers, have the "joy" of spending an extra day reacquainting themselves with the kids. Bless.

This, for me, is the pishiest Bank Holiday of all. It's hard to predict what's going to happen. And I am not a fan of surprises. I like my booking sheets full and my customers on time. This being a Bank Holiday and not a public holiday it lacks the full force mayhem of the Mayday Holiday. And that is the way it turned out. As I had been paid on Friday my need for the cash was reduced and as a consequence of such my charm levels were dropped by a grovel or two. I'm still knackered though so here is Manuel's weekend in pictures.

Friday
Now that was a good shift. The fact that I knew my bank account was bulging, the redistribution of funds doesn't take place until Friday (rent etc), meant that I had a much more relaxed attitude to serving the masses.

this happened not once,
not twice,
but three times on Friday night.

But I stayed cool and laughed it off. People were dropping and spilling like it was a cool new fad. I was running round with club soda and salt assuring worried ladies, and it was without exception ladies, that the stain would come out. The only exception being the pint of Guinness that went for a wobble covering both the lady and the gent. There is nowt you can do there. Silly moo, as Little Miss Manuel would say.

Saturday

As the only chap that works on the floor in the restaurant I get first preference when it comes to serving hen parties. It makes financial sense. Women tip male waiters better than female waiters. I don't like the word waitress, and rarely use it. It's as annoying as manageress. Male customers look at male waiters as being Gay, and female customers view female staff as being whores. It's a fact. But Saturday offered the unique joy that is not one, but two hen parties. I opted for the one that was booked in our private room. They were an organised group and had left in a box of decorations, (embarrassing pictures, silly signs, chocolate penis "treats") along with instructions. Plus they were booked earlier than the other so that meant finishing earlier. Wrong choice...

I got a table of these

a fellow co-worker got these!
I swear it was like the cast of a Russ Meyer movie

Yes, I got the hen party from hell, complete with drunken hen, overbearing mother, and Mrs "I've-got-my-own-drink-in-my-bag-and-I'm-gonna-drink-it". AAAAAAARRRGGGHHH! I would have been okay if I hadn't seen the Amazonian table in the restaurant. But cherry on the cake? The bit that sent me over the edge? THEY WERE TEACHERS! I should have guessed when I got instructions on how to put up the decorations. The lady who brought her own booze changed from an amusing and enjoyable person to serve to an utter moo cow when I confiscated her hooch. The hen and her Gay friend went for a smoke as I served their main course. This caused ructions amongst some of the group as they didn't return for twenty bloody minutes. They paid their bill with elevated service charge and fucked off. I went back to the main restaurant to help out with the other hen party. I'm just that sort of chap you understand, helpful.

Sunday
Sunday night was tourist night. I assume the native population of Belfast had nicked off to some desolate seaside "resort" for the day. There were some...

Dutch "yesh, I'll have the shalmon"

Spiffing, "Tip? We English don't tip when in the Colonies"

Lovely Americans. God I love them and their wonderful tipping.
30%, that's were the magic is!

Monday
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, it got busy for a bit then zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I was bored out of my skin

Not such a weekend in picture more of a weekend in pictures with subtitles. And whats with "Bank" Holidays anyway? Where's my Waiter Holiday? You would here some crying if that ever happened. The whole fabric of society would collapse as people had to make and serve their own food. We are the glue people, the glue that holds the whole thing together. Don't ever forget that...

Fat man and Thumb Stubber, the return

Table for 2? Not tonight sir
or any night in the coming decade

Unbelievable! The fact that this chap came within a hundred meters of the restaurant, let alone contemplated entering, is mind boggling!

Fat man and Thumb-stubber where the catalyst for this blog. They were the Straw that Broke this Camels Back. Cunts, and no mistake.

I was lurking round the side door of the building, enjoying a well earned smoke break, when I looked up and saw the massive bulk approach me. What was left of the evening sun was blocked out by his gargantuan frame. I recognised them straight away. He wore shimmering Farah-esque slacks and grey slip on shoes, that you just know covered up a pair of white socks, and an open neck shirt that revealed a curly, greying patch of chest hair. [shudder] He had his arm round Thumb-stubber the way teenagers do when they are full of hormones and can't stop touching each other. He probably can't walk unaided. Thumb-stubber herself was sporting a fetching trouser suit from Kay's Catalogue or a market stall somewhere. Her thumb glowed/radiated nicotine in the evening twilight.

Fat man spotted me first and nudged his yellowish lover who smiled nervously at me, revealing her yellow/brown teeth. Nice. He frowned, muttered something to Thumb-stubber then performed a perfect u-turn and wobbled away in the other direction. Whilst I was delighted they got the point that they are not welcome, I would have enjoyed telling them personally. But my God they must have some set of kahonas to even think about coming back. I'm a very forgiving person, but after their antics on their last visit I'd just leave it alone if I was them.

A beautiful couple and no mistake

Waiter! My steak is undercooked/overcooked/meant to be tuna

we welcome your views and complaints
honest we do

Kav posted a question yesterday which I thought demanded a bit more than the usual throw away crap, sorry I mean short pithy remark.

Kav asked: "I would like to see a post on how Manuel recommends dealing with the thorny issue of when the food or service is shit. I know it'd never happen where you work, but it does happen sometimes..."

And it's a good question.

I have a philosophy on waiting tables and working in hospitality in general and it is this: People these days work long and hard, life can be very difficult and so when people do get a moment to out with family or friends they deserve to have the best possible experience that is available. (Big hug anyone?)

Waiters want a smooth shift, we want our customers to be happy, and we want them to return. More customers means more cash for Manuel, which means more loving for Little Miss Manuel. Chefs share those goals too. We don't want it to happen, we don't want you to be upset, we don't want to have to stand there in the middle of the restaurant and get a dressing down from an irate customer. You should bear that in mind before you let loose with the hairdryer rant. But from time to time things get fucked. Fact.

Most food related complaints can be dealt with straight away by the waiter, wrong sauce, not hot enough, wrong side order etc. These problems are solved with a quick dash to the kitchen. If the complaint is related to the waiter my advice is to go straight to the manager. Bypass all other staff and go straight to the guy in the fancy tie. If you ask the waiter to get the manager chances are they will know what you are up to and that's when the misinformation will start. I have never done that, oh no not me.

Here's how to avoid your meal going wrong from your end:

1. Book a table! If we know we are going to be busy we can staff accordingly. If you don't book then you might have to wait for a table, accept this with grace and don't make a dick of yourself. I have heard them all before, we wont be long, there's only 2/3/4/12 of us, I know the owner. So do I, so what a-hole. Oh and if you are running late, don't stress out just give us ring and let us know.
   
2. READ THE MENU! Oh my that's where things go wrong. People scan the menu see something they like and order without checking the description. The lamb rump is served pink, it says so on the menu, so don't start bitching when it arrives with a little blood on the plate.
   
3. If you make substitutions to the way the chef would make it, then expect it to be different from what is listed. And don't be surprised if this is reflected in the price.
   
4. Listen to the waiter when he is asking you questions or informing you that the lamb is served pink and act/order accordingly. If you don't want it pink just say so.
5. Be at the table when your food comes out! This is seriously rude and not on. If you are outside for a smoke and your food arrives don't start bitching that your food isn't as warm as it should be. If we have to put it under the heat lamps until you return things are going to dry up.
6. This is my favourite gripe and leaves me mystified every time. When the waiter comes to your table and asks you if everything is okay, bloody well tell him what you think! If it's great, that's brilliant, carry on. If not, this is your opportunity to get it sorted. So many times (in 18 years of service that is) I have cleared away food only to be told that they weren't happy with it despite having been asked earlier. The first thing the chef will ask me is "did you check them?" You are unlikely to get a discount etc if you have cleared the plate and failed to complain when asked.
   
7. Have a heart and act accordingly. If you look round you and the restaurant is bursting full and the waiters are going a dinger then you should assume the place is busy and things are going to take longer than they did on the Monday night when you came in and it was quiet. Oh and if you order your steak well done expect to wait, wait, and wait.
   

Now the real nub of the question, what to do when you have a complaint.

1. First thing to do is breathe. Flying off the handle, no matter how serious and legitimate your complaint may be, will get you no where. I know it's difficult but you must resist the urge to start swearing and shouting. If you take this route you can expect to meet resistance all the way, and you will leave unhappy. If you swear at all the game is over and most managers will walk away leaving your bill intact.
2. Call your waiter over and state the problem clearly and be specific. The waiter has to tell the manger/chef what is wrong. I can't go to the dark place of satanic influences (kitchen) and say "table four didn't like this". I need to give then hard fact. All most every situation where the customer has a legitimate problem with their meal should end up with that product being removed from the bill. My advice is to insist on this.
   
3. We want you to leave happy. And in the long run it is cheaper to take something off the bill or give you a free bottle of wine than have you leave all bitter and grumbling under your breath. In round about terms the manager /waiter should ask you what they can do to make you happy. Touching the bum of the 19 year old waitress isn't an option.
   

If you don't get satisfaction and you feel you have been treated unfairly then there is nothing like a hand written letter to get results. E-mails are good, but nothing scares the crap out the management more than a hand written letter. There is also nothing like a hand written letter praising the staff either. I have a wall full of those, well I am thee worlds greatest waiter, lover, blogger....

All complaints to....

To touch or not to touch? Let me help you...

don't ever touch me, EVER.

Now I think something's in life are just obvious. Saying please and thank you for example. Washing your hands after a pee. Not pissing of the person who will at some point handle your dinner, being a less obvious point, but when you think about it, it's a good call. Here are some more "dont's" that I thought would be obvious but recent weeks have proved me wrong.

Don't seat yourself, ever. Marching through the restaurant and sitting yourself wherever you fancy is just going to piss your waiter off from the start. And for obvious reasons that is best avoided. I will move you to the shittiest table available regardless of whether your current table is reserved or not. You see the sign that reads "PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED"? That applies to you. And don't sit there all huffy wondering where the waiter is with your menus. You sat yourself a-hole, you can take your own order!

Don't ignore your waiter and he won't ignore you. If I come to your table and ask you how it's all going or ask you if you would like some pudding then bloody well answer me. By ignoring me you are just being rude and will have to pay the rude tax. Mmmmmmm doesn't your cappuccino look very creamy! Waiters know the menu better than anyone else, chefs included (cooker monkeys), so if the waiter advises you to get a side order with your pasta special then get it. He knows it's small and it needs something else. It's more than suggestive selling, it's helping. I won't give a h'pennys fuck if you start whinging after the fact. LISTEN TO ME I KNOW EVERYTHING, about the menu.

Don't ever, and I mean ever, think it's cool or acceptable to touch up the staff. If you are Brad Pitt then I'm sure the girls at work wouldn't mind and I'd go as far as to say that Jessica Alba can rub my buns all she wants. But the rest of you knock it off. Particularly if you are a sleazy 50 year old male with an open neck pink shirt on exposing a cheap "gold" chain sitting beside your wife. We all want to feel the bottoms of 19 year old girls, God knows I do, but we don't. We exercise some self control. And when you get pulled for it don't start bitching to the manager about the way the waiter spoke to you. Cock. That actually happened.

touch me
please touch me

Don't cheer or whistle when someone drops a glass. Mistakes happen when people are under pressure and stressed out. Cheering is just so insulting there aren't words. Oh actually there are, it shows you up for the inbred, ill mannered philistine that you are. If you want I could come round to your place of employment and stand behind you in your cubicle with a fog horn and party poppers and let it rip on the first mistake you make. Who's laughing now Mr Brown-Suit man?

Don't take the huff if you and your party of 5 arrive to the restaurant without reservations and are told you will have to wait an hour for a table. Telling me that you are hungry really isn't going to speed things up now is it? The fact that you have arrived at a restaurant suggests to me a level of hunger, so sharing that fact with me is really rather pointless. If I don't have a table, I DON'T HAVE A TABLE! Jesus was a carpenter, I am a waiter. If you need a table you will have to see Him.

Please add these to your notes and check again before you next go out to eat.

Need help with life's little problems?

Then give Little Miss Manuel a call. And get her off my back so I can roll around in peace. If you like dodgy pictures by "special" little children and revel in the sad and dirty world of Pete Doherty then Little Manuel is for you.

If this doesn't get me some "me-time" then nothing will.

The power of my Blog scares me!

"Oh mighty and handsome Manuel can you blog
about fire engines as I need a new one"

On Sunday I shared with you the story of those crazy kids from PETA dumping horseshit outside one of Gordon Ramsay's restaurants in London. This was caused by their annoyance at his attempts to encourage us all to eat horse. If you missed it here it is again. You could just scroll down but I know you are a lazy bunch.

Now the more astute amongst you will note the rather through away remark I made about him cooking anus or penis. Well smack me with a big piece of tuna he is doing just that tonight on his show Gordon Ramsay's The F-Word. He has one of those car addicts from Top Gear on and is challenging him to eat odd food. I really must take the credit for this. I have blogged about this twice already and low and behold he is doing it tonight.

Next thing I blog about will be how Gordon Ramsay gave me a million quid. It could happen! Disappointingly enough Mr Ramsay says that the PETA people have a point. What a pussy.

Behold the power of the blog that is Well Done Fillet!

Saving the Rotterdam bar. Saving Belfast

The Rotterdam

Earlier this month Belfast's Rotterdam Bar was shut for the last time. It's to be knocked down to make way for apartments. This is an absolute travesty. In the rush to rebuild Belfast, after 30 plus years of blowing things up and the subsequent lack of development that followed, it seems that nothing can be allowed to stand in the way of "progress". It's not just The Rott, as it was known, Pat's bar too will be swept aside to make way for luxury apartments. Got to be honest with you Belfast needs more luxury apartments like it needs more rain. These luxury apartments that are going up everywhere are rarely owner occupied. They are bought up by developers and leased out for ridiculous amounts thus excluding all but the very well heeled.

Pats Bar

Of course there is a campaign to Save The Rotterdam. All too little too late. The Rotterdam's a goner and there is no turning back. Money talks and that's that. When I first heard about the campaign to save the Rotterdam I was more than a bit cynical. Lets be honest would the owners of the building really be swayed by online petitions and what they would view as "the lamenting voices of hippy types" when millions of pounds were at stake? I don't think so. But that's still no reason not to voice our objections. They need to be made aware that people are fucked off by this. Fucked off by this in the worst way.

Belfast does need lot's and lot's of regeneration and investment. But this is no reason to rip out it's heart and soul. Sympathetic building and design can add to an area without losing it's history and character. At the current rate of development Belfast will soon become just another homogenised lump. No different from any other town or city. There is no doubt in my mind that Belfast and Northern Ireland as a whole will develop and succeed on the back of growing tourist industry. But if the developers are allowed to carry on with ridiculous plans like these then tourist guides will be reduced to spending their day saying "so and so used to here, and so and so used to be there".

Why is the Rotterdam important and what makes it worth saving I hear you ask? The Rott is situated in the Sailortown area of Belfast. It is said to be 180 years old. It was used to hold convicts before their eventual deportation to Australia. The chains used to hold them where still on site. It was an Irish bar without the Oirish thing going on. It was also a vibrant and important music venue. It was a bar of unique character and charm that set it above the theme/style bars that now clutter Belfast.

In our race to re-develop Belfast and remove the depression of 30+ years of carnage we shouldn't throw out all the things that make Belfast unique and different. It's too late to save the Rotterdam and Pat's bar but we can still tell them how we feel. And when they rebuild and re-open them I wont be darkening their doors. Mark my words there will be bikes and fake hams hanging from the ceilings. Cuntish, soulless Bastards.

Save The Rotterdam Bar myspace site.

Online Petition

FastFude message board discussion

I'm off to smack a PETA member. Is this the most sensible post I've done yet? Normal order to be resumed shortly.

What a load of horseshit

you can just imagine the swearing!

Those bunny huggers from PETA have got themselves in a right mess over Gordon Ramsay's plans to encourage us all to eat horse meat. I personally have to take the credit for this. I posted horse recipes on this blog ages ago. And clearly Mr Ramsay was inspired by these. Wonder if he will be encouraging us to eat penis and anus. Here they are in case you missed them. It's true that I posted them as I was pissed off at not having won anything in the Grand National horsey race and not because of my love of well cooked Seabiscuit.

Mega-kitten lovers PETA aren't impressed and decided to dump a lorry load of horse poo outside Ramsay's Claridge's restaurant in London. That will teach him eh. What with all the free publicity on TV and in the papers. And it's unlikely that the sweary one will be out with a shovel cleaning it himself. Deluded soy munchers.

Reading the comments on their website you would think they had destroyed the man:

Doug said: "all i can say is YES YES YES!!!"

Drew said: "That's awesome! That's totally awesome!"

Linda said: "Is there nothing that this man will stop at - his continued attention-seeking antics to raise his television ratings and continue to try and shock the nation?
As a horse-owner and watching this - I was appalled at the lack of sensitivity to those of us that have a love for our equine friends. And as for Janet Street-Porter bbq'ing horse steaks outside Cheltenham Race Course left a distinct bitter taste. Clearly she has no compassion and has never been close to a horse! Would they eat their pets?"

Not everybody agreed though:

Steve Monk said: "Why don't you fuck off and let people make their own decisions! Your worse than the people you campaign against!"

But an Anonymous Commentator said it best: "What a load of bollocks ! PETA should stick the veggies up your arse, maybe then you'd have something worthwhile to discuss."

As you all know I blame Gordon Ramsay for everything wrong in the world, but I feel a sneaking admiration for him for trying this. He probably knew he would get some flack. So well fucking done, as he might say.

T-shirts available from threadless.com

What a day(dream)!

Yesterdays victorious team

What a fantastic day! Everything, well almost everything, went to plan. There was a problem with breakfast as I couldn't get black pudding, but I wasn't going to let that ruin the day.

From breakfast to bedtime, the whole day was a roller coaster of excitement and exhilaration. The football was really exciting and Manchester United's 3 nil was justified and a fitting end to our season. After the match I made passionate love with Little Miss Manuel. Upon climax I roared "I am man, worship me", and she did.

We showered and changed and indulged in more alpha sex. We looked like stars as we left the house. LMM positively glowed in her sexy red dress and I looked like James Bond in jeans, all be it a slightly shorter James Bond.

We dined on a dozen fresh oysters washed down with champagne. Extravagant I know, but one must live life when one has the opportunity. For main course I had lamb cutlets with apricot and fig compot, crispy aubergine and mint jus. LMM had chicken with stuff. The wine flowed, the food was good, the service was, well it wasn't me. We laughed and loved.

Instead of retiring to a local hostelry for late night beverages we decided to pick up a bottle and head back to my house. Here we picked up from where we had left off earlier, with lots more love making. The night ended as beautifully as it had started. We fell asleep in each other arms in front of the fire.

I thank God, that United won yesterday and that I booked a restaurant during the week and that we didn't stay in all night and have a fry up for dinner and watch Casualty and that LMM didn't go home with a headache, "don't bloody touch me", at 10pm. Because if that had happened on my first Saturday night of this year that would have been a disaster.

Oh and Little Miss "you bloody owe me a night out" Manuel has her blog up and running.

That "Friday" Feeling

show some decorum you tosser
its only a Friday

Never had it. Never really knew the joy of finishing work at 4 on a Friday safe in the knowledge that I wouldn't be back to work until Monday. Your Friday is my Monday, if you know what I mean.

But this weekend is different. I'm off Saturday and Sunday and I have every intention of ripping the arse clean out of it. This will be my first Saturday off this year. I will tell you this is due to my dedication to the job and all that jazz, others will say that I am a tip whore who can't bear to be off on a Saturday. Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. You can keep your cash this weekend, I'm spending mine.

The plans are as follows...

...Saturday morning will start early-ish and after the customary ablutions I shall off myself to the corner shop and purchase my Saturday Guardian, and all the required products for a fry up. A little time shall be set aside in the morning to lavish love and hugs on Little Miss Manuel. But as soon as Football Focus starts the love shutters will be slammed shut and I shall immerse myself in the "magic" of the FA Cup.

Many cigarettes shall be smoked and a bottle or two of cider shall be quaffed whilst watching the match, a match that shall see the Red Shirted chaps of Manchester United reign supreme.

Following a victory lap of the backyard and much texting and phoning of non-United supporting friends I shall begin the ritual for going out, showering, yes 2 showers in one day, shaving, plucking nasal hair, changing 2/3 times, and swearing as LMM hasn't arrived. Then its off to one of Belfast's finer restaurants for a beautiful evening of fine food, wine, and G&T's. The gamekeeper turns poacher if you will.

We then will retire to a local hostelry for a few more beverages and civilised chit chat inevitably ending up at about three o'clock in the morning face down in the bathroom in a pool of my own piss and vomit.

if I don't end up like this chap
I shall be very disappointed indeed

Sunday will be a quiet day of reflection, and most probably self loathing. But Little Miss Manuel's blog will go live at some point on Sunday so we have to get up at a reasonable time. I know its what you want so like a good waiter I shall serve it for you with a basket of bread and a smile.

She will be offering an Agony Aunt type of service and will volunteer her expert knowledge on you and your lives whether you want it or not. It's all so exciting, who will be first to get a gold star on the star chart? Who will be on the naughty step first? Anybody who needs advice just send her an email. I promise not to get involved, much.

Just one more twelve hour shift to go.

it's been 3 months since I've had one of these
3 long, dry months

Tally ho...

People who have been lucky enough to meet me

Bill Murray

never met or been served by Manuel

I'm not one to get all excited about meeting so called celebrities. They eat, sleep, and defecate just like the rest of us. Maybe they eat better food and sleep in bigger beds with more partners than you and I and they probably have people to wipe the toilet seat for them before they pop their A-List asses down, but essentially they are the same as you and I.

But sometimes it's hard not to get caught up in the hub hub that surrounds the great and the good. For example when pop strumpet Samantha Mumba was dining with us I decided that her table was in my section and insisted on serving her. Her table was no where near my section but I would have stabbed, with a fork or steak knife, anyone who tried to take it off me. Now, before you all go "but she's not a star" or "Samantha who" lets remember that this is Belfast and celebrities are thin on the ground. Pamela Ballantine and Julian notwithstanding. There were few reasons for the special ones to be here unless they were making misty eyed films about the "troubles" or looking for their long lost Grannies. Ms Mumba was a good guest and tipped well. Not that she paid, she had a bloke that carried her purse.

And there is nothing like Belfast people to call it how they see it, "Fuck me, she's lovely and she's a real n***** too." said one of my co-workers. Grim.

A few "famous" people over the years have had the joy and luck to be served by me. Nobody too grand. And they are as you would expect them to be. If they seem dull and boring on TV then, in my experience, they are dull and boring in real life.

Highlights (in no particular order)

Terry Hall
Former lead singer of the Specials. An absolute gent and honour to serve. He was cool, damn cool. The sort of cool most can only dream of, especially Pete Doherty. No class bastard. He shook my hand as he left and left a fat note behind. Real class I tells ye, class.


Samantha Mumba
She met me early one Saturday evening. That is not a photograph from that night. Only in my "special dreams". She had a stir fry and diet 7up. She was fun to serve but if I'm being honest if she had spat in my face I would have let her away with it. Rumours that I took the seat she was sitting on home with me are without foundation. Honest. MMMMMumbalicious.






Henry Kelly
Henry struck gold late one Wednesday night when I served him and two of his chums. This was only a few years ago and not during the halcyon days of GOING FOR GOLD. He was an hour late for his booking and there are few things than piss me off more than that. But Henry is smooth and made up for his lateness by letting me order for him. He was full of lilty Oirish charm and very disarming. Again class shines and he left a large gratuity. Legend, you can stick your Terry Wogan where the sun don't shine.


Gerry Adams
The door of the restaurant threw open and a man with his finger in his ear scanned the room. The door closed again and reopened a moment later and in walked Mr Adams. And couldn't have been more polite and left a generous tip and there were no problems with him or his friends. No problems at all. Brilliant customer.
(That's not what he originally wrote. But I helped him with the edit. They haven't completely gone away you know - LMM)The head chef did refuse to cook for him and went on an hour long smoke break.




Nigel Dodds
Not a lot of laughs, as you can imagine, from Mr Dodds and his friends. They had just been to church so maybe they were all laughed out. He was no fun to serve and the table faded into the background if we are going to be honest. Don't remember the tip, but he must have left one or I would have opened with that fact. Dull dull dull. No offence like.






Reviewing that miserable list I wish I lived in New York. There were others, more interesting people too. Some more glamorous than others but I'll save them for another day. In fact there were FIVE more interesting tables just last week, one table of American musicians, one table of Australian musicians, one table of former big time musicians, one table of famous poets, and a former star of kids TV.

Bill Murray would be my ideal celeb to serve. He is said to be an absolute quality punter who tips generously. I'd love to serve Stevie Wonder too and not just for the fact he tips nearly 100%. You have to think someones been taking advantage there.

The "Ballymoney Swinging Scene"

A perfectly cooked fillet of beef
not to be confused with bottom licking, the bookies,
whores &swinging in Ballymoney

God Bless the Internet and all who surf it's dirty dirty waves. It's fair to say that anything and everything is catered for on the Internet from Aardvarks to Zena Warrior Princess and everything in between. And every time you visit your favourite sites on the Internet someone knows about it. No more can you enjoy and relax to the simple yet rewarding pleasures of naked women interacting with barnyard animals on your own. Some knows what you did last night when the wife and kids were at Grandma's and you said you couldn't go because you had too much work to do but really you had a night planned with Gretchen and her Shetland Pony.

As a Blogger I too have the ability to see who has been peering through the venetian blinds at my masterfully crafted Well Done Fillet. I can see how many times you were here, how long you stayed, and most fun of all how you got here. Mostly I just ignore most of this information (no he doesn't, he is obsessed with it- LMM) and just check how many hits I get a day. But the best bit is how people got here through using search engines such as Google.

Now most people using search engines who end up here use "well done fillet" and other such permutations. But some people arrive here quite by mistake. Like the person who was searching for "FILLET SEX" or the very dirty puppy who wanted to "TASTE YOUR OWN ARSE". I know nothing about FILLET SEX and have nothing to offer with regards to tasting your own bottom. Although you could try McDonald's, that muck has a definite taste of arse about it.

But seeing as some people arrive here looking for help in such areas I will offer some advice where I can. I have listed some of the more amusing, not to say disturbing, searches that have ended up on Well Done Fillet and advice to help the misguided. Just to reiterate this site is about the unbridled joy that is waiting tables.

All these are written verbatim.

"Can mans testicle fall off"- I don't know, but you should really go to your doctor if you are having testicular problems. Seriously? Asking Google is no way to treat something so important.

"Why am I bitter?" - I don't know, but your not me so that's got to suck.

"Penis+Testicle+Restaurant" - Eh?...What?....Try a French restaurant? Or...um...Japanese maybe. Go away you scare me.

"Do cooks spit in food" - No, waiters do.

"a no a no a no one two a one two" - What does that mean? How did you end up on my blog? What do you want from me?

"Bookies Ballymoney" - Just go to your yellow pages or something, stick a fiver on for me too. Ta Ta.

"Hold back Fillet toe to a minimum" - Yes, sure, why not!

"Whores logic" - Not sure what you were looking for here. But my advice would be just pay up and leave her alone.

And then things got very very strange....

"Ballymoney swinging scene" - HOW? WHY? [Shudder] There are so many questions and I'm not sure I want the answers. If I was looking for a scene to "swing" in my advice would be try Monte Carlo or the Algarve or almost any where other than Ballymoney. No offence and all that.

Swinging in Ballymoney, not to be confused
with a blog about working in a restaurant

I'm watching....

The Strange and Fantastic World of Mr Chow

Chow down motherfucker!

On Monday this week, 3 New York waiters filed a lawsuit against their former employer, one Mr Chow. Which is a tremendous name for a restaurateur. The Irish equivalent probably being something like "Mr Scran", which wouldn't be as appealing.

Now, when I first heard this story I assumed that it was related to all the usual bad practices and problems of working in a restaurant, poor wages, stiffed on tips, long working hours and so on. But I was so wrong. Mr Chow's restaurant do thing some what better than the average, even when it comes to abusing it's employees, allegedly.

Mr Chow considers himself to be the conductor of his waiters movements. His company website modestly describes him as a "Living Legend" and a "Renaissance Man", which is nice I suppose. He also knows how to charge too, wine at his London restaurant starts at ten quid a glass. He should be getting dragged through the courts for that alone. Seriously, this guy has Napoleonic issues.

Anyway three ex-employees had enough of him and decided, in true American spirit, to sue his ass off. Well $5m of his ass-ets. The lawsuit, filed in Federal Court in New York on Monday is for the following:

1. Unpaid overtime
2. Tips that weren't paid as punishment for things like speaking out of turn. Tips were also used to pay managers
   
3. Failing to pay minimum wage
4. Abuse of his staff including yelling and shouting. You would get balled out for failing to make eye contact with the great one. The Lawsuit alleges he used "degradation as a management technique". For example on one occasion he wrote all over the waiters uniform and sent them out on the floor to take orders. These being the $350 uniforms that the waiters had to purchase themselves. He would tap the waiters on the head or chin to make sure he had their attention.
   
5. On another occasion Mr Chow is accused of "forcing Costin Dumitrescu to lie on the wooden floor in the middle of the staff meeting for about 40 minutes". He was late to the meeting as he was out running an errand for Mr Chow. Whilst lying on the floor Chowser would pretend to kick Costin in order to have him "flinch in fear".

Mr Chow's lawyers claim the lawsuit is "specious and without merit. It's completely frivolous." On the other hand Louis Pechman, an expert employment lawyer who is representing one of the claimants, claims in the lawsuit that Chow was, in fact, "a conductor with an iron baton," who demanded "cult-like attention".

Now if my Dad asked me to lie on the floor in the middle of a meeting I'm afraid we would have fallen out, but if my boss told me to do it I would smack those silly looking glasses of his face and tell him to shove it quick sharpish. Not happening. If my wages aren't right there isn't any work done until I know its getting dealt with and God help anyone who even thinks of touching my tips. Sweet mother of the blessed sacrament you would loose your whole hand if you went anywhere near them. I wouldn't let things like this go on for so long, not bloody likely at all.

Clearly Mr Chow denies everything and the three waiters say it's all true. I know who I believe.

So who's a Mr Pink then?

Just found the pubic hairs in your coffee eh?

NICE GUY EDDIE
Okay, everybody cough up green for
the little lady.

Everybody whips out a buck, and throws it on the table.
Everybody, that is, except Mr. White.

NICE GUY EDDIE
C'mon, throw in a buck.

MR. PINK
Uh-uh. I don't tip.

NICE GUY EDDIE
Whaddaya mean you don't tip?

MR. PINK
I don't believe in it.

NICE GUY EDDIE
You don't believe in tipping?

MR. WHITE
(laughing)
I love this kid, he's a madman,
this guy.

MR. BLONDE
Do you have any idea what these
ladies make? They make shit.

MR. PINK
Don't give me that. She don't
make enough money, she can quit.

Everybody laughs.

NICE GUY EDDIE
I don't even know a Jew who'd have
the balls to say that. So let's
get this straight. You never ever
tip?

MR. PINK
I don't tip because society says I
gotta. I tip when somebody
deserves a tip. When somebody
really puts forth an effort, they
deserve a little something extra.
But this tipping automatically,
that shit's for the birds. As far
as I'm concerned, they're just
doin their job.

MR. BLUE
Our girl was nice.

MR. PINK
Our girl was okay. She didn't do
anything special.

MR. BLONDE
What's something special, take ya
in the kitchen and suck your dick?

They all laugh.

NICE GUY EDDIE
I'd go over twelve percent for
that.

MR. PINK
Look, I ordered coffee. Now we've
been here a long fuckin time, and
she's only filled my cup three
times. When I order coffee, I
want it filled six times.

MR. BLONDE
What if she's too busy?

MR. PINK
The words "too busy" shouldn't be
in a waitress's vocabulary.

NICE GUY EDDIE
Excuse me, Mr. White, but the last
thing you need is another cup of
coffee.

They all laugh.

MR. PINK
These ladies aren't starvin to
death. They make minimum wage.
When I worked for minimum wage, I
wasn't lucky enough to have a job
that society deemed tipworthy.

NICE GUY EDDIE
Ahh, now we're getting down to it.
It's not just that he's a cheap
bastard--

MR. ORANGE
--It is that too--

NICE GUY EDDIE
--It is that too. But it's also
he couldn't get a waiter job. You
talk like a pissed off dishwasher:
"Fuck those cunts and their
fucking tips."

MR. BLONDE
So you don't care that they're
counting on your tip to live?

Mr. White rubs two of his fingers together.

MR. PINK
Do you know what this is? It's
the world's smallest violin,
playing just for the waitresses.

MR. BLONDE
You don't have any idea what
you're talking about. These
people bust their ass. This
is a hard job.

MR. PINK
So's working at McDonald's, but
you don't feel the need to tip
them. They're servin ya food, you
should tip em. But no, society
says tip these guys over here, but
not those guys over there. That's
bullshit.

MR. ORANGE
They work harder than the kids at
McDonald's.

MR. PINK
Oh yeah, I don't see them cleaning
fryers.

MR. BROWN
These people are taxed on the tips
they make. When you stiff 'em,
you cost them money.

MR. BLONDE
Waitressing is the number one
occupation for female non-college
graduates in this country. It's
the one jab basically any woman
can get, and make a living on.
The reason is because of tips.

MR. PINK
Fuck all that.

They all laugh.

MR. PINK
Hey, I'm very sorry that the
government taxes their tips.
That's fucked up. But that ain't
my fault. it would appear that
waitresses are just one of the
many groups the government fucks
in the ass on a regular basis.
You show me a paper says the
government shouldn't do that, I'll
sign it. Put it to a vote, I'll
vote for it. But what I won't do
is play ball. And this non-
college bullshit you're telling
me, I got two words for that:
"Learn to fuckin type." Cause if
you're expecting me to help out
with the rent, you're in for a big
fuckin surprise.

MR. ORANGE
He's convinced me. Give me my
dollar back.

Everybody laughs. Joe's comes back to the table.

JOE
Okay ramblers, let's get to
rambling. Wait a minute, who
didn't throw in?

MR. ORANGE
Mr. PINK

JOE
(to Mr. Orange)
Mr. PINK?
(to Mr. PINK)
Why?

MR. ORANGE
He don't tip.

JOE
(to Mr. Orange)
He don't tip?
(to Mr. PINK)
You don't tip? Why?

MR. ORANGE
He don't believe in it.

JOE
(to Mr. Orange)
He don't believe in it?
(to Mr. PINK)
You don't believe in it?

MR. ORANGE
Nope.

JOE
(to Mr. Orange)
Shut up!
(to Mr. PINK)
Cough up the buck, ya cheap
bastard, I paid for your goddamn
breakfast.

MR. PINK
Because you paid for the
breakfast, I'm gonna tip.
Normally I wouldn't.

JOE
Whatever. Just throw in your
dollar, and let's move.
(to Mr. Blonde)
See what I'm dealing with here.
Infants. I'm fuckin dealin with
infants.

from Reservoir Dogs
or watch it here

So are you a Mr Pink? Do you suffer from entitlement issues? Do you start the tippometer when you walk into a restaurant? Be brave and share your "tipping policy" with Manuel, because everyone has one. I ask out of genuine interest. Whilst I earn a damn good wedge through tips I am always and I mean always after more. Any God damn waiter that says they are doing this job to meet interesting people or because it offers them flexible hours is a liar. IT'S ALL ABOUT THE CASH! So make with the "tipping policy" people.

Q: Why did the customer cross the road?

A: To verbally abuse the waiters!

Not a very funny joke, but then again it wasn't a very funny weekend. I would choose the following words to summarise this weekends jolly japes, broken till systems, abuse, anally retentive, shouting, princess complex, entitlement dingleberry's, tears (not mine I should add), quitting, not quitting, quitting again, Loadzajobs.com, speaking frankly, realising it was all just one weekend and that there are better days, as well as, some worse days ahead.

I'm still too raw to write about it. Suffice to say the weekend was an absolute nightmare. But I ask you, the great unwashed of the bloggosphere, what the fuck goes on in a customers head that makes them think it's acceptable to shout and mess themselves over a late bread portion or wrongly ordered sweet? I mean really lose it in the worst sort of way. Making teenage girls cry is the job of teenage boys, and Justin Timberlake. Grown adults should know better and act accordingly.

Maybe someday, in the future, when the injuries and emotional scars have healed I can give you all a full account. Time is a healer they say. I hope so. Until then the twin medicines of hand rolled tobacco and authentic English Cider will take the pain away. I'm too mangled to write. So here is the weekend in pictures.

The law of sod says that things that are essential
to the job will only breakdown on Bank Holiday Weekends.

This weekends customers were mainly mental whack jobs
It's what happens when people with kids have to suffer a long weekend together.

Causing them to do this

and this over a God Damn late portion of bread

Like this young lady,
Sunday suffered because a lack of support which eventually lead to...

...which is not cool, big, brave or in any way called for
you fucking small cocked little shite.

Beer and fags takes the pain away
but it isn't the only solution....


the waiters new uniform
"Now, who was complaining about their bread?"

Q: Why did the manager cross the road?
A: It wasn't busy on the other side, duh!