Rumbling on

Dueling waiters
That's me second from the right

"Manuel is a perfect gentleman..."

Well you wouldn't have expected anything else. Not my words but the words of a fellow waiter Lola (real name I'm sure) who rumbled me (ooh er missus) in The Mourne Seafood Bar on Monday. In case you missed it here is what Lola said in full...

I just want to clear something up here guys, i offered to hug manuel but he declined!! And crept sideways out the door like a crab, excuse the pun!
And regarding the comment made by "belfast plate carrier", all my customers are VIPs, but unless i clone myself, i can't possibly hug them all goodbye, and serve them at the same time (while listening in on their conversations! Come on, we all do it!!)
And the juice/jus for "bendersbetterbrother": Manuel is a perfect gentleman to serve, i say no more! lol

Confirmation indeed that I am a gentleman and that we all listen to your conversations. Lola also got a wee dig back at Ginger's Belfast Plate Carrier who said....

I knew you were talking about Robin even before I clickyed the link. Love the dude to bits even though the last time he was in Ginger I had to tell him off for arm wrestling Micheal McKeegan of Therapy? fame. And i do have to point out you got the love that i provide every customer without the knowledge you'd be writing about it.

Not like MSB

Ooooohhhh

Now in the last 2 days I have eaten in both The Mourne Seafood Bar and Ginger (it's been a rough week - hehehehe) and had lunch in The Spaniard. Let me tell you how I see it. Without question the best service I received during my two days of indulgence was in the The Spaniard, no question.

Friendly, warm, and genuine. It's the sort of service you cant teach. You either have it or you don't. The Spaniard has it. There wasn't any chit chat, there was proper conversation. There wasn't suggestive selling there was proper personal recommendations. I'll go back again for the Martin Millers Gin and Tonic (with cucumber), the best I've had in years. But I'll go back again and again for the service.

The food in Ginger and The Mourne Seafood Bar is amongst the best you will get anywhere let alone in Belfast. But service is my thing, obviously, and it's quite often what I remember most when I leave a restaurant. If the service has been bad, which is very rare anywhere these days, it annoys me more than if the food is bad. When it's great I just wanna ......well I just wanna hug the waiter. I don't though for obvious reasons. I normally just leave a good tip.

Belfast is really blessed with some great restaurants serving some fantastic food.

So before Lola and Belfast Plate Carrier (a name I wish I had thought of) end up dueling at dawn with waiter's friends and service cloths at the ready I will say that the service is equally as good in both place. The food is equally as good in both places. But The Spaniard beats them both for what Manuel cares about most......the love.

And in other news....

I cant thank the people who nominated Well Done Fillet for recognition in the Irish Blog Awards enough. Thank you a thousand times over. I'm touching myself touched. To those who didn't nominate me....soup in your laps you bastards.....Joke. Honest!

I'm nominated for....

Best Blog Post for "The customer that broke this camels back"
Best Food and Drink Blog
Best Blog
Best Personal Blog
Best Newcomer
Best Badges
Best Use of the word "Crikey"
Okay I made the last two up but maybe next year....

If I don't win something I'm burning the place down. Just to be nominated is enough for me. Well done to everybody who has been nominated and to those that I nominated.

Also the latest RoundTable is up....

Rumbled

I've been watching a lot of Frasier

My plan for a very long lie in this morning was thrown into disarray by having left my mobile phone at work. What a right royal fuck up. I am doomed to walk this earth in a semi permanent daze with slower reactions than a person enjoying the slumber of a coma. Oh how I wish for coma. Just a short one all the same. Twelve hours would be nice.

I had to retrieve my phone from work as I had lunch plans that needed to be confirmed. Plus I don't want my phone falling into the wrong hands. Chefs would take no time to read, analyse, and use against you the contents of your text message folder. Plus there would be no way they could stop themselves sending rude messages to selected contacts. Misplacing my phone did mean that I didn't have to reply to LMM's 30 pre bed text messages. I love her but texting batters my brain.


Phone retrieved I headed to the Mourne Seafood Bar for lunch with East Belfast's answer to Oliver Reed. Well, Oliver Reed meets Nikki Sixx via Will Oldham. He has a lot of free time these days as he is now a full time musician. This also meant I was buying lunch. It also means he has no idea of time and other such protocols that keep society from falling apart.

He was late.

Only by ten minutes but it does beat the full half hour he kept me waiting the last time we met for lunch. I have a problem with time keeping. I'm pretty anal about it and have the patience of a man dangling by his sack waiting for someone to cut him down. That is to say I have no patience.

The food was just perfect. I had the Langoustine Risotto (remember that's Ris-ot-oh not Ris-oh-to). It was silky smooth and just perfect with a beautiful hint of Thai spices in the background. Magnificent. The boy who writes backwards had the chowder. I'm a huge great big fan of their chowder and sometimes I sneak in on my split shift and nail a bowl before heading back to work. It's warming, creamy, substantial and just perfect for a day like today. Much like me you'll find. I don't come with bread though.


But the food wasn't the highlight of the visit. If you can cast your minds back to August when I first reviewed The Mourne Seafood Bar I said that,

"The service was: Efficient, quick, accurate, pleasant, but without any love. Where was the love? Manuel needs to be loved."

Well like any good waiter the woman that took our order and looked after us was listening as we were talking about WellDoneFillet. She probably also spotted the badges as I gave The Boy Who Writes Backwards his. As she cleared our plates away she asked which of us was responsible for WellDoneFillet. Now I could have lied. I could have said we were just fans. I could have said I had just got the badges in the post this morning (thus pushing sales a bit further - nudge nudge). I could have. But I didn't. My face and baldy head were glowing red. I looked like a Chupa Chup lolly. There was no chance of denying it. So I ponied up.

My mind was racing back to what I had posted. I knew fine rightly what I had said. But before I could stutter out any explanation she said she liked the blog and all that. Phew.....she did mention my "lack of love" comment. Crikey. What size of tip was I gonna have to leave to get out of this intact?!

I had been rumbled. Badges would save the day. Good job I carry a sack load with me. So with a combination of cash and badges I was able to leave without getting my ass served to me with a side of fries. Their chips are gorgeous by the way.

But as we left they formed a line up and offered to hug me goodbye.

TAKE THAT FAT BOY!

It could have been sarcasm, but I chose to take it as genuine love for Manuel. So in answer to my question of August the second 2007, "Where was the love?" the love is indeed at Mourne Seafood Bar.

I now rank Mourne Seafood Bar as my favorite restaurant in the city. It was always a toss up between there and Ginger.

For anyone that cares, my top 3 Belfast Restaurants are Mourne Seafood Bar, Ginger & Molly's Yard in that order. Hey where else do they offer to hug you goodbye? Now that's love........

Is it Nightclub or Knightclub or even Niteclub?

James Blunt
has a song called "You're Beautiful"
Ironic eh

I'm so tired.

Tired of listening to gossip, gossip and complaints.*

What?

I mean I'm really freaking busted. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you I'm down to about 5 hours sleep or less a day. For a man who, under normal circumstances, rarely sees 11AM I can tell you these are difficult times. I nearly fell asleep at work tonight. I wouldn't mind but it was busy.

Wet Blanket Extraordinaire, James Blunt, was playing nearby and the sort of people who own Coldplay CD's and consider Norah Jones to be talented were out for pre-concert dinner. The restaurant oozed wetness. I bet they thought it was a good idea to get the tickets 6 months ago but now with only an hour or two to go before curtain up the full horror of what awaited them was hurtling towards them like a bus full of kids driven by a drunk blind man. It was no coincidence that I was shifting wine and beer at a rate on knots.

James Blunt makes me want to vomit. His song titles are just so sickly sweet they should come with a recommended daily amount, "You're Beautiful" "Chocolate" "I really want you" "Sugar Coated".

Sugar Coated? What? He's not even fucking trying there. Cunt. His next album will probably be called,

"I'm so very sad and alone without you... James Blunt sings songs about Dead Girlfriends, Dead Bunnies, Clouds that remind him off you, and Special Babies that overcame insurmountable obstacles."

Mark my words....

I get grouchy when I'm tired. I had a very grouchy weekend. It was busy, bend over and take it busy. Which was good and it went damn well. Friday was payday for what seemed like everybody in Belfast. People went bonkers, the threat of world wide recession hasn't arrived here yet. Or if it has well then nobody here seems to be worried......yet. People were tipping like a French Rogue Trader. Which was nice....

But it was a hard weekend. I had lost all ability to be nice/competent by about 8pm on Sunday night. I felt sorry for the cute Belgian couple who had the honour of getting served by bizarro world Manuel. He is the opposite of regular Manuel, not so nice, not so amusing, not so good at his job. They were Belgian, I'm sure they never noticed......

But the weekend did throw up two stories that just say everything about Belfast....

Firstly there was the story of the man who got refused entry into a Belfast Nightclub (remember when nightclub was spelt with a K? Ah happy days). He was knocked back for wearing a stripey jumper. The bastard. I'll let the Irish News explain the rest of the story....

Bouncers at the newly-opened Scratch nightclub on Lower Crescent have ruled that the popular jumper design doesn't fit in to their idea of 'smart/casual'.

Security staff have been told not to allow revellers wearing the familiar style of sweater through their doors at the venue, previously The Fly, as it launches a new image.

One customer, business director Ian Latimer fell foul of the new dress code during a recent night out.

The 31-year-old was only allowed in once he changed his clothes.

"I had got out of the taxi and went to the bouncer to ask where the nearest bank machine was and after telling me it was around the corner, he said, 'By the way, you won't get in with that top on, because it has horizontal stripes.'

"I think probably 99 per cent of men aged 25 to 35 in Northern Ireland got a stripey jumper for Christmas from their mother, sister or girlfriend and it is ridiculous to say that a 'certain classification of person wears it'."

Bwahahahahahaha brilliant. By why now? Why now, in the 21st century, are we banning people from nightclubs who wear stripey jumpers? Why not years ago?! Rumour has it he has taken his case to a Human Rights Lawyer. Why stop there? Call Amnesty International! Call The Red Cross! Call International Rescue. You got knocked back from a bar for wearing a shity jumper, get the fuck over yourself.

And then there was this story. But it's just too easy. Read it yourself.....

*name the song...

I need answers.......

1. Have you ever stiffed (no tip) a waiter when they deserved something?
2. Have you ever done a runner?
3. Have you claimed that you had a booking when you didn't?
4. Have you ever sent the wine back?
5. Have you ever told the waiter the food was really lovely but in fact you hated it but didn't want to hurt his feelings?
   
6. Have you ever flirted with the waiter? (male or female waiter)
7. Have you ever had a glass of wine thrown over you during a lovers tiff in a restaurant?
8. Have you ever pocketed the cutlery/salt and peppers/glasses/toilet roll from the restaurant?
9. Have you ever swore at the waiter?
10. Do you fill in the comment card?
    
11. Has your credit card been declined in a restaurant?
12. Have you ever noticed lipstick on your glass, drink most of the contents then send it back and demand a fresh one?
13. Have you ever asked the waiter to sell you his shirt?
    
14. Have you ever fallen asleep in a restaurant?
15. Have you ever taken part in a lewd sexual act in a restaurant, either with someone or on your own?
16. Have you ever demanded to see the chef?
17. Have you ever over heard the waiter talking about you?
18. Have you ever refused to pay for a meal?
19. Have you ever asked the waiter to send your compliments to the chef?
20. Has a waiter ever swore at you?
21. Have you ever completed the comment card with fake details and written "Topless waiters and free beer" in the Ideas for Improvement section?
    
22. Have you ever played musical chairs in a restaurant, I mean asked to move more than once?
23. Have you ever left a restaurant because you spotted an ex?
    
24. Have you ever gone to a "fancy" restaurant on your lonesome?
25. Does the waiter ever make you feel inferior?
26. Have you ever said JUICE instead of JUS?
27. Do you enjoy a lovely smoke between courses?
28. Have you ever taken your cutlery to the bathroom to polish it?
    
29. Have you ever complained about the waiter?
30. Have you ever enjoyed a beautiful meal whilst off your mong on class A drugs?
31. Have you ever stormed out in a huff in the middle of a meal?
32. Have you ever slipped the waiter your phone number?
33. Do you really pay attention when the waiter tells you the specials?
    
34. Have you ever suspected the waiter or someone has tampered with your food?
35. Have you ever met your waiter in the street, said hello, but not know where you knew him from?
36. Do you get paranoid when the waiter takes your credit card?
37. Have you ever physically threatened the waiter?
38. Has the waiter ever physically threatened you?
39. Have you ever left a restaurant and had to go get something else to eat?
40. Have you ever reached for a slice of the waiters sugar loaf (bum)?
41. Have you ever felt the need to scream at somebody because of the noise coming from their children?
    
42. Have you ever got the impression that the waiter was talking about you?
43. Have you ever been so drunk in a restaurant, head like a rag doll and arms like lead, that you couldn't eat your meal?
44. Do you like your food to come "on a bed of..." something?
45. Do you panic or become slightly worried when your credit card is being processed even though you know there is cash in your account?
46. Have you ever pointed at the menu to tell the waiter what you want because you couldn't pronounce what it was?
47. Have you ever done something so really embarrassing in a restaurant that you cant go back?
48. Have you ever seen the waiter pick his nose or scratch his bum or fiddle with his armpits during a meal? Did this make you feel sick?
49. Have you ever told the waiter you hated your food in order to get discount but really you loved it?
50. Have you ever taken a seat in a restaurant, looked at the menu, realised you are in over your head, been forced to come up with an excuse like "Oh sorry we just realised we have to pick up our kid", and beat a hasty retreat to the nearest Pizza Hut?

You must answer.......or I'll turn this into a meme ha..........!

Peeking behind the apron.....when it's still on

click click click
went the readers fingers

Twice in in the last seven days I have taken phone calls regarding naked waiter services. Not that anyone has been asking to peek behind my apron. But the women of Belfast seem to want more from their waiters these days than a cheeky wink and good wine recommendation. Some don't even want that!

Let me make this clear....

....not whilst I still have the ability to elevate my nose, and can still say no without having to resort to a voice box, and can button my own shirt and zip my own pants unaided, whilst their is still fight in my blood and sweat on my brow will any god damn buffed up fake waiter with black lycra shorts and dickie bow serve but even a glass of water in my god damn restaurant. As I write this I am standing up with a pair of black trousers held over my head Charlton Heston style,

"Over my cold, dead but covered up legs, will a naked waiter serve in my restaurant."

Naked waiters? They shame us all, even the dogs in the street.......(not that there are many dogs on the street any more, Thatcher killed them all for the fun of it...)

Even your Buddy Jesus wears one...

There is a free badge set for the first ten people to email me

storiesformanuel[at]gmail[dot]com

UPDATE @ 10AM
ALL FREE BADGES GONE
AWH
CLICK THE BUY NOW BUTTON

For everyone else they are available for £5.00 per set including postage no matter where you live (even Lisburn, Toronto, NYC, Melbourne etc)

If they are good enough for Danny and Amy then they are good enough for you...

Benders Better Brother wins a free set for his response to this post...

The time has come to pass on the lycra shorts of justice

the ever ready
Staff Rep Man!

My two year reign as Staff Representative is about to come to an end. As staff rep it was my job to act as a bridge between staff and management, a conduit if you will from those with problems to those who probably caused them. I would sit in on disciplinary hearings and offer advice to those on the wrong side of Johnny-work-Law. In my mind I was a champion for the working Joe/Josephine, a cross between Arthur Scargill and Superman with a bit of Ghandi thrown in too. Not that I fancy myself much. Saying that, I wasn't really fan of the fasting and non-violence, eat and riot has always been my philosophy.

I was a two term Staff Rep. The first year I took the job as no one else wanted it. The second year came down to a vote between everyone's favourite man whore, Eddie, and myself. Obviously I lost the popular vote but still ended up winning the position. Just like GWB. Too much talking and not enough spreading the love. A man whore is hard to beat. The day of the vote I was pretty sure I would lose as the kitchen pretty much no showed and there are more bar staff than waiting staff. And so it came to pass that when the Glorious Leader announced the results Eddie was crowned the winner. I sat there faking my delight for him like a losing Oscar candidate.

Two days later Eddie decided it wasn't for him and he abdicated from the role. I, in a fit of martyrdom, decided I didn't want the position when they came crawling back. (I have witnesses, they crawled alright) They said no to me and I was hurt. Who got them the TV for the staff room? Who got them.......eh um er uh......other things that don't spring to the mind straight away but there were other things. So after a day or two of refusing I eventually caved in and took up the position again.

I was the Staff Rep again for another year, which was ironic as I couldn't give a fudge for most of them and obviously they felt the same about me. But weather I liked them or not I would still go to battle for them at the drop of a hat.

Schedule problems? I'm there

Training issues? I'm there

Been caught swearing at the manager and are deep in the shit? I'm there with bells on

Need a staff party organised? I was nowhere to be seen, absent without leave, lost in the wilderness.

And for this they will never forgive me. Cunts. It's there own damn faults that we never had enough staff parties last year. I would plan something and someone would start moaning that they have something else to do that night. This would inevitably set off a chain reaction of whinging and bitching and general slapped arseness. Even when I gave them carte blanche to plan anything they want they came with two dozen ridiculous ideas. Paint balling isn't everyones idea of a great day out. I even tried to deputise a party planner, but no one wanted it. I had power to deputise and power to bring the fuck. I rarely brought the funk. Ach fuck it, it ain't my problem anymore.

Now my term is up and it's time to pass on the red shimmering cape and matching lycra shorts that come with the job to the next staff rep. I'm retiring from public office to spend more time with my family and to take up directorships with leading arms manufacturers and chemical companies. I'm also moving to a tax free haven in the Indian Ocean.......

threadless Thursday over there.....

Stamping down on Real Ale Drinkers and the Causes of Real Ale Drinkers

Real Ale Drinkers
Norman, Gordon, Keith, Simone, Norman(2) & Gordone

Lord save me from Real Ale Drinkers. For those of you who are lucky enough not to know what it is Real ale is "beer brewed from traditional ingredients, matured by secondary fermentation in the container from which it is dispensed, and served without the use of extraneous carbon dioxide". Which is all very noble and worthy and clear. Dealing with a real ale drinker is somewhat more difficult.

I had a real ale drinker in for dinner this evening. Talk about annoying. I've sold expensive bottles of wine with less effort than it took to convince this chap that our real ale offering would suit his highly defined palate. I could give a fuck to be honest. Order it or don't, but just make a fucking decision. Oh my God the questions,

"Is it local?"

"Is it a heavy ale?"

"What are the principal flavours?" (Are you fucking kidding me?)

"Is it a dark or light beer?"

"If you had to use just one word to describe it what would it be?"

Okay I made the last one up but it wouldn't have surprised me if he had asked it. I refused to answer all questions but the first and just went and got him a quarter pint sample. I'm not pulling your plonker when I tell you that he swirled it around his mouth like mouth wash before swallowing it. There was a man from Del Monte moment when we all waited with baited breath for him to make his decision......................and the man from Del Monte he say "Yes". If it took ten minutes to get a beer order how long would the food take?!

I never thought I would see the day when a £2.50 pint of beer would cause so much deliberation, thought, indecision and in the end anti climax. But that's the reality of Real Ale Drinkers. True, this guy was at the plummier/more pretentious end of the scale but still fairly typical of Real Ale Drinkers. As it happened the rest of the meal went off without any further delays or wonderings over the coffee.

They are a rum lot and in my opinion they should be shunned as much as possible. I'm not advocating direct action against Real Ale Drinkers, but rather a ten feet away at any one time policy. But how do you know when you are in the company of or are in close proximity to a Real Ale Drinker? How can you ensure that your night in the pub isn't ruined by the tut tutting of a Mr Smuggy know it all as he looks down his nose at you and your "fizzy" beer? What you need is a handy cut out and keep list of ways to spot a Real Ale Drinker. I've gone ahead and compiled such a list in a handy section I call....

The WellDoneFillet Guide to Spotting a Real Ale drinker

1. Drinking/Enjoying a pint of Real Ale. Obvious really. But sometimes "ordinary" people buy a pint of real ale out of curiosity. If their first reaction isn't one of "get that the fuck out of my mouth and get me a Carlsberg now I'm gonna throw up" then you have a Real Ale Drinker.
   
2. Strangeness. Real Ale Drinkers are very strange people. They have an aura of strangeness that shows itself as twitchiness, fidgeting, and quite probably talking to themselves.
   
3. Name. Most Real Ale Drinkers are called Norman, Gordon, Keith, or Simon. There are a few women who enjoy flat brown beer and they are also called Norman, Gordon, Keith, or Simon but with an "e" at the end because they are after all ladies.
   
4. Beards. All Real Ale Drinkers have facial hair, women included. And I don't mean fashionable goatees or ironic beards that are all very cool at the moment. I mean ye old sea dog type yeaaaaaaar beards.
   
5. Clothes. Lots of greens and browns. Corduroy still swings with these people as do arm patches and grey duffle coats. Jumpers are important too in the Real Ale Community. Having studied their ways, from a distance you understand, for quite some time I believe, and I could be wrong, that the jumper is like some sort of status symbol or symbol of rank within the community. The duller and older the jumper the higher your rank.
   
6. Plastic Bag. Real Ale Drinkers are NEVER seen without a plastic bag. And a plastic bag from a shop that closed down years ago at that. Chances are the bag will be inside out. It will contain books and note pads and quite probably their mother's head. My investigations have not yet got me close enough to find out. The bag itself will be of a very high quality.
   
7. Fussiness. Real Ale drinkers are fussier and more belligerent than Guinness drinkers and that says something. I'd go as far to say that they make Guinness drinkers look carefree and relaxed when it comes to their favourite tipple. They can send their pint back all night long if it isn't exactly how it should be. And I mean exactly. No quarter will be given when it comes to getting a nice luke warm pint of brown pish.
8. Obsessives. Their love of Real Ale will probably have come about due to a love of some other minority hobby like playing Scrabble or stamp collecting or any form of collecting. Their homes will be awash with protective plastic covers and unopened boxes of toys and large dusty piles of newspapers. Look around you in the office, is there a collector there? If so, chances are they are a Real Ale drinker too.
9. Friends. They are only friends with other Real Ale Drinkers. Don't try and engage them in conversation (why would you?) you will fail. If they are on their own in the pub they will have their head in an obscure publication like the Beer Drinkers Almanac or Waiter and Buss Boy Monthly. They love a good almanac. Chances are they will be joined by a brown green mass of fellow Real Ale Drinkers. They gather in packs for safety, much like a nocturnal animal that is scared of it's own shadow.

You have been warned people. Stay away from them.

My tin of Heinz is still intact

So there I was, a simple lad from the simple country hamlet of Belfast, lost and alone in the big city. I had a few pounds in my pocket (forgot to get money changed, d'oh), a song in my head, and a dream in my heart, oh and a serious need for caffeine. I was only an hour and a half early for my meeting I still cannot talk about with a person I still cannot name. I say only but I do like to be early for such things.

I walked out on to Grafton Street and my mind went blank. Could I remember where I was supposed to be going for my meeting? Could I fuckity! My mind buzzed with the names of hotels, most of which were fictional, unless there is a Crossroads Motel in Dublin, and the rest were in Belfast. So I did what anybody would do in such a situation, I rolled a smoke. This was more challenging than usual due to the wind that was being funneled up Grafton Street, most of which was centred on my rolling papers. Smoke rolled I began to think clearly, and cough a little. The John Gresham, that's where I was meant to be in an hour a 25 minutes. And I knew where it was. Which was nice.

But that's all your getting. My beans must stay firmly in the can for a wee while yet....

I've been tagged by K8 the GR8 and English Mum. It's the same MEME thingy so that helps. I don't usually tag back, I was always the kid who didn't want to play thus ruined it for everyone. Well tennis is a stupid fucking game anyway. But I will be tagging this time. And where do these MEME's come from? Is there like a MEME generator somewhere or is there some sort of committee that comes up with them? I need to know! I might just start my own! Ha!

Rules

Post 5 links to 5 of your previously written posts. The posts have to relate to the 5 key words given here (family, friend, yourself, your love, anything you like).
Tag 5 other friends to do this meme. Try to tag at least 2 new acquaintances (if not, your current blog buddies will do) so that you get to know them each a little bit better.


Family, no chance! Hello Pandora what's in that lovely box? I don't think so. But here are some stories about my other family. Raul the chef, Eddie the lover of ladies, and The Management.

Friend, ah friends! Don't you just love them?! This story is about three friends, one agreed to get hitched, one actually got hitched, and the other got ditched......by me.....

Yourself, me? My favourite subject, and if you missed it the first time here are 49 things about me....

Your Love, my Little Miss Manuel, my left and right (and she's always right). Without her I would fall down more and laugh less. What else you want me to write honey? Is that it? Hehehehe. This story isn't specifically about her but it is her favourite, Keef and the ladies of Seville!

Anything I like, really? Ok! Whilst perusing the archive I found this gem from the old days when I was the only reader. Mothers Day and St Patrick's Day fell on the same weekend last year and the consequences where arse splittingly funny, and I mean that.....

The fickle finger of blog MEME fate lands on you....Raging Server, and you Flirty Something, and you as well Benders Better Brother, and not forgetting you Gimme, and finally oh lets see who could it be................Nick! Mwahahahahahahaha!

I wish I had a magazine that spoke to me...

clicky to make biggy
it took me all day so bloody click....

If I did I could read it on the train to Dublin today. I'll have to make do with sleeping instead. Getting up at 8am has a terrible effect on me. Anything AM has a terrible effect on me. AM is not the natural waking time for waiters, we are nocturnal beasts. And sleeping on the train isn't really an option. You drift off only to wake up in a panic wondering who has been fiddling with your over priced sandwich or even worse if you were fiddling with yourself. Come on we all do it when we are asleep. And not always when we are asleep either. And if you aren't fiddling then you are dribbling, and that ain't pretty either.

It's just a quick visit for a meeting I cannot talk about with a person I cannot name......But if you see me say hello....

Back this evening.....try here for other things to be doing

I don't really drink but if i did.....

Every job has it's little benefits, it's little bonuses that make it special. Wine tasting day is without a doubt my favourite day. Saying that, I'm not sure a busy Friday is the best day for it. I was just clearing up from lunch when the Glorious leader appeared looking like Edward Glasseshands with a smile on his face. One of the wine reps had arrived and had brought a half dozen bottles of very lovely wine with him for sampling. The restaurant was abandoned......like a child on holiday.

Here are the highlights....

1. Lois Grüner Veltliner - at about 11% it wasn't this Austrian number that did the damage. This is light, as dry as comedian Steven Wright, and as refreshing as a politician telling the truth. The bottle is hideous though, it appears lime green with a modern minimalist label. Very "cool" I'm lead to believe. I like wine labels with castles and chateaus etc....Beautiful wine, get it in til ye as they say on the banks of the Danube. You should be able to get this for about £6 to £8 and twice that in a restaurant.....(Waiters don't come cheap) (Actually they do...)


2. Weingut Burger Donaghadee Riesling Classic 2004 - when tasting wines you are meant to take a mouthful, roll it round your mouth and absorb it's flavours and aromas and what have you. You aren't meant to go back to the bottle 3 or 4 times and knock it down your neck like there is no tonight let alone no tomorrow. But this was just so beautiful it was hard not to. It has an Irish heritage as the name suggests. The lady who owns the vineyard moved to Germany from Donaghadee naming part of her new enterprise after her home town. I love little stories like that. The label has a picture of Donaghadee harbour. It's drier than you might expect and has hints of citrus and apples. It's just beautiful on it's own or, if you have to eat, with light salads. You should be able to get this for under a tenner and for what it's worth I recommend it highly.


3. 2006 Noble Dragon Shandong - As the name suggests this isn't French, hell it's not even European or American or from Australia or South America, it's Chinese. Say what? Oh yes it's from China. As one wag put it yesterday, "Them Chinese will make anything!" But if we all drop out preconceived ideas you will actually find that these wines are comparable with anything else in it's price range from anywhere in the world. The red is spicy and dry and to be honest it was a bit of a shock at first. There are lots of flavours going on in your mouth. It's blended from Cabernet Sauvignon and Syra as well as some of the local grape Dragon's eye. Good with peppery and spicy food, as you might expect. Once you get over the whole, "it's from China" thing you can really appreciate this. It's available for about £10.00, well worth a try.


4. Godolphin Shiraz - if this wine was a boxer it would fight in the heavy weight division. Good grief it packs a punch. You would be madder than a bag of badgers to drink this without food. And by food I mean a cow, a whole cow at that. It has a strong blackcurrant and licorice flavours, it doesn't do "hints" of anything, it's far to hard for that. My god it's good. But it comes with a price tag to match. Expect to pay £30 or more in a restaurant and about half that off the shelf. Well worth every penny......

There were others too, well there might have been others I don't know. I'm sure there was more. What I do know is that Friday night at work was more fun than normal. I wasn't pished but was very merry. Then I got a headache and wasn't so merry. And it was the first busy Friday night of the year so far! Where was the wine when I was struggling to make the night go in? Eh? Where was it when I was counting forks just for the bloody hell of it?

We tried about a half dozen wines after lunch then about a dozen or so at 4pm. I'm not bulit for this. Roll on the next wine list change! Yippee! All Fridays should be like that!

In other news it appears I'm not being sold into white slavery or being romanced by the Supreme leader. We are up for another award and he has asked me to join him in facing the interview panel. Which is nice........I can't say I'm not disappointed, I hoped he was taking me shopping.....

It's Percy Time....

awh
even storm troopers deserve love....
but not geeks

Percy popped a perfect post of peoples petulant past times my way this morning (try and say that when you have had a skinful of hooch) Percy, as I'm sure you remember, is my chum that works for the BBC's department of moaning and pointless questions, or as it's also known Customer Services.

Percy has primarily been dealing with the Beeb's new iPlayer service. I do wish people would stop putting an "i" in front of stuff to make it sound modern and sexy. It takes away from my modern and sexy iMac. Lazy iCunts the lot of them. The iPlayer is the BBC service that allows the license payer, and those who can still get away with not paying it, to "catch up with the programmes you've missed during the last 7 days - or want to watch again - by downloading them to your computer." It's all quite obvious really. But obviously some people struggle with new stuff and that's fine, they get the help they need.

It appears Mac users are amongst the biggest pains in the arse that Percy has to deal with. The iPlayer does not currently support Mac and this has the Steve Jobs Army really rather hot under their black polo neck collars. One threatened to write to his MP such was his annoyance at not being able to use this service. Use a fucking video geek boy! I swear I couldn't do Percy's job. But it isn't the iPlayer that has caused Percy the most amusement/hassle this week, oh no it's been something much more fun than that....

Torchwood is a BBC show written by Russell T Davies. That would be the same Russell T Davies who created the ground breaking Queer as Folk TV show for Channel 4. If I was a raging homophobic I would take that as being a slight hint of what I could expect. Torchwood (an anagram of Doctor Who) is a show about investigators solving human and alien crime. And is aimed at adults.

There is nothing that gets Middle England, and Mid-Ulster for that matter, more upset than a gay kiss on prime time TV. Especially when it comes in the middle of a Science Fiction show, a genre not known for it's gay characters, C3PO aside. The message being that inter species love seems to be okay, just not same sex. So when you upset both the god botherers and the geeks you can expect your phone lines, email systems, and letter boxes to take a bit of a hit. And what a hit it was. Percy sent me a copy of this email, it's a copy n paste job so it is just as he received it....

removed
due to a case of shitting one's self.....

Eh? What? Do people actually believe this shit? How do you even begin to reply to that? Just imagine coming into work to have to face bile like that! Laugh, cry, or go mental.....I'm not sure what I'd do first. There has been quite a bit of this nonsense since the episode aired on Wednesday night. But yet still no complaints about that utter toad Jeremy Clarkson....the mind boggles.....

Oh I suppose you all want to see what the fuss was all about... Clicky

All complaints to Percy...hehehehehe

Also, there is a special WellDoneFillet badge set for the best letter of response to this cretinous email....

Last chance to nominate your favourites for the Irish Blog Awards......nominations close at 9pm Friday

I want you to arrange a meeting, with the heads of the Five Families. This(stew) war stops now

Godfather, they want the stew business

What a night! I had a table of 15 booked for 8pm, all of which were managers and head chefs from local restaurants and bars. This also included my head chef and not only the glorious leader(GM) but our supreme leader(OWNER) himself. No pressure there then. The cooker jockeys were stressed to the point of sobriety. I'd never seen them so jittery, it was almost cute. I wasn't stressed about serving such a table of industry luminaries, hell I had swapped my shift to ensure that I would be serving them. I enjoy the challenge. Masochistic tendencies I think,

"CALL ME BOY!"

"CLICK YOUR FINGERS AT ME, CLICK 'EM, CLICK 'EM!"

"I'M YOUR FOOD AND DRINK BITCH!!"

"DON'T SAY MY NAME"

Sorry about that.....I was having a moment there. It was a scene reminiscent of the Godfather, the meeting of the heads of the 5 families. There were lots of loud and over the top greetings and air kissing. (air kissing in Belfast? Pfft!) There was also lots of whispering between the chef and manager from each of the individual restaurants.

There was still no clear reason as to why they were all meeting. As I stood there waiting for them to get their shit together I surmised that it was price fixing! Portions of chips would be raised to £3.00 per portion and all house wine would start at £15.00 per bottle. Wages within the city centre would be capped for another 5 years and most controversially fish and chips would rise to £10.00 a plate, and that's just for lunch mwahahahahahahaha!

Then of course there was the tricky matter of who would control the lucrative Irish Stew market especially as tourist numbers are expected to rise again this year. The bar managers would say they should have exclusive rights to it as they won control of the stew markets back in the big stew wars of '73. The bar owners fought a bloody and vicious war with the restaurant owners back in the early 70's which lead to them agreeing to stop selling scampi in return for the exclusive rights to the Irish Stew market. But the restrauteurs know that it is a cash rich industry and they also know they can do it better and charge more. In the end it would be agreed to share the Irish stew business as long as the bar owners were allowed to serve scampi and chowder. The price of stew would rise though to £7.00 a bowl for tourists, £4.00 for locals though who would laugh in your face if you charged them any more than that.

Of course they weren't really in to fix prices or run a stew cartel. One of the bar people was leaving the industry to take up a new and more dramatic position in the Opera House. But Lucyfer had the rest of the restaurant under control and I had time to dream. Lucyfer has been renamed. She was formerly known as Psycho but Lucyfer seems to fit her hot headed mentality better.

The meal went without a hitch and all were delighted. I even got make up my own service charge. Which isn't as fun as it sounds. I'd like to have whacked 30% on but even I would blush at the cheek of it, so I settled for half that which is only 5% more than normal.

In other slightly more unsettling news I think I am being sold into slavery or something. The Supreme Leader told me he needs me to go to London with him at the start of next month and that I should keep my diary free. Keep my diary free? Ha! I'm a waiter my diary isn't exactly over flowing with very important things to do. Let me check.... go to work, get day off, do laundry, spend time with LMM, repeat. I'd say my month is fairly free. And any way when the Supreme Leader says you're going to London with him you're going to London! Ballsy as I am I ain't saying no to the big boss man. But he revealed no further details. So obviously my mind is racing with possibilities. He either really likes me and wants to take me away for a few days r R and R, or I'm being sold into white slavery. Gotta be honest I don't fancy either. That said things worked out okay for that Spartacus guy......

Ps it's Threadless Thursday over there....

....goes together like a horse and carriage.

Charles Bronson
goes well with everything

Some things just go together, they compliment each other. In some cases they would be nothing if the other wasn't there. I'm looking at you Mr Garfunkel. Would Harold really have so much fun without Maude? Would you really eat chips without ketchup? Would The Beatles have hit the top without Yoko? Okay bad example but you get the point.

Some things just don't work together. Come on lets be honest neither Paul McCartney or Michael Jackson really came out of the whole "Say Say Say" abomination very well. On paper it looked like a good idea, one was the Prince/Peter Pan of pop the other was in the one of the biggest and most successful bands of all time. But when they were put together we didn't get a tune that united the worlds waring factions or even that just took the pain away of our daily drudgery. No, we got shite instead of gold.

Where am I going with this? I have no idea.....

Oh yeah, that's what it was.....fusion or the stuffing together of one cultures food with that of another. Some times it works, sometimes it doesn't. Tex-Mex works. Anglo French also works. You don't see many Austro-Mex restaurants and thankfully the high street is still free of a Vietnamese-Swedish eaterie. Oh the horror. It seems obvious what foods compliment each other, and it follows that it's fairly obvious what foods don't work well together.

So why oh why oh why would you go to a restaurant and order a stir fry dish with a portion of champ on the side AND (it doesn't end there) a portion of chilli sauce to go with it?

Why?

Why would you do that?

Why would you do that when the waiter has advised against it? The sharp intake of air that I took could not have been taken as a positive sign. When I said "Yeah....but maybe just a portion of fries." And when you still insisted on ordering the champ I explained that mashed potatoes and noodles don't really go together you replied, "Yeah but I'm strange like that."

Strange? You're not strange, you're a wab. You are a sweaty cheese crusted wab at that. But it wasn't ordering champ and noodles that makes you the wab you are, it was the complaining about it after that makes you the wab. Wab.

Champ good. Noodles good. Champ and noodles together very very bad....

It's times like this when I need a drink and something nice to eat. But can I be arsed to cook and fix myself a drink? No, no I can't. Thankfully other people have solved this food or drink conundrum.....

The Bourbon and Blood

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Charles Bronson. Bourbon on the rocks with a lightly seared piece of seasoned fillet steak. Beautiful......There should be more meat in cocktails. If you want more click...

You can just see how that beauty was created. It was probably late night in a kitchen somewhere, hungry and drunk maybe stoned too. "Hey hey guys....you gotta try this man....meat and booze....yeah!! Just pause Death Wish and try it."

In other news Dennis is hosting this weeks RoundTable.....amusing as always.

The largest collection of thimbles in Europe? Bollocks!

The Irish Blog Awards are to take place on the 1st of March in the Alexander Hotel. And I'm starting to get excited. It's not the will I won't I win thing that has me excited, I blog for the love of blogging not for fame or awards*, but rather I am excited about meeting fellow bloggers. It will be amusing to put faces to names, even if the names aren't their real names, I assume their faces will be genuine. It will also be a relief to be in a place with lots of like minded people who share the same concerns as you, stats, hits, counts, links, etc. I guess it must be like a meeting of NAMBLA but without the inappropriate boy love.

It will be a bit like reading a book and imagining the characters in a particular way then watching the movie version only to find your illusions shattered when Ben Stiller plays the lead role. You know what I mean? I've spent the long dull evenings at work recently wondering what my favourite Irish bloggers look like.....I haven't slept well since.

Is Fat Mammy Cat really a Fat Mammy or is she Amy Winehouse with a flame red mop of hair? She is, in my thoughts. Is Gimme really Dublin's answer to Lance Armstrong or is he a fat man on a little bike. (Much like me) And why do I have this constant nagging feeling that Twenty Major is actually Mary Harney? Too far with that one? Sorry.

through the reality filter

Gimme and Fat Mammy Cat

Point is that with blogging you can make yourself what ever you want to be. You can do a post saying that you have 2 degrees from Oxford and that you have the largest collections of thimbles in Europe and that you are a 27 year old woman when in fact you are a 53 year old man with no formal qualifications and only the second largest collection of thimbles in Europe. I expect things to be different after the blog awards. Maybe there will be a loss of innocence....

...especially if I vomit on you. And that is a distinct possibility. Reading my stories of being drunk and the inevitable hangover is one thing but being there live from the crime is a whole other life threatening scenario. One that few people would volunteer for. Now you can say things like "you don't have to get drunk" or "drink water between pints" but that isn't the way things go down when Manuel hits the hot sauce. I drink until if fall over. I'm not being macho here. I wish I could realise when I've had enough but I cant. I just keep glug glugging until I've told everyone a. that I love them b. my deepest darkest secrets, and c. that I'm a waiter and I love being a waiter blah blah blah. Oh sweet Jebus what am I doing? Ah blog gold people, sick covered blog gold but gold all the same.

I note that there is a ladies only pre awards meet up organised by Sabrina and Ina in The Market Bar on Fade Street, Dublin 2 (01) 6139094 From 4:30 until whenever. Clicky the piccy for details.

tea?
doubt it some how....

If anyone with a penis or even without a wonder stick wants to meet up before hand and help get Manuel pished before he gets to the hotel relaxed and in the mood for a night of amusement and gaiety then lets get something organised. If the ladies are having a tea party I want one too suggest a meeting at a car show room or auto garage or in a tool shop. Or a bar, probably best off in a bar? Maybe a restaurant, is Mr Mulley feeding us? Any thoughts? Also I need an hotel for the night. Any good/sensibly priced ideas? There's a pint in it.....

...well there will be a few pints over it by the time I finish.

* I don't mean that, I don't mean that, I don't mean that one little bit

like meat?
try this.

The day J-Lo did the cleaning....

Morrissey
not often wrong

Morrissey said "Everyday is like Sunday." I hate to disagree with him but clearly the great one never worked in a restaurant. Working on a Sunday is just the worst. It's mainly the drive to work, and the arriving to work, and the being at work, and the customers at work. What I'm trying to say is that working on a Sunday sucks the big one. I got up and opened the curtains, swore at the rain, swore at all the people in their houses tucked up in their beds or lying in a drunken stupor with a kebab for a pillow, I swore at the manager who scheduled me on, I swore at the bloody part time staff who don't work Sundays, and I swore at the people in the van who spotted me standing there in the window naked as the day I was born (but hairier). Then I realised that if I stood at the window much much longer swearing at people who couldn't hear me then I would be late for work. Then I would be getting swore at.....

The drive to work on a Sunday is depressing too. There's no one to be seen. And that just highlights how very shit the whole going to work on a Sunday is. I'm only one of twelve people in the whole of the city who isn't drunk or have a hangover on a Sunday morning. I'm not exaggerating either. Seriously the whole city is pished, Priests, Vicars, and Rabbis too, well Rabbi. I don't think we have more than one.

Yup Sunday at work sucks the big one. With Sunday morning being the worst part. It's normally 2 or 3pm before people start to liven up and the scandal from the night before is revealed. Scandal was thin on the ground it has to be said. Some guy pushed some girl who fell over. This caused MEN to step in and be MEN ending in a big MEN melee. The doormen lead the charge, as they have been known to do.

I was bodgering about, half heartedly cleaning candle holders with all the conviction of a condemned man when the new cleaner finally made an appearance onto the restaurant floor. This was a bit of a result as we were about a half hour from opening and not a brush nor a mop had been pushed in anger round the restaurant floor. I had been introduced to her earlier in the week but I couldn't remember her name. Well I tend not to remember their names as they come and go with a very regular frequency. I need to save my brain space for the important details that I struggle with these days, details like my own name. So I asked her again what her name was....

"My names is Jennifer.....", she Czech so she really did say "names"

"Hi Jennifer, I'm Manuel", and before I could advise her of the need to get the floors done really really soon she added...

"Jennifer.....Lopez!"

I laughed. I laughed so hard in fact that I dropped one of the candle holders and smashed it.

"Oh so your Jennifer Lopez then, pleased to meet you....."

"Yes I ams Jennifer Lopez, you can call me Jenni if you wants. You wants to call me Jenni?"

"Okay then, Jenni it is!"

"And I will call you Brad."

"Brad?....." There were actual tears running down my cheeks "....as in Bradley Pitt?"

"Bradleys? No, Brad."


I was starting to think maybe I was drunk after all, or tripping. I'm not a big celebrity watcher but I was pretty damn sure Ms Lopez was not a 20 something Czech cleaner working in Belfast dressed in a shiny red tracksuit with fantastic "gold" hoop earrings and sporting more rings than the Moscow State Circus. This was not Jenni from the block, unless of course it was the Zámecké Schody block in downtown Prague.

Despite the amusement of it all I was very aware that big hand was creeping ever closer to twelve and still the floor wasn't done. So I moved away from Ms Lopez hoping that this would encourage her to do some work. And she did indeed start some work then I heard this voice from the other side of the coffee machine.....

"Braaaaaaddddd"

"What?"

"Noth-things"

"Right"

"Hehehehehehehe" she thought this was very amusing. Now I was convinced I had eaten a bag of acid for breakfast and not a boiled egg and toast. Two minutes later.....

"Braaaaaaddddd"

"What?"

"Noth-things" followed by more laughter.

"What? What are you on about? Do you need something?" Most people leave me alone in the morning for a very good reason.

"I makes a joke for you. I call you and then I say I don't need noth-things" hehehehehe

Jesus H I'm working with the Czech Republic's answer to Joan Rivers. Then she turned to copying everything I said and trying to do it in a Belfast accent.

"Aye, very funny."says I.

"Ayes, very funny." says she in a very poor mock Belfast accent.

Just as I was about to rip my own ears off a barman arrived, a barman more fitting of the "Brad" monicker than me. So like a child with a busted toy she let go her "clasp" of me and set about the new target.

Thank Christ.

Sunday mornings may never be dull again........

mores the pity.....

I'd say there will be more from Ms Lopez over the next few weeks.........

Shorty Shitstain, While she sleeps, and more!

Intrigued? Want more? It's all over here...............

Back with proper post this evening

"I would be depressed without my hair"

I've been working all day. Ok that's pushing it a bit, I've been at work all day. Being at work all day I missed all the big news stories. You know what it's like, the world could go to war and I'd miss it. And I'm obsessed with the news. I have BBC News 24 on all day. Sad really, but I hate missing out on breaking news stories.....especially if my cousin hears something big before me. Very sad. But I did miss 3 big stories today....

Like the couple who got married only to discover that they were twins who had been separated at birth. If the first word out of your mouth isn't "eeeewwwwww" then there is something wrong with you. Oh to be a fly on the wall when they got that phone call. And how does that even come up in conversation?

"Hey hon, you know the way people keep saying we look alike"

"Mmmm what's that sugarpie?"

"I'm just saying, people keep saying we look very similar. Do you think....eh....um.....that maybe....you know what with us both having been adopted"

"No darling.....well.....no.....couldn't be......I mean......like what are the chances? And that birthday thing is just coincidence.....that's what we always said......coincidence right.......coicidence"

"Yeah, yeah you're right......I'm sure you're right......." Doubt sets in and before you know it you're asking a judge for an annulment.

Cheeeerist on a bike that's gotta mess with your noodles for quite a long time. I'm not having a laugh at their expense, honest I'm not. But sweet roast potatoes how do you ever get over that?

I also missed the winner of this year's UTTER BASTARD OF THE YEAR Award, I know it's only the 12th of January but if anybody beats this bed wetter to it I will eat my own ass. One for the Road carries it in full. You must click and read. YOU MUST! Beyond words and contempt.

The human condition is a fragile one of that there is no doubt. People break their own hearts, others have theirs broken for them. But the story of the day, a heart breaking tale of a 15 year old school boy, really shows the human condition for what it is, self centred bullshit.

Grant Stranaghan is a GCSE student at Ballyclare High. He was suspended last year for three days for................refusing to get his hair cut. The utter bastard. And now, good people, it's gone to court. Not some kids court thingy or some sort of school committee masquerading as a court, but to an actual court with an actual judge and lawyers and people with stern expressions who say "M'lad" a lot and "If it may please the court....". Mr Justice Weatherup was asked by the school's lawyers to say its code of conduct on pupils' appearance was lawful. The lawyers for hippy, as I'm sure he gets called at school, will argue that he is being sexually discriminated against and that his human rights are being inFRINGED, you cant make this shit up.

"I would be depressed without my hair"

Grant Stranaghan
hahahahahahahahahaha

I'm sure Mr Justice Weatherup got to work this morning and said, "What the fuck?" and had a look around his chambers for the team from Candid Camera. I'm sure he expected the man with the withered hand to pop out and tell him it was all just a jolly jape and in fact he would be sitting in on a nice assault with a deadly weapon case instead. But no, in Northern Ireland in 2007 we are having court cases about whether or not some wee lad should get his lovely flowing locks sheared or not. It's times like this I miss the old days of supergrass trials and people shouting political slogans as they are lead away for 30 years (cut to 5 thanks to the good friday agreement.)

Since Grant went public with his hairy problem life ain't been easy. He was assaulted by boys with short hair who tried to cut his hair. That's what Belfast is like in this post-troubles era folks. The hairdressers roam the streets with impunity mercilessly trying to give people hair cuts. Can't kneecap them any more! Grant has also been chucked out of his class as well. He's been banished to a cupboard or a store room or something like that on his own. His dad calls it solitary confinement. Probably a bit over the top there Mr Stranaghan. And one on one tuition? Good grief some people pay a fortune for that sort of thing.

The Belfast Telegraph said the case "could have massive legal implications for schools across Northern Ireland." Really? Could it? You mean kids may not have to wear uniforms anymore and can grow their hair any way they want. Nightmare. Oh what will become of the country? The very fabric of society will crumble, and a spotty teenager from Rathcoole will be to blame. Or not as the case may be.

And where, I hear you ask, does Manuel stand on the whole issue? One part of me says just get your haircut, suck it up for a year and leave when you are 16 and go to a college and hey you can grow your hair down to your ass then if you want. The other part of me says well done fella, stick it to the man. I mean look at all the kids with short hair and tracksuits and cannabis leaf gold jewelry, they are just fantastic members of society. But the really big part of me says.......I just don't care......

I just don't want to find out in ten years time that LMM is my long lost twin sister...........

Waiter speak with forked tongue

ewwwwwww

One of the most fear inducing phone calls a waiter can get goes like this, "Hello what time is the latest we can get a table for a dinner?" Late supper eh? BOLLOCKS, I have no time for the late bloody supper crowd. Now there is no chance in hell I'm giving them a straight answer, it ends up in a game of twenty questions....

Customer: "Hello what time is the latest we can get a table for a dinner?"

Me: "Eh....." panic sets in "...it depends on which day and how many it's for."

If the punter wants a late booking on a day I'm not working then he can get what he wants. There's more honour amongst thieves than waiters.

If not, we move onto to the next question...

Me again: "What time would you want a table for?"

I need the punter to specify a time, that then becomes the negotiation point. If he hits me back with the first question then I'm fucked. You see my concern is that I don't know who is on the phone. They might be the bosses next door neighbour, or his cousin or somebody that could land me in a whole pile of dog mess if I get found out for spoofing the last order time.

No matter what the punter says I will tell them a half hour before the actual last order time. If they get lippy I make up a fantastic but very plausible reason, normally something to do with other bookings.

You might find this hard to believe but waiters don't always tell you the truth. I'll give you a moment to deal with that shocking revelation. But even when we tell the truth we may mean something else entirely, and those seemingly harmless questions, if only you knew...

"Hi table for two is it?" - there had better not be any more of you.

"Would you like to see the menu before you take a table?" - yes, I know where the nearest Pizza Hut is

"Oh the house red sir, great choice!" - cheap wine, cheap tip

"So you're Australian?" - bye bye, you wont be seeing me again

"Yes madam all our beef is local." - if you live in Buenos Aries

"Sir you are just so funny, I'm gonna use that." - Kill me now/you're getting blogged tonight

"Your Canadian eh?" - This is our kitchen porter he'll be serving you tonight

"Have you had the XXXXX before?" - DON'T BLOODY ORDER IT (we cant just come out and say it's crap so we ask if you have had it before. If you have then you know and I am obsolved of all guilt)

"Well Hi, you guys must be American?" - K-ching!

"Yes sir, kids are welcome." - as long as you are 60 and your kids are 20/welcome to go to granny's/not in my section

"My! Don't you all just look great!" - it's 6 days from pay day and I'm skint!

"No change sir? That's okay you can get me next time." - next time? Don't make me laugh. You and I wont be doing this again any time soon.

Read between the lines folks, the waiter speaks with forked tongue........

What the waiter saw has Bourdain's visit to Ireland if any one is interested.....