The C word...s

Our first table on Saturday night didn't like their table, despite it being the most popular in the restaurant.

Different strokes for different folks.

So we moved them......

......into the darkest, dankest corner of the restaurant.

My section.

They probably wish they hadn't done that as I had a table of ten big fellas, up from the country, with no volume control. And they were sat right beside them. Made me giggle, made them complain......

C is for...

...Complaining. Most complaints have some level truth, in some way we have wronged the guest. Very few guests complain for the sake of it, few, but still it happens. "There's a tomato on my plate" being one of my all time favourites. Waiters want a happy life, a quiet life, we don't want to spend our nights glugging milk to calm the stress related ulcers growing in out tum tums. So you are upset that something is "wrong" with your food or because the water is too wet or because the plate is round so you call the waiter over and explain your problem. This is normally conveyed with a "my world has just collapsed" sort of attitude. Knock it off. Seriously, getting on like someone has just shat in your lap isn't going to make the waiter move with any greater urgency. If you stay clam I'll stay calm, which means the chef will stay calm which means you get your problem sorted quicker.

it's also for...

...Comp. After the complaint comes the comp, the complimentary, the free. Almost all comp's are given thanks to the intervention of the waiter. We make the judgements and pressure advise the manager to make the right decision. So if you think you deserve something comp'd don't be blaming the waiter. Although if we have fucked up, unlikely, we sometimes try to head of and pre-empt the complaint by getting the comp sorted before the guest kicks off.

and...

..."Cremate it." The common cry of the scared guest, the guest who has never tasty the carnivorous delight of a bloody rare steak. The cremate instruction is normally followed with the inexplicable, "...but don't burn it." Say what? Which is it? All hope is lost at this point and the table is served in silence. I'm convinced that in a blind taste test most guests would prefer their steak at the very least medium. It's the sight of a bloody steak as opposed to the taste that frightens them. Also a big cause of complaints, "my steak is burnt", eh no it's well done you fucking savage......

as well as...

...Chefs. They cause most complaints. But I'm not gonna go on about it.

and not forgetting...

...Chicken. Is there a more versatile animal for cooking than the chicken? Okay maybe the piggy, but it's the chicken that is the most popular. Stuffed, roasted, braised, fried, breaded, spiced, curried, and not forgetting in a basket. Not recommended raw or even pink, you really do want the chef to be awake and cook the beastie the whole way through. Unless of course you are in Japan where they have a fondness for chicken sushi. Crazy bastards. Back in the old days (1970's & 80's) men ate steak, women ate chicken. Not anymore thankfully.

and also...

...Christmas. K-ching. Tis the season to be jolly, tired, and loaded.

...Comment Cards. Pointless really. All waiters employ their own self censorship program, ie if it's less than great it gets binned. And guests that use a comment card to complain rather than tell the waiter during the meal need a slap.

...Cutlery. It never ends. The constant polishing. Hundreds a day. Thousands a week. Kitchen porters love delivering it down to you, it's the only joy in their dark little lives. Nothing shifts chatting waiters like the arrival of an over full cutlery tray full of greased up silverware. I mean not even the appearance of an over officious manager moves us quicker. All of a sudden tables need checked, toilets need signed off, imaginary orders must be taken from non-existent tables. But still better than polishing glasses, but that's much more of a "G" thing. And what is the point of all this polishing? I mean do you even notice or care? It's the paranoid fuckwits who start polishing their cutlery the moment they are seated that get to me. I've taken to removing it from them and replacing it. I make a big deal of it, and then I watch, they are normally too terrified even look at it.....

(done and not one use of the most obvious c word)

(that's carpaccio by the way....)

D is for death...
...so that's something to look forward to.