Obsessing...

I'm going mental.

I know this is off topic and all that and there will be a proper waiter related post coming later but...

Pretty soon I'll be found rocking back and forward naked in the corner save for some tin foil on my head talking to Humphrey Bogart, who will of course be answering me back.

The noise is unbearable.

digger man Dave's digger

They kicked off just before 8 this morning and haven't let up for a moment since. When I left the bin out for collection yesterday three of the builder types were standing in next doors backyard with spades and that sort of thing. I should also add that they were stripped to their waists. Not pretty, not pretty at all. That's nice, I thought, they must be going to tidy the yard up.

No.

This morning when I went to retrieve the bin I found that half my yard wall was gone and the space where next doors yard used to be was now a scene reminiscent of the search for bodies at Fred West's house. The three Bob the Builders from yesterday were now joined by Dave the Digger Man, Standing Steve (there's always one who doesn't appear to be doing anything other than standing! I could do that!), and my new favourite Pishy Pete. Pishy Pete likes to pee outdoors. I was scanning the area for damage when I spied Pishy Pete with his lanyard out pishing up against the wall.

Fucking charming!

It's a bloody good job I have double shifts for the next two days at work or else I would start obsessing. I could very easily become one of those men who keeps a file of all their comings and goings and logs every infraction and bending of the rules. They end up going completely bonkers and wind up in jail for sabotaging the diggers and slashing the van tires.

What do you mean writing blog posts about them is the same thing?

Fuck off.

I've a video camera to be buying.......

Builders...

The builders have moved in next door.

Not to live, but to destroy my happiness and reduce my sleep down to under 3 hours a night. thumbs up?
fuck off more like...

Drills, hammers, painting it's all doing my head in. How can painting be annoying I hear you ask? Because the fucking painter brought a fucking radio and apparently the only way to listen to the fucking twee country/easy listening fucking stylings of Hugo-fucking-Duncan (actual name) is at FULL FUCKING VOLUME.

And there is no talking to them about it. Well that's not strictly true, you can talk to them about it just don't expect any answers.

"So this gonna go on for how long?"

"Ah now well as long as it takes."

"Yes but how long is that gonna be, a week? Two weeks? A month?"

"Hard to say....about that long."

"How long?"

He answered by telling me all about the job, skirting boards, floors, kitchen, boiler blah blah blah. Never having renovated a house I have no frame of reference as to how much work is involved in repointing a kitchen.

What does that even mean, repointing a kitchen?

Please don't answer that, I don't care.

I'd expect to hear more about Manuel v The Builders over the next few weeks.

Or is it months.....?

Cheese?

Regular reader/commenter Sheepworrier is going out for dinner this weekend. He has a question...

"Quick question to all - is it ridiculously cheesy to ask a restaurant for roses (or whatever) to be set on a table before arrival if it isn't an anniversary / proposal etc?

All the sheep say cheesy - just wondering the wider opinion..."

So what say you?

Guest...

The very delightful Healy Sequoia from The WhinoRhino Preservation Society
(Belfast Office)

sent me a charming little story of dining out in Belfast on the back of last weeks Botherer bit.

Charming little city really......

I am still not recovered from last night. I am sick to my stomach and horrified by the whole thing. And I hardly even had a drink! Let me tell you the tale if I can with out reliving the trauma too much…

It started out so well. Colleen and I went out to celebrate because we agreed an offer on our house. I wanted to go to this cute little restaurant, Darcy’s, which I had noticed walking past Bradbury place just a few blocks from us. So we dressed up and went over about 8pm hoping to get a table. What luck, one table for two left in this quaint, busy restaurant. Now to appreciate the story you need to know that this place is packed. And the tables are about 2 inches away from each other.

We are the second to last table in the row closest to the kitchen, and the last table is occupied by a middle aged couple who politely scootched over to let me in to sit on the long bench seat that ran along the wall. I am now sitting next to the middle aged woman and colleen is in a chair opposite me next to the man. On the other side of us is a young couple with a lot of fake tan and faker bling.

We sit down, order some wine and some appetisers and are chatting gleefully over our house sale and of course dissing the crack-whores that we kicked out of our house. The older couple to my left start making small talk with us and seem quite friendly and normal, if a bit irritating.

But then our food comes so we think, ok now we’ll just go back to our own meals and small talk is over. Well NO. It would seem that these people have gone from semi-over friendly and buzzed to drunk and obnoxious. Marie, as the woman was named, would not let me alone to eat and kept asking me a million questions while of course telling me her life story about how her first husband was mean to her and she was better off with out him but she has no friends yadda yadda. Colleen was having to contend with Willie who took his teeth out and put them in his pocket to eat.

Eeek.

We didn't want to be rude to them because that would ruin our meal as much or more than they were already, so we were polite and answered their questions and smiled a lot of forced smiles. Well our main course came and I did my best to make it clear that our conversation was over now, but there was no where to go – no where to run to!

The place was so packed we couldn't even move an inch or two away. And at this point Marie is practically on top of me. She is even leaning across our table to pick a fight with the over- tanned people to our right! Willie, perhaps having seen this happen before, and had who must have had some sense left, decided they better leave before things got any worse and said he would go to the bathroom and then they were going. Well, as soon as he got up, Marie went absolutely insane. She kept hitting my arm every time I went to take a bite of my food to get my attention and ask me really rather rude questions.

I was mouthing “HELP” to Colleen.

Then Marie decided to actually help herself to my food. This woman I've never seen before in my life grabbed one of my chips, swirled it around in the sauce on my chicken and ate it. Then she said “give us a kiss” and tried to kiss me on the mouth! I was turning away and trying to push her off me and so she ended up licking my face.

Disgusting!

All of this is happening so fast at this point – I’d only had maybe 2 bites of my dinner. Colleen jumped up from her chair like she was gonna deck this woman, luckily she didn't actually hit her, but she threatened to! The man came back and colleen told him he better get her out of the restaurant this instant, which he did. Coll then told the waiter we were leaving because of what had happened and they had better watch the sort of clientele they let in the place. They didn't even try to stop us, but Coll was so riled up by the incident she insisted on leaving our number for the manager (who was not there) to call us if he had a problem. I must admit, I was quite shaken by the whole thing.

Really, I know it will be a funny story one day but right now I kinda want to puke. Luckily I didn't eat anything. Ironically when we sat down I was worried that the man on the other side of us, a tangoed bling-y guy, would be annoying cause he was talking really loud and being a show off to impress his date. There’s more details to this story that I am rapidly struggling to forget like Willie’s teeth going in and out of his gob and Marie’s insistent queries about what lesbians do in bed!

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.

Boundaries...

Inappropriate things to do in a restaurant.....
....and I've witnessed all of them!

NO! NO NO NO!

1. Women painting their nails at the table. Get the fuck outta here! Have you smelt that stuff? I mean why not just crack open a bottle of methylated spirits and toss it all over the carpet?! Instead of the air being filled with the mouth watering aromas of garlic and ginger and the waiters recently smoked cigarette we get the chemical overtones of Maybelline White Shine Nail Varnish. I used to drop hints, turn air con on or crack open a window or pretend to look for the source of the smell, that sort of thing. But not anymore, direct action, "Oi! Put it away! NOW!"

2. Man picking the dry skin of his feet at the table. Socks and shoes were tossed asunder and he was going at it like a man on a mission. Are you fucking kidding me? That's barely appropriate in your own living room let alone a public place. We were so shocked we didn't quite know what to do. By the time we decided he need to be told he had popped his hooves back in his socks and shoes. Shocking....

3. Bringing a bucket of KFC for the little ones. I mean nothing displays parental love more than feeding your kids from a cardboard bucket. Again barely appropriate in your own home but well out of order in a fucking full service a la carte bloody restaurant. JESUS WEPT and the chef went mental. I was saved from having to deal with this situation as the chef walked in and spotted them just as we spotted them. Suffice to say there was a lively debate which ended in me producing a bill for drinks and having to run to the kitchen to cancel two steaks.

4. Bringing your own booze. I've had them all from shop workers to teachers to accountants trying to save a few bucks by bringing their own booze. Fuckity fuck if you cant afford the beer don't go out or at the very least go somewhere cheaper. One guest even tried to tell me he had bought the offending bottle of "wine" from me! The brassneck of him! I mean you can spot the crazy monkeys that are as drunk as lords despite having only ordered cokes from you all night long.

5. European display of emotions at the table. The French, Italian, Spanish etc all live with their hearts on their sleeves. Their emotions are raw and alive! Fantastic! But don't be trying it on in my bloody restaurant especially if you're not French, Italian or bloody Spanish. If they get all emotional with tears or laughter or sexy time that's ok, that's fine. They are just "funny foreigners" but if you are from the Antrim Road or South Belfast etc then knock the air kissing, the very loud hellos, the happy sing song etc off. If you wanna have an argument then please go down the route of passive aggression. If you want sexy fun time then hold hands across the table or go to the bathrooms. If you want to say hello then nothing says hello like a firm handshake. STOP DISTURBING ME AND MY TABLES! I blame all these foreign holidays........

Boundaries people, get them and learn to live within them......

Any more?

Pfft......

Waiters in India are to be vaccinated....

Statesman News Service

KOLKATA, April 24: The Kolkata Municipal Corporation (KMC) will soon start work on a vaccination project on Hepatitis A and typhoid. The vaccination project will be carried out in the various hotels and restaurants of the city.

A meeting in this regard was today held with the Restaurant and Hotelier Association of Eastern India and the health department officials of the civic body. A health department official said that the waiters who serve the food will be vaccinated by the respective restaurant authorities with the city civic body supervising the entire project. The vaccines will also be purchased by the association, a health department official added.

Officials said that the present vaccination programme was a preventive measure that was undertaken by the civic body. “Diseases like Hepatitis A and typhoid are most likely to occur from water and food. It is because of this that we are taking the preventive measures,” an official said. The vaccination programme will be carried out only in licensed hotels and restaurants of the Association.

A similar vaccination programme was carried out almost six years back in 2002 when Mr Subrata Mukherjee was the mayor but was not followed up in the later years. “We will start working on the project once the civic body receives a list of hotels and restaurants registered with the association,” an official said.

Pfft......I say vaccinate the punters instead. And whilst we are at it wash them and make them tuck their shirts in too.

***********
Vol 19 of Roundtable is up at Raging Server....

Australians...

Pensioners eh?

Don't want to talk about it...

...still too raw man...

...too raw.

But in other news...fat handed twat...

I posted a short piece about Australians on Wednesday, "Lovely people, great guests, pishy tippers."

Well guess what?

Yup...

...that's right I had nearly forty booked for dinner tonight.

It was a tale of two tables. One arrived on time, kept themselves to themselves, ordered well and kept the drinking to the minimum. They left after exactly two hours having paid the bill and service charge without complaint. The other table were, how shall I put this, they were different......

To start they kept phoning and changing their numbers , this caused to me to change and reset the table 3 times. First it was 20 then 25 then 19 then 25 again. I loved having to do that! I mean who wouldn't want to have to do the same thing 3 times over again inside an hour? Then they were going to be about 15 minutes late then it was half an hour.

They eventually arrived 2 full hours late. I was catatonic. Is that too strong a word? I don't think so. I was actually sent for a smoke at one point to calm down. It didn't work neither did the one I had straight after that. In they sauntered as if all was well in the world, little groups of two and three at a time. I could barely utter a pleasant word. This would be swift and free from my usual chat and jokey persona. Eat pay tip leave.......now!

I explained to them that they were two hours late and that the restaurant was closing soon. I explained to them that children were not permitted in the restaurant after 9pm, we were well past that at this point. I made the point that all was not well in my world. They didn't seem to care.

"Oh no worries mate, we'll be right." He said in that relaxed and life is easy sort of way.

"We'll be right?"

"We'll be fucking right?"

The fuck did that mean?

I got their food order, rang it in, and went back for the wine order. I was in a darker mood than Tim Burton on a bad day. Seriously I must have been like having Leonard Cohen as your waiter. One chap wanted to take care of the wine order, two Beaujolais and two Ned to start. He told me to keep it coming and then a strange thing happened. With one magnificent move my mood was lifted. I was transformed. I was sweetness and light.

There is nothing and I mean nothing like getting a fifty stuffed into your hand to perk you right up. He owned me now, I knew it, he knew it, and I didn't care. They ate and drank and drank and drank until there was nothing left to eat or drink. They settled the bill with service included and tip on top.

So with that in mind.....

A is for...

...Australians. Lovely people, great guests, no idea about timekeeping, fantastic tippers and will always be served by Manuel.

Film...

More Four is showing Nikolaus Geyrhalter's film Our Daily Bread next Tuesday at 10pm. Not a lot of laughs but if you have strong views or are curious about mass food production then this is the boy for you.

mmmmm
that cant be good can it?

From More Four...

"This beautiful and evocative documentary is a powerful look at the industry of agriculture throughout Europe. There might not be anything new about the idea that "you are what you eat", but the old maxim seems particularly urgent at the moment. Since the turn of the millennium the issues of food production and sustainability have become ever more serious. We're all increasingly aware of the potential dangers of fast food, the polluting effects of intensive agriculture and pressures on global food supply and our appetite for information about exactly what we are putting on our plates and the impact of our feeding habits has grown accordingly."

Worth a watch.......

B is for...

A "friend" sent me a message yesterday to say I wasn't writing a dictionary it was more like an encyclopedia.

So I retrieved a dictionary from my "library" and checked the word pedantic.

Huh,

funnily enough there he was........

....smart arse.

B is for...

...Botherers. Restaurant botherers come in all shaped and sizes. The most common are the God Botherers of course. A pamphlet is not a tip and soup is not an acceptable main course. Others include the guest botherer. Have you ever sat in a restaurant happily minding your own business enjoying your food and the pleasant conversation when the slightly odd looking couple on the table next to you make eye contact? For the love of all that is right in the world don't acknowledge them, don't nod, don't smile, and if you want a moments peace for the rest of the meal don't speak to them. It starts with a simple, "How's yer food?" and ends up two hours later swapping phone numbers and pictures of the kids etc. I've seen many a good meal ruined by the people next door all for the sake of being polite.........

it's also for...

...Blood. It's not blood it's myoglobin. So when you send your steak back because it's undercooked tell the waiter the myoglobin is pouring out of it, that'll confuse the hell out of him. Actually don't.....Some things are better when they are cooked rare, lamb, steak etc and somethings will kill you, chicken for one. No one wants a nice rare/bloody chicken breast.

and...

...Back of house. This is where the cooker jockeys, kitchen porters, and general psychotics work. Only the brave/foolhardy enter this world of pain, misery, and constant abuse. Anything and everything is fair game in the back of house, your mother (whore), your sister (whore), your girlfriend (whore), your football team (gay whores), your dog (whore) anything. It's like a young offenders centre but with knives and fire. The heat is unbearable and there is a constant cacophony of noise from fans, ovens, dishwashers, radio (happy hardcore etc) and the ceaseless barking from the head chef. It's a testosterone filled world of machismo and then they all go home wearing their nice lemon and pink jumpers. Odd place, best avoided......

as well as...

...Bookings. My definition of restaurant booking seems to differ widely with that of the dining public. I define it as being the time the gusts wish to arrive for something to eat and drink. That being the case we like to have the table ready for that time with the previous occupant being told to feck away off so that we can accommodate the lovely table of four booked for 8pm. But to the dining public it means nothing. It's more of a suggestion, a hint if you will, to the time that they might turn up at. 8pm shouldn't be considered the time that the guests will arrive but rather the starting point from when they may or may not arrive. Being a control freak I really hate tables being late, I'll give you 15 minutes leeway then the next punter to walk in gets your spot and when you do show up I'll take great pleasure in pointing out the time and seating you beside the toilets......

and not forgetting...

...Bacardi. Terrible rum, don't drink it.

...Bacon Bits. If the menu lists bacon flavoured bits anywhere just put the menu down, pay for your drinks, apologise, and leave. It's not real food!

...Brazil. Brazilian beef has sneaked it's way into Irish kitchens not that they, the chefs, will tell you that. Brazilian beef comes from Brazil and it's not some sort of well shaven meat. Insist on the locally reared stuff.

...Bar. This is where off duty waiters live. Leave them alone and don't speak to them. They don't have to be nice to you now and will probably be grumpy/drunk.

Take notes......there is a test coming.

It will be "C" next time.
Probably not tomorrow as I have pure blog gold booked for lunch, 40 pensioners on a day out. It doesn't get any better/worse than that........

Dictionary...

Extracts from the restaurant waiters dictionary...

that's up for redefinition.......

A is for....

...Americans. Lovely people, great guests, great tippers. Brother will fight sister for the right to serve Americans. The only problem I have with them, and it is a small one, is their over enthusiasm. I mean everything is "awesome" or "super" or "wow". I brought a table some water the other night and they all shouted "awesome". Really? For water? Awesome? Well I suppose it beats, "about fucking time..."

it's also for...

...Australians. Lovely people, great guests, pishy tippers. Brother will also fight sister to get away from them. I've seem waiters tell Aussies we were fully booked when the restaurant was empty and our next booking was twelve hours away.

and...

...Aioli. Used to be a big problem, people couldn't pronounce it! Aioli was introduced into Ireland a few years ago by a group of traveling monks who wowed people at fairs and carnivals with their sauce that was bit like mayonnaise but not quite the same. Some wag shouted that it was just Hellmann's with garlic in it but the monks refuted this and the man was never seen again. I once had a guest tell me that our menu printer must be dyslexic as they had spelt oil wrong. Man did he have egg based sauce on his face.

as well as...

...Artisan. This is a fairly new word in terms of restaurant menus. An artisan is a craftsperson, someone who shuns the high productivity of mechanised factories and what have you preferring to use their talents and hands to produce something individual and of a very high quality. But what it really means is that you get to pay 25% more for your cheese or pudding. Restaurants used to say "homemade" now it's all Artisan. Pfft.......nonsense!

and not forgetting...

...Al dente. Firm but not hard apparently. Everything was al dente in the world of Irish restaurants in the 90's (80's everywhere else). Now chefs just use it as an excuse when they undercook the veg or the pasta, "It's fucking al-den-taaaaaaay" they shout at you as you bring them back a warm, but essentially raw, bowl of carrots. I can overlook the carrots but please stop telling me the chicken was meant to be al dente!

More coming soon, probably the "B's", seems the most obvious choice.

Quality...

The worlds top restaurants have been judged and the winners announced on Monday night. Not one Irish restaurant, which is a pity.

How the hell do you get that gig, judging I mean?

Seriously I would wake up happy, and heavier, everyday.

"Off to work dear?"

"Yes sweetums, lunch at The Fat duck then it's dinner at Le Gavroche. Cant get a break at all!"

One can dream.......

1El Bulli Spain World's Best Restaurant Best in Europe

2 The Fat Duck UK
3 Pierre Gagnaire France
4 Mugaritz Spain Chefs Choice
5 The French Laundry USA Best Restaurant in Americas
6 Per Se USA
7 Bras France
8 Arzak Spain
9 Tetsuya's Austraila Best Restaurant in Australasia
10 Noma Denmark
11 L'Astrance France
12 Gambero Rosso Italy
13 Restaurant Gordon Ramsay UK
14 L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon France
15 Le Louis XV France
16 St John UK Highest Climber
17 Jean Georges USA
18 Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée France
19 Hakkasan UK
20 Le Bernardin USA
21 Alinea USA
22 Le Gavroche UK
23 Dal Pescatore Italy
24 Le Cinq France
25 Troisgros France
26 El Celler de Can Roca Spain
27 L'Hotel de Ville - Philippe Rochat Switzerland
28 Hof Van Cleve Belgium
29 Martin Berasategui Spain
30 Nobu London UK
31 Can Fabes Spain
32 Enoteca Pinchiorri Italy
33y Le Meurice France
34 Vendome Germany Highest New Entry
35 Die Schwarzwaldstube Germany
36 Le Calandre Italy
37 Chez Panisse USA
38 Charlie Trotter's USA
39 Chez Dominique Finland
40 D.O.M Brazil
41 Daniel USA
42 Oud Sluis Netherlands
43 Ristorante Cracco Italy
44 Asador Etxebarri Spain
45 Les Ambassadeurs France
46 L'Arpege France
47 Tantris Germany
48 Oaxen Skärgärdskrog Sweden
49 Rockpool Austrailia

50 Le Quartier Francais South Africa Best in Middle East and Africa

The next 50.....

Newbies...

We are off to London in exactly two weeks.

Which is nice for us and for the good people of Old London town,
obviously.

I am officially getting excited about the trip..........

......nnnnnnnnnnnnow.

It has to be better than my last trip. The first day will probably be spent sleeping. LMM is running the Belfast marathon the day before and I have a 12 hour bank holiday shift. With our flight leaving at 7am or something equally preposterous their could be swearing as well as sleeping.

The only thing we have planned is dinner at Gordon Ramsay's Claridges restaurant, oh well if I must. I also want to go to Tate Modern and pretend to understand the significance of it all. My only other plan is record shopping. I've cleared half a room for my intended purchases. I'm not joking either.

But as much as I'd like to lose myself in a world of 12 inches, 7 inches, long players (MJ you can insert obvious joke here) and associated products for four days I cant see LMM going for it. I've tried to read the many many guide books but I find them a chore. So if anyone can recommend good places to eat, drink, visit, look at, etc then please do share.

In other news....
I've seen my visitor hits nearly double over the last week or so. I mean it's like I used to drive a Ford Focus and I was happy with it then somebody put me in a Ferrari....zooooooooom. Okay maybe not a Ferrari but a better Ford Focus, with a spoiler and go faster stripes. Now I know we aren't supposed to worry about our hits and all that, we blog for the love of it blah blah blah. But not me I need the hits, man, I need them bad. Every hit is a virtual hug, even the ones who got here by accident whilst trying to find out the latest news from the rural swinging scene. True story!

So if you have come here from Waiter Rant then welcome. Here are a few things you need to know (the rest of you can move along)...

As you all know, by now, my blog is called Well Done Fillet......that's well done FILLET (with two "l's"), pronounced FIL-LET not FIL-LAY. Now I know this will be difficult for you Americans out there but you really must try. Over here we pronounce it FIL-LET and you pronounce it FIL-LAY, but when you are in my house you will use the former. And another thing the superbly ugly fish Turbot is pronounced TUR-BIT not TUR-BO. Stop it, it really annoys me. Good grief even the French pronounce it TUR-BIT. Don't even get me started on risotto (it's OT-TO not OH-TO). For those of you who don't know I took my name Manuel from the much put upon waiter Manuel from the BBC TV show Fawlty Towers. In reality I am much more like Basil.

I see you out there, hundreds of you, thousands of you in the last week. You all clicked the link from Waiter's place and now you are here. Some of you stay for but a moment some stay for hours. But none of you say much.

Why so shy?

Why?

Why?

Not commenting is like not tipping. You wouldn't stiff this waiter would you?

Would you?

Laugh?

It's been a funny old weekend....

....well I laughed.

laugh you fuckers
these are my best lines!

"Hello have you any reservations? asked the young man looking for a table for two.

"Well yes sir mainly about the ability of the restaurant trade to sustain the current level of growth given the credit crunch." I replied

"Eh, there's two of us" said the bemused man.

"Yeah this way...."


"Hello can I help you madam?" I asked the lost looking woman who was marching her way through the restaurant.

"I'm just looking for someone" she replied as she tried to look past me.

"Aren't we all madam aren't we all."

She didn't get it at first but as she wandered past me she looked back and laughed. I chose to assume it was with me and not at me.


"So you guys must be Italian then?!" I asked the very obviously German tourists.

I like to make them laugh a bit before engaging them in conversation. In that respect I may have failed as there was stunned silence and puzzled looks. The lead chap seemed to get it and explained, in German, the complexity(?) of my opening remark.

"Ah dis is humour no?"

Apparently not.

"Your humour makes us smiles."

I wasn't sure it did and I backed away without engaging them any further. But to give them credit they did say "Ciao" as they left. They looked really pleased with themselves.

I'll be appearing live all week, whether the guests like it or not.........

Canoes...

I've written about this before but seeing as it was all over the news on Friday and customers couldn't wait to ask me about it I thought I should cover it again.....

The Unite Union are launching a campaign to stop restaurant bosses paying you with your own money.

From the BBC....

A campaign to stop restaurants abusing the tips paid to staff has been launched by the UK's largest union.

Lack of transparency means that service charges may be diverted into the firm's takings without the customer knowing, Unite has claimed.

Some firms keep part of the service charge paid, the BBC has learned.

Read the whole jobby here......

The comments from the BBC Forums had me reaching for the stabbing fork...

Do the waiters/waitresses declare their tips for income tax purposes? I doubt it, and I don't exactly begrudge them but all my income is taxed. Why should I (and you!) pick up the tax shortfall?

Perhaps I should ask my clients for a part payment by invoice and then expect them to pay me the rest of my bill as a "tip"?

asked Mike_gss from Aberdeen, Scotland.

and this made me spit.....

Yes tips should be added to pay. Employees are paid and trained to work, they should not be rewarded by the public for simply doing their job. It is the owner of the restaurant who should benefit from any extra cash it is them that have forked out for the money, the food, and the staff, and ultimately are responsible on how their staff work for them. It would be a sorry state of affair if for example you tipped a warden for being ultra quick in giving you a ticket would it not?

said J Allen from Newcastle, England.

More comments here.....

What the fuck is wrong with these people? Seriously? Thank fuckity the good people of Belfast don't think like that. All night long the guests at work remarked about how corrupt the current system is whereby companies use YOUR tips to pay YOUR wages. Not one said anything to the contrary. I should say my employers do not employ such shady practices, they keep their noses right out of out trough.

But I shouldn't be surprised, English people in particular are regarded as very poor tippers. Nice enough guests to serve, but very poor tippers. So their lack of sympathy for us waiters is no great shock.

Just to clarify for Mike from Aberdeen, tips are indeed taxable. And all the tips that go through on my wage slip are taxed. Never mind shaking down waiters for their hard earned tips why not go after the fat cats, non-domiciles, and the business leaders with crafty accountants? Shake them a little harder and you'll find the tax burden on us all will become a little easier.

Let me clarify again what to do when you want to leave a tip, ask the waiter where the service charge or tip on card goes. If he says anything other than in his pocket leave cash.......

I loved this comment though from a waiter in Orlando Florida

Having read through some of the comments I now understand this common joke amongst the waiters of Orlando.

"What's the difference between a Canoe and a Brit?"

"Canoes tip".

Safe....

Remember my post from last week about the automated restaurant in Germany?

You do remember don't you?

Good grief it was only eight days ago.

Anyway an anonymous commenter has been there....

the waiters best friend

"I've seen this gaff
I even saw plates get stuck in the runways

Its like a big train set with sliding plates

I even saw the brush they used to push a plate along with when it got stuck
15 metres above my head"

Brilliant! You spend millions of Euros on your swish fancy pants restaurant that's gonna do away with us waiters and it takes a 3 Euro brush to keep it moving. I'd say my job is safe for another decade or two, if I survive that long........

Whoring...

make like a Nike ad and "just do it"....

The first twenty get extra badges.

Rules....

It's Saturday night at about 8pm

(It's not really for anyone who is reading this whilst drunk, you know who you are, I'm just setting the scene.)

A very attractive woman and her marginally attractive friend have just been seated.

Enter Manuel, a waiter.....

(not very attractive but happy in his own skin)you cant see me
hee hee hee

"Hello ladies, can I get you some drinks?"

"Two glasses of Chardonnay please" replied the marginally attractive woman

"And what will you have?" asked Manuel as he turned to the very attractive woman.

Confusion gave way to laughter.

Oh Manuel you cad....

It was at this point that Manuel remembered that he had served the very attractive lady more than a few times recently. You would think he would have remembered this seeing as she was so attractive. But his memory is pish poor, rock n roll and television probably the culprits.

"So..." asked Manuel "...don't you normally dine with a young man?" Manuel remembered him very clearly, shitty tipper, very shitty tipper.

"Oh he's gone!" She seemed very pleased to announce this, the marginally attractive lady seemed pleased too. There was laughter.

Manuel could have left it there. He could have gone and got them their wine. He could have gone and checked on the ugly people on table 19. He could have but he didn't.....

"Really? Good work. Never really liked him. You could do so much better." Said Manuel with the enthusiasm of a parent whose 17 year old daughter has just split up with her 29 year old unemployed boyfriend.

There was a moments silence.

Oh shit.

A Mexican stand off followed....

Manuel stared at the very attractive lady.

She stared at the marginally attractive lady.

The marginally attractive lady stared at Manuel.

"Yeah, he's gone to England for the weekend."

BALLS, DOUBLE BALLS, DOUBLE BALLS IN A VICE BEING SQUEEZED

"Right...so..eh.....I'l get your wine then......"

I spent the rest of the meal playing hide and seek with this table of two attractive ladies. They were very sweet to me for the rest of the meal and left a very generous tip. Still, her bloke's a shitty tipper and that's that.

There is a rule that you don't mention the guest's previous visit, unless you are very confident that it's the same people from last time. It's to protect the guilty. This is a very good rule, and one that I will be adhering to from now on.......

Waiter cannot live on baps alone...(and roundtable)

I'm pooped

I'm knackered

Busted even

I'd like a little sleep

I'd like a whole lot of sleep....

....and food, really nice food.

It's ironic really considering that I work in a restaurant but I've been living off Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and Belfast baps for about a week now.

But my eight night stretch is finally over.

So now I'm gonna eat, maybe in alphabetical order, A is for a Ribeye, B is for Bloody Ribeye, C is for Crunchy Nut Cornflakes whilst I'm waiting for the ribeye to cook.....

Well you see were I'm going with thisit's a bit over cooked
but mmmmmmmmmm

I intend to eat and sleep like a three month old child, that's to say eat then sleep for about four hours then eat and so on. I'm gonna do that for about, well, um, about 24 hours.
Amuse yourselves....

Here's week 18 of the Roundtable

Raging Server has been on the night shift express as well. Ah he's just so happy about life isn't he? Waiters get your little knives and meet me round the back, El Vermino Boulevard has been robbed, lets kick ass. Or maybe just scare them a bit! Clusterfucked is my new favourite word and I intend to use it at least 50 times over the next 24 hours. Where did I get it? Over at Missies. Quality. Now for something a little more civilised, Restaurant Gal. Or maybe not. She is, the punters aren't. Well we knew that didn't we? Didn't we? Waiter has been evoking not only waiter karma but the taxman karma too. Oh that's gotta hurt......

Is the beef local? Are the vegetables in season? Is the wine from Europe? Is the fish fresh? Shut the fuck up and eat. Ah don't ya just love Upset Waitress?! Tony at Dine in or Take out is reinventing himself or something. Must have something to hide. And then there is me, I'm a whinging so and so. But what would you do when kids are stealing your cash, Swiss people are mocking your accent and the robots are trying to take your job? Fuck em, that's what but even when you think things cant get any stranger some muppet books their Christmas party.

If anybody needs me I'll be sleeping beside the fridge.......

Nasty

I've seen some nasty things in my time,
not all of them in my own bathroom either.

I've seen all sorts of roadkill, gruesome bodies (both living and dead), expelled bodily fluids on top of expelled bodily fluids, Arsene Wenger close up, nests of rats oh I've witnessed it all.

Spending every summer, for about 12 years, on my grandparents farm I saw calves being born and let me tell you that ain't pretty. I've seen vast tanks of animal effluent. I've seen pigs, chickens and cows slaughtered.

Oh the horror, the noise, the smell.

I sat on a train once and witnessed a grown man stick his hand down his trousers rummage around retract his paw and sniff it. Not just a quick sniff either but rather a good long, fill the lungs, sort of sniff.

I nearly heaved my lunch, but.......

nasty nasty nasty
nose picker
but there's nastier....

....but none of that was as nasty as the shit I saw on Sunday night. Oh no, this was the nastiest thing I've seen in many a year.

It was early Sunday evening and all was well. It was a bit of a Goldilocks night, not too busy not too quiet just right. One of my tables was preparing to leave, a two top, mother and teenage son, probably 18/19 years old. I dropped the bill off and stood back, like I say it wasn't busy so I treated myself to some leaning time. I enjoy a good lean, who doesn't?

My leaning/pondering time was disturbed by the teenage son. I don't like to have my lean time disturbed. I was drifting into a happy daydream, the usual thing, waiter takes over world, world worships at his knees. But just as the children of the world had begun to sing to me I noticed teenage son's hand hovering above the money his mother had left to pay the bill before she went to the bathroom.

What was this about?

Were shenanigans afoot?

I could see him check the bill.

I watched as he counted the money.

I nearly spat as he lifted a note and some coins and plant them into his back pocket.

The dirty rotten low life bastard. I couldn't stop myself, I emitted a very loud, "NO!" Not in a Platoon style 'I've just been shot" more a 'I cant believe it' type thing.

The bastard. Tip robbing is as low as it gets. His mother thinks she left a healthy tip, well she did, I just never got it save for 80 pence. It was all I could do not to throw it at him as they left.

I hope she takes her handbag to bed with her because I'm sure he dips it on a regular basis. Waiters are like elephants, insert own fat waiter related joke here, we never ever forget. There will be a little extra "spice" in his pepper sauce next time he pops in.

Waiter karma, it's real and it hurts........

Guest Blogger - Belfast Plate Carrier....

It's not all about me

okay it is

but not today.

Fellow waiter (different restaurant), Belfast Plate Carrier, sent me this story of
bad hair, bad manners,
and coffee (f)art....

So there I was.

I had a good feeling about this shift.

I wasn't hungover,

the sun was shining and I was on the floor for what seemed like the first Saturday in ages, (yes I have worked as a barman but it's the floor where I truly shake my stuff) It was all going swimmingly, what with the tidy little pre- theatre crowd and half the bookings out of the way by half seven. And then I came to my second table four. It's funny but you can spot police officers (off duty or not) a mile off. Yes, the standard issue RUC mustache is slowly fading out of view, decommissioned if you will, but there's still a distrust of the police that I think is pretty unique to Northern Ireland - the wages are still inflated, bringing them into a so called 'middle class' income band, yet they are viewed with distain (at best) by their professional 'peers'. Not that that phases me (aside from my usual comments about not ordering pork because that would amount to cannibalism) - as a rule they are generally uncomplicated and friendly customers.

Pity about their wives. The first alarm bell rang when one of them,(sporting a dye job that would have shamed Tina Turner's Aunty Entity in Beyond the Thunderdome) asked if this was the only menu.

You see we don't serve steak. And what a lot of people want is a cooked slab of meat the size of their plate. And we don't do that.

And people can't deal with it. Yes, there's the aforementioned Pork dish (which I have to point out is bloody lovely), and a rather safe Lamb (served pink) with potatoes, carrots and jus. But she wanted Fillet Steak.

Well Done (ahem) or Chicken.

So despite the fact that it's eight on a Saturday night I wander into the circle of hell that is a busy kitchen in the middle of service to see what the possibilities were. After the inevitable temper tantrum Chef lowered himself to offering a chicken dish,

"And I'll even put it in a fucking basket for her too…" was one of the more repeatable comments.

"No" she sighed "I'll just have the lamb, well done (!), but if I had have seen the menu beforehand I wouldn't have come here - every other restaurant in town has steak".

I was wishing she had and was currently in any other restaurant but the one I have the pleasure of being on the payroll for. So I took 'approach B'- adopt the sickliest smile I could muster and kill with kindness. Then came the starter - Minestrone soup. It was untouched. I asked what the matter was - it was allegedly undercooked. I brought it into the kitchen for a postmortem.

"WELL OF COURSE IT'S GOING TO BE DIFFERENT FROM THE STUFF THAT COMES IN A FUCKING CAN" snarled Chef and I concurred.

Then she poked (!!) me (when I was dealing with another table(!!!)) when her food was (again allegedly) 'late'. I composed myself.

"Let me have a word with Chef" I declared and spent a decent amount of time away from the table. Enough to create the illusion that I had been in the kitchen long enough to pose the inane question to a now hyperventilating Sous.

Up to table. Deep breath.

"Chef says that he will happily serve your lamb now but it is not well done yet. If you are happy to have it as it is he will be happy to serve it." Sniggers from the rest of her party.

Hasty retraction of comment from Ms. Bleached Blonde. Boom, three minutes later their meals arrive - one ruined piece of lamb and three perfectly cooked fish dishes. Everyone (bar her majesty) happy with the meal they received. No desserts but a few cappuccinos. By now the whole of the crew front and back are aware of the debacle on table 4 so our very talented barista has made her a special coffee - with the shape of an arse in the foam 'an Arse for an arse' he smirks and I mentally high-five him.

Then the leaving. "I have to say your chef is crap" she blurts out, the effects of a bottle of our finest house overriding any decorum.

I ask her to elaborate . "He's too scared to serve beef" (!!!! and a ? for good measure) "I won't be recommending this place."

"And how as your meal?" I smarmed to her dining companions

"Great, thanks for all you've done, you've been very patient" the host gushed, pressing the damage into my hands. My waiter senses tell me this includes a healthy tip. I smile my most winning smile.

"So you'll be back?"

" Yeah but we wont take her with us - we'll drop her off at Kentucky Fried Chicken first"

"Yeah" added his wife

"Three out of four ain't bad"

I turned to the other lady - "Tonight we did a 106 covers. I'd say 105 out of 106 isn't bad at all. Thank you."

I get to the till and settle the bill, taking a delicious schadenfreude in the death gaze that Ms. Bleached Blonde is delivering me - it was worthy of a wronged waiter.

15% tip.

Sometimes life is sweet.

Belfast Plate Carrier

The French

The French, eh what are they all about?

They click their fingers,
as if you weren't already aware of their presence...

They have ghastly eating habits,
mouths wide open, forks waving in the air, hands in the potatoes...

And then there is the snippiness, rudeness, and air of superiority.
(Them, not me, okay me as well)

You would think that when faced with the immovable object, me, there would be fireworks, but funnily enough that wasn't the case.......

Complex?
not really,
just very very naughty....

I normally wouldn't be standing for such boorish behavior, especially the finger clicking but there is something about the French that I just really like. Maybe it's because they don't care about what the world thinks of them or because they just do it their way and to hell with everyone else. If I didn't live in Ireland I think I would like to live in France. All those lovely strikes and snootiness is just so me.

My only problem with serving the French is that awful awful thing that happens to my voice. I put on this pathetic mock French accent, all "ooohhs" and "aaahhhs". I go very Yodaish and I'm unable to string a coherent sentence together at all.

"Ah sir yes lamb is the good! C'est magnifique is the lamb..." and so on. Oh wow I'm going red as I recall how cheesy I was. It's as if by sounding French I am speaking French. They must be as equally confused as they are horrified. And the worst thing being that there is no need for it as they all spoke perfect English.

Then there were the goodbyes. There was kissing, much kissing. Both cheeks. And it wasn't just the women. Good grief! There were 16 of them! Irishmen cant cope with such displays of public touching, not even from their own wives or partners. A simple but firm handshake is more than enough, a wave of a hand even. But being kissed on both cheeks by well wined French people with stubble was very unnerving for a simple boy like me. I was awkward and fumbled a lot much like a politician who's been forced to take part in a kick about with some kids. I couldn't wait for it to end......

It's all been very European this weekend at work. Saturday night we had 14 Swiss women for dinner. Nice-ish people, a bit pushy and a bit, well, rude. But we let them off with it as they are neutral and unlikely to go to war with us and you never know when you need to hide some cash or stolen gold. But wow do they dress badly. Okay bad isn't very fair but I have to say I haven't seen clothes like that since the 80's. They had the haircuts to match, lots of lady mullets and bad tinting. Think a Scorpions gig circa 1987 and you'll be about right.

I wasn't serving them but helped when their main courses were ready. I brought down the lamb. In my politest and clearest voice I announced the lamb, not because I was particularly proud of it (but it is damn fine), but because I needed to know who was having it.

No response.

I announced it again.

Lots of puzzled looks. Again, still no one would claim the by now cooling rack of lamb. Eventually one lady twigged what I was on about and she claimed ownership. There was much laughing.

Not by me.

My arm hurt.

Huh.

But as I walked away there was lots of fast talking followed by laughter. Each of the women took it in turn to impersonate my accent.

"LAWMB" they shouted in a half French half piss poor Belfast accent. I laughed. Most of that part of the restaurant laughed. Then I stopped laughing. And dished out a few dirty looks. Well you have to put them in their place no?

C'est magnifique are my looks of dirtiness.......as we say round here.

Well Done Waiters.....

Next time, how to wear the same shirt for three days and get away with it.....

My last supper

I spotted this story over on the Guardian's food blog, Word of Mouth. Author Melanie Dunea asked 50 of the world's leading chefs what they would want for their last meal. As well as the food and drink they could choose the music, guests, and setting.

Tremendous idea....

with introduction by Bourdain...
pfft
he's giving them away like toys in cereal boxes..

Not something I've really thought about as I assume I'll die in the heat of battle. One moment I'd be cracking a joke the next I'd be slumped over your table face down in your soup. It really is the way I want to go. Rest assured they'd never forget me and the manager would probably comp their meal, or at least take the money out of my tips. I've warned the others at work that if I die during shift I still want my full tips. And I'll know if they stiff me. I'll come back and haunt their asses. Not one of them would be able to serve as much as a glass of water without looking over their shoulder for my spooky dead being.

If I was to die during shift then my last meal would probably be a chicken goujon bap, with mind numbing "easy listening" music on in the background and as for guests they would be the poor unfortunates who found themselves booked in my section. The section of very certain death....

But if I could choose then I would want nothing but a quiet peaceful meal. Nothing fancy just honest simple food made by my dad and served by my sister. I'd have my friends play happy songs of life and love at a quiet and respectful level. I'd want to have this meal in my own house, with just my closest friends and family. Sad but just as happy for a life well lived.....

Me arse!

I want Ramsay. I want Gordon Ramsay to cook me a 12 course meal with no expense spared. I want lobster stuffed with fillet steak, to start. I want wine by the case, French and expensive at that. Chateau Mouton Rothschild Pauillac 1986 for a start and Jeroboams of the 1982 Dom Perignon Champagne, a very fine year for Dom, to flow at a steady rate.

I want served by all my ex-bosses, no matter how old or infirm they are. That would be so very sweet. "Smoke break? I don't think so matey." I also want Guns n Roses to play "Knocking on Heavens Door" over and over again until I get bored with it. Then I want jazz, lots and lots of jazz, mainly just because it will annoy everybody else. But I like jazz and I'm the one about to die so deal with it.

And where would this take place? Not sure, maybe your house? No? Okay then at Old Trafford, on the pitch. Nice. As for guests I'd invite you lot, obviously, selected friends, family I suppose and the obituary writers for all the worlds leading newspapers. I'd make sure they captured every last bitter detail of my life.

And why so bitter I hear you ask? Well I'm about to fucking die! You'd be a bit bitter too!

So folks, what about you? What would you have for your last meal? Where would you have it? What would you drink? And what tunes would you want as you stuff your mouth with KFC's finest?

Actually I do quite fancy popping it at work, but not just yet.......

very not just yet!

Waiter seeks friends

why wouldn't you want to be my friend

why?

I don't know why but I've delved into the sad and peculiar world of social networking sites. I'd done rather well in avoiding such places for so long but now I feel like I'm missing out on something. Maybe I am maybe I'm not. But either way I cant stand having few "friends", it bugs me so and makes me look, well, a bit sad n lonely. So if you are on myspace, Last.fm, or Facebook find me and make me your friend.

clicky the linky

(Begging for friends now? Nice -LMM)

I should say that there is every chance I will get bored with these in a month or two but who knows....

**********
Also loving the Guardian's food/drink blog
Word of Mouth.