E is for...

E is for...

...Early Bird Specials. Fuck do I hate Early Bird Bloody Specials. I hate that bloody phrase. I hate the people who ask for it. I hate having to sell it. I hate it's many derivatives such as Beat the Fucking Clock and The Meal for Fucking Two. Fuck off. Don't get me wrong I like a bargain as much as the next handsome waiter but I don't go searching for them. It's the cheap fuckwits who phone round restaurants looking for one with an Early Bird Special. Catch a grip! And when you have to serve the bastards they never read the small print, they try to make 20 substitutions, they get paranoid they are getting less than people ordering from the proper menu and they never ever fucking tip. Almost all restaurant promotions are shit and just attract the cheap and the old. So to recap I don't like Early Bird Specials.

it's also for...

...Eight O'Clock. Eight o'clock on a Saturday night is prime time, it's ground zero, it's when the fan is about to get hit with more than shit, oh so much more. And it's not just Saturday night either. Eight o'clock is when most people want to eat. Bless them. So with that in mind bloody book in advance.

and...

....Everything. Just make a decision.

"What can I get you sir?"
"Oh everything, it all looks great!"
"Yes sir, maybe I could help?"
"Oh I dunno I like everything."
"Well just choose one"
"I really want everything."
"Yes Sir, it's all great."
"Everything is just so tempting."
"Choose one"
"I really cant"
"Choose one"
"I'm just not sure."
"Choose one"
[repeat until someone is dead]

as well as...

...Envy. We have all done it. We order the lovely lamb or the healthy fish and our dining partner orders a big fat steak. We feel smug because we ordered something different but when the food comes we get all jealous and grumpy. Our lamb is tiny and our fish is bland but their steak is man sized and bloody gorgeous. Envy creeps in and your meal is ruined.

and not forgetting...

...Espresso. That's espresso, say it with me E-SPRES-OH. And again E-SPRES-OH. Easy isn't it? So quit with the very annoying EXspreso. It's annoying and makes me flinch and not want to serve you. Yes I know it's pedantic but there you go. Learn it and we can all move on.

and definitely not forgetting...

...Entree. Oh you crazy Americans! Entree is a French word meaning entry or entrance. So why for the love of all that is right and just in the wide world of sport do you use it to refer to your main course? Why? Why? Why? I mean do you realise the difficulty it causes when you dine in restaurants in Europe? For everybody else in the world the entree is the starter. Come on now get it sorted.

D is for...

D is for...

...Doubles. Not double vodkas, whiskeys, or gins although I am very much in favour of all of those. No, a double for a waiter means a double shift. Twelve plus hours with any proper break. Twelve hours of customers. Twelve hours of smiling and being nice and pretending to give a tiny little rats ass about your allergies. Knowing that you have to do a double allows you to prepare, toiletries, food, extra smokes, headache tablets, blog posts written in advance, all the important things. But having one thrust upon you is a shit, it's a shit in a bag with your name on it. A shit in a bag with your name on it in the face. There's no getting out of it either. What you gonna do? Leave your colleagues in the lurch, not likely and the management know it. Doubles suck......

it's also for...

...Dinner. Dinner is served from 5pm, not at 12pm not at 1pm or any other time before 5pm. Is that clear? I think it's obvious. Lunch is anytime from 12pm to 3 maybe 4pm. I don't get the confusion. People phone up and ask to book tables for dinner and then tell me they want a table for 1pm. Are you trying to wind me up? Being a pedantic so and so I always like to correct them. And when we seat you for dinner, after 5pm, please order appropriately. Soup and a portion of chips is not dinner. Think on.......

and...

...Dutch. I love the Dutch, there I've said it. It's not for their liberal views on sex and drugs, which I really don't care about, but for their accent. It's top drawer. "Yesh I'll have the shteak." Saying that, they are poor tippers unless you bring them mayonnaise without them having to ask for it. They will eat anything with mayo. Actually put a camera in front of them and they will eat anything with or without mayo.

as well as...

...Drop. Dropping stuff is shit. I mean take your worst day at work and then do it in front of a hundred people, a lot of them half tanked at that. No matter the restaurant, no matter how classy it is, if you drop something then some asshole will shout,"Yeeeeeeeeeoooowwww!" I really do wish people would stop doing that. Children wouldn't get away with it so why should adults. And if I'm about then they don't. I mean would you like me to come round to the office you work in and wait for you to balls up? I'd be waiting behind you in your cubicle with party poppers, gong, and a mariachi band to celebrate your failure. It gets on my man boobs, stop it.

and not forgetting...

...Death. Ruins the atmosphere, please refrain from dying during service. There was a guest recently who had a serious "turn" as we say round these parts. An ambulance was called by the waiter on shift and she did all she could to help the other guests at the table whilst waiting for the pros. Pity about the three self absorbed pricks who complained about the delay for their food. Death trumps duck in every scenario. Good grief.

and also...

...Dessert. The one course that people think they can order without looking at the menu. "I'll have sticky toffee pudding please." No you wont, we don't bloody do it! Knock it off, read the menu. And when reading the dessert menu try and order the items marked as homemade. They will always be much better than the stuff not marked as being homemade, unless you like Sara Lee inspired keep it in the freezer cheesecake.

and definitely not forgetting...

...Deaf. If you require a hearing aid to hear the waiter please put it in. It will make things so much easier for you but mainly me. Mr Smith continued to call me Brian and I didn't have the heart to correct him. He was pretty much the youngest guest in a table of 26 and he must have been a spritely 82!! "What?" was the word of the day. They couldn't hear me and I couldn't hear them what with the mumbling and rattling of false teeth. But they were a spirited group and certainly did quite a bit of damage to many many bottles of wine. I really like serving large groups of old people. They like a laugh and have all the time in the world to tell you daft stories about what the cat did in the garden and so on. Plus you cant bullshit old people, you really cant, they can spot bullshit at a thousand paces.......they just cant hear it.........

"E" is for everyone
coming soon.

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.

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.