Table Heroes

Sometimes there is a guest at a table of diners who is determined to show everyone who is the most knowledgeable and experienced diner. We call this guy the "table hero," because sometimes he feels compelled to assert his greatness and intercede on behalf of his fellow diners.

Some of the traits that might distinguish this heroic character are:

An excessive confidence in and desire to share his knowledge of food and wine. This will be displayed through comments such as "Oh, they only have the '98 Shafer cabernet, too bad because I've had it and the '95 which is far superior!" Or they may inquire of the crabcakes, "Is that lump crab meat?" These questions and comments are as much for the benefit of the server who he is trying to dominate as they are for the guests he is trying to impress.

A tendency to interrupt is common as well. The server is halfway through the description of the duck special when the gentleman feels compelled to inquire, "Is the skin crispy?" This demonstrates his knowledge of properly cooked duck while simultaneously showing that he is uncouth and impatient and somewhat dubious about the chef's cooking skills. Of course the skin is crispy, this is a nice restaurant!

One of his worst attributes is his tendency to place himself in an adversarial relationship with the server, as if the server is trying to trick the guests into ordering something they won't like and it is up to him, the table hero, to prevent this. An excellent example is the guy who knows the restaurant well enough to know that the entrees are generously sized, and uses this information to stop others from ordering appetizers despite the server's suggestion that hungry guests might want to order something small to start with since those dishes are quick to prepare and give you something to eat while you wait. "Oh no," he might say, "Don't fall for that one, they bring you bread anyway." Thanks, dude!

This is the same guy who insists on asking if the chef/owner is there tonight, which is an obnoxious way of saying, "I know your boss." The thing is, I know my boss, too, and I know he thinks you are a tool!

The real table hero is the person who discretely approaches the server away from the table, hands him a credit card and says, "I am paying for the meal, thank you." Then he leaves a twenty percent tip. That's some heroic stuff right there.

Getting to second base at table 23...

This is a story told to me by a co-worker. I took notes so I could capture the details of a truly uncomfortable encounter. My apologies to JB if I leave out anything important.

They were the last couple of the evening, arriving at the restaurant late on a slow night. They were dutifully shown to a lovely table for two by the window. Before their server could make it over to greet them they changed to a different table, one for four with banquette seating so they could sit side by side.

Then they started making out! I mean, not just a peck and a giggle, we are talking hands moving around under the table, and full on french kissing. They got to at least second base before the server showed up with waters.

He waited patiently while they composed themselves, then began to describe the specials of the evening. The gentleman cut off his presentation, despite the lady's wish to hear the specials, and they ordered an appetizer then immediately went back to sucking face.

Somewhat chastened, the server turned and walked away to enter their order in the computer, but of course as he was walking away the gentleman yelled after him, "I'll take a coffee!"

The appetizer in hand, our hero returned to the table where this couple was still going at it like they were in a motel that rents by the half-hour. He couldn't even look at them as he set the plate down, that is how mortified he had become. They paused only long enough to order their entree. One burger to share! This is actually much cheaper than a motel room!

Let me pause for a moment to describe this couple. Early forties, academic types, he has an eyebrow piercing. The kind of people who are undoubtedly educated, but lack common sense, almost as if they are oblivious to their surroundings and therefore assume others are oblivious to their behavior.

They ate their appetizer plate while cheek to cheek, as if the sound of each other's mastication was somehow a turn on. It almost seemed like one was chewing the food and spitting it into the other's mouth, baby bird style. Mind you, the server could barely look at them because they were so completely inappropriate.

The capper is definitely after dinner, when the lady ordered a chocolate martini and then drank it while sitting in the guy's lap and basically giving him a lap dance. The only other table left at this point, walking past the couple while very deliberately keeping their eyes forward.

My friend who told me the story wondered who should be tipping who, as a show like that might cost you money in certain districts of Amsterdam or Bangkok.

Feet on furniture and other missteps....

The other night at the bar I had a gentleman put his feet up on a stool. I had served him a double when he first sat down, and he seemed genial enough, but I was beginning to wonder if he had actually been partying all evening before stopping in to visit with me. He had made a point of asking by name if the owner was working, always a power move that fails to impress me. The way I see it, if he really was friends with my boss, he wouldn't put his feet on the furniture.

I knew he planned to eat, so I attempted to take his order. He was torn between two menu items, one of which is fairly mundane, but delicious and inexpensive, the other is a more original and dare I say snazzy dish, which is always great and had been coming out particularly well that evening for whatever reason. Of course I wanted him to spend more money, but I honestly believe that if you come to the restaurant it is my job to serve you what I personally feel is the best food and drink we have that night, regardless of cost.

I said to him, "Well, it depends on whether you feel like you deserve the fancy dish tonight, or whether you think you are looking more for bang for your buck."

He informed me that he rejected the notion of anyone deserving anything and would have to decide based only on what he wanted.

I said, "Well for example I can tell you think you are pretty special because you have your feet up on the barstool!" I laughed and he laughed and he didn't move his feet. So I said:

"Don't worry, I will wipe that stool off for you after you leave so no one gets their pants dirty!"

Still not getting it, he made a comment about the fact that he had not polished his boots lately. I assured him they would not get any dirtier from being on our stools, which until recently had been very clean. He joked that he would spare me by not putting his feet on the bar, and I assured him that were he to do that I would ask him to leave. I then said point blank that in fact I would have to now ask him to kindly remove his feet from the furniture.

This dude ordered the fancy dish I was suggesting, and took his feet off the stool once my back was turned.

Later on he had spread back out all over the bar with his newspapers, which was not a problem really since we were on the slow side. He made a point of mentioning his own history within the restaurant industry as he observed that there didn't seem to be any customers inconvenienced by his taking up of extra space.

The only problem was, he had his feet up again, this time on a different stool! He asked me if that was okay, so I told him straight up that I thought I had made it clear that we preferred he not have his feet up.

He took his feet down a second time.

This was a guy who was out of the house while his wife hosted a book club, flying solo, perhaps trying to relive his younger reckless days when he put his feet up and told the Man to take a walk. The only problem is, he chose a NICE restaurant to stage his mini-rebellion. Had he gone to a legitimately dangerous bar where bad people did whatever they wanted in a consequence free environment, then probably no one would have said a word to him about his feet on the furniture. He would have just gotten shanked without any discussion.

The point is, who puts their feet up on a barstool? It's not an ottoman, it's not even that convenient or comfortable for your feet to rest on. Get serious, get over yourself and your so-called experience in the industry, and no I don't want your New York Times after you're done with it, because I read it online.

Then the dude leaves five on thirty-seven. I never forget a face, either.