THE RESTAURANT WARS

When I was a waitress, most people thought my job had something to do with feeding people. I knew better. What I was really doing was acting as a go-between in the endless and nasty war between the kitchen and the customer.

As anybody who has ever worked in a restaurant knows, the cooks and the clients are natural enemies. The former are quite convinced that the latter exist only to poison their lives. One chef I worked with was positive that customers deliberately ordered rare meat when they really wanted it well done, just so that they could have the pleasure of sending it back. My job, in this state of siege, was to try to keep everybody happy. It was, of course, impossible.

These days most waiters don’t even try. The war’s still on, but the waiters are no longer neutral. They have now aligned themselves with the kitchen.

You and I know this, of course. Why else are we constantly sighing over surly service, lamenting the lack of gracious waiters and declaiming about decibel levels? We know it, we accept it--and then we go back for more. Meanwhile, there are plenty of old-fashioned restaurants where the waiters are still on our side. Unfortunately, few of us are filling their seats; we’re far too busy paying for the special abuse that rude restaurants dole out.

My files are filled with letters from disgruntled customers. If you doubt this, read on. These are all true tales from the restaurant wars:

A man with a big job at a major studio habitually patronizes one of the hottest restaurants in town. He has a table he likes to think of as his own, and he likes waltzing happily past the waiting hordes to reach it. On the day that Variety announces that he has lost his job, he shows up for his usual lunch at this favorite restaurant. They make him wait 1 1/2 hours for a table.

Two people arrive in a well-known restaurant for a birthday celebration. They have a 6:30 reservation, are on time and are seated promptly. At 8 o’clock, the maitre d’ shows up at the table to tell them their time is up. “But we haven’t had coffee,” they protest. “This is not a hotel,” says the maitre d’, handing them their (substantial) check. A service charge has been added to the bill.

A woman eating in a fashionable Los Angeles restaurant thinks that her fish isn’t quite done enough. “The chef believes in undercooked fish,” says the waiter. The woman is adamant; the waiter shrugs. He returns a few minutes later with the unfortunate fish, still in its sushi-like state. “The chef says that if you want to eat overcooked fish you’ll have to go elsewhere.”

Two women are eating in a restaurant that has the sort of silverware most restaurants can’t afford. They exclaim over the beauty of the butter knife as they eat their lovely lunch. The hostess has paid the bill and is preparing to depart when the waiter stops her. “You can’t leave until you give us back that knife you’ve stolen,” he says. The woman looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Why would I steal your knife?” she asks. “If I wanted one, I could afford to buy it.” “I’ve heard that one before,” sneers the waiter, “but the knife is missing and you’re not leaving until it’s returned.” A subsequent search reveals that the missing cutlery has fallen on the floor.

A producer with a big studio has 1 o’clock lunch reservations at a very tony restaurant. At 1:30 his party has still not been seated. Forty-five minutes go by, an hour. Finally the producer says to the maitre d’, “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” “Well,” says the maitre d’ peevishly, “you didn’t make your reservation until this morning.”

One could go on and on. But the moral of all these stories is clear. The waiter may be handsome. He may have a very nice smile. He may even tell you his name. But do not be fooled; when you walk into a trendy new restaurant, you may be entering enemy territory.