Newk's - 10.06.09
The Promenade, pronounced prah-men-odd if you live in Bayou View and prah-men-aid if you live in Diberville, opened up recently. It's a few acres of the latest and greatest in shopping and food for this area.
There's a Best Buy, an Olive Garden, a couple hotels, an AT&T store,
several random shopping village type stores and variety of restaurants all nestled around a winding strip of roads that surround the headliner, Target.
All up amongst the middle of this spaghetti junction of turn lanes and crossovers and four-lane nastiness, that's sure to be programmed in the favorites section of your local ambulance's Garmin, sits a little restaurant that, quite frankly, I'd never heard of before. I guess I don't get out enough. Newk's is a great little secret of this new Promenade. It's owners are local folks. It's founders are the same group of people that started McAlisters Deli. So that should at least get you in the door the first time.
Before I get started, I must say that the atmosphere there is nice, the food is great, the service is exceptional. Kudos! We have eaten there a couple of times already. I highly recommend it, if you get the chance to go by.
However, you've got to know this. Once again, I was both shocked and amazed during my most recent visit. It blows me away the rollercoaster level of service we get here on the Gulf Coast. But Newk's does it right!
There are two ways to enter. First there is the main front door. Then, there is a side/back door entrance that requires you to walk through past the fountain machines and through the crowd a little to get to the order counter. This time we came in the front.
The restrooms are to the right and I thought it was very fitting to have a sink out front in plain site to wash your hands before placing an order. That was a nice little touch. Since I had not been in their restrooms before, I thought I'd check that out first. I always like to see how clean the restrooms are. It's amazing how similarly restaurants maintain their restrooms and their kitchens. You can't always see how clean the kitchen is. But you can always check out the restrooms. I opened the door and was blown away.
As I said earlier, this is a fantastic little secret in Diberville. You simply must go! But I wish I had not gone into the restroom first. It's very poorly designed. I will explain. (You may want to skip down a couple or three paragraphs.)
I opened the door and took a step forward. The main stall there inside is facing the entry door. And more importantly the gap between the door and the facia where the latch is, is about 3-4 inches wide. Get the picture? If someone is sitting there doing their business, and this time they were, then they are in your exact line of site as you enter, and this time they were. And if they react, as human nature would have us, they might look up, as they did this time. And if they look up, like they did, they will, without a doubt make complete and total eye contact, just like this guy did last night.
Talk about uncomfortable. What was I to do? I made eye contact. I didn't mean to. But I don't see how it could be avoide. I'm sure he didn't want to see me any more than I wanted to see him, but our eyes met. It was uber uncomfortable. I didn't want to make eye contact with a guy doing his business. That's private. And to make it worse, I said "How ya doin'?"
How ya doin'? How ya doin'? Not only do I already know how he's doing, I also know what he's doing. And even though it's a perfectly natural occurence and everyone does it all the time, it's just one of those moments I wish I could take back. But I couldn't. Then he said "Not much, man." Now, I knew he was uncomfortable too. Just like me. I asked "how ya doin'?" and he answered with an answer that didn't even make any sense. I guess in a way it was kinda funny. So I did what I went in there for and left. That was the longest 1 1/2 minutes I've lived through in quite some time. Just awkward.
So I meet back up out front with my wife.
She asks "So how are the restrooms?"
"Oh, they're nice" I say. Apparently I had this shit eating grin on my face because she said "Oh, ok. Alright." And then she smiled too.
Of course, I'd have to tell her later. How could I not. I guess I'm still a 4th grader on the inside.
I've only been here once and I've not done any menu research. So I really don't know what I want to order. Pizza? Salad? Soup? I'll just get a suggestion from the house. I'm actually expecting, "Oh, well what are you in the mood for?" or "It's all good" or "I'm sure you'll like it all." I've already prepared so that I don't have a repeat of the C&G incident. I'm standing at the order counter, tapping my hands in nervous rhythm and looking over my right shoulder trying to read the ill placed menu. And that is where the amazing part kicked in.
The girl at the register asked "Hello and welcome to Newk's. Can I take your order?"
The following happened in the course of about 30 seconds. I was not as prepared as my wife.
She ordered first...
"I think I'll have a sandwich."
"Chicken Salad, Club, Grilled Chicken, Shrimp Po-Boy, Italian, Newk's Q, Pesto Chicken, Pimiento Cheese, Roast Beef, Smoked Ham, The Wreck, Turkey Breast or Veggie Club?"
I stand a little closer to listen. This is gonna be good.
"Can you describe the Italian?"
"Sure. It is capicola, mortadella, pepperoni, salami, provolone, mayo, spicy Creole mustard, lettuce, tomato, yellow onions, hot sliced cherry peppers and Italian cheese."
This girl really knows her stuff.
"What's on your Club."
"Ham, turkey, cheddar, swiss, Applewood bacon, tomato, lettuce, our original honey mustard and mayo."
She didn't miss a beat! Wow! This girl is flawless!
"I'll take that. No mustard. No mayo."
"One Club, with ham, turkey, cheddar, swiss, bacon, tomato and lettuce. No mustard. No mayo. Would you like a drink with that?"
"Sure, what do you have?"
"Pellegrino, Evian, Acqua Panna, Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Sprite, Diet Sprite, Mr. Pibb, Powerade, Iced Sweet Tea, Unsweet Tea, Bud Light, Michelob Ultra, Coors Light, Miller Light, Heineken, Amstel Light, Orangina, Fresh Ground Coffee and we have a list of wines available bye the glass or by the bottle."
Holy moly! And all this is from memory. I'm still looking over my shoulder trying to double check her work. It's spot on!
"Unsweet Tea."
"Would you care for a desert? We have Banana Cake, Big Krispy (regular and peanut butter), Brownies, Caramel Cake, Carrot Cake, Chocolate Cake, Pineapple Cake, Red Velvet Cake and Strawberry Cake."
"No thank you."
"And you sir?"
I'm not really sure that I am prepared to answer with all the choices. But I'm so enthralled with her ability to quote directly without using a cheat sheet. I'm taking a step closer to the register to make sure I can accurately hear her and I'm still trying to look over my right shoulder to see the menu. Not that I will need it. This girl is fantastic!
I stare at her in awe for just a second becaue I've never, and I repeat NEVER, come in contact with such an efficient young person to take my order. This is great!
"I will have a salad."
"We have Black & Bleu, Caesar, Chef, Cobb, Greek, Newk's Favorite, Shrimp Remoulade, Simply Salad, Southern Salad and Ultimate."
"What's on the Newk's Favorite?"
"Mixed greens, grilled chicken breast, gorgonzola cheese, dried cranberries, grapes, artichoke hearts, pecans (pronounced 'puh-cons', so I know she's a local) and croutons tossed with Newk's sherry vinaigrette."
I want to hire this girl.
"And the Ultimate?"
"Mixed greens, grilled chicken breast, ham, turkey, bacon, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheddar cheese and croutons tossed with Newk's original honey mustard."
I could do this all day long. She doesn't miss anything.
"I'll have that without the tomatoes. No cucumbers. Axe the honey mustard. I'll take something close to Italian."
"That would be our Greek Dressing. It's clear like Italian, with a tangy kick."
"That works."
"Ok. I have an Ultimate Salad with mixed greens, grilled chicken breast, ham, turkey and bacon. No tomatoes. No cucumbers. Substitute Greek for Honey Mustard."
"That's it. Exactly."
"Would you like a drink with that?"
"Coke."
"Regular, Diet or Zero?"
"Regular."
"Any cake, krispy or brownie?"
This gal is efficient.
"No thank you."
"Your total is $16.02. Will that be cash, credit or debit?"
"Debit."
"Please swipe your card and enter your pin."
I did.
"Please press ok."
I did.
"Ok sir, your number will be 180. Please take this and place it in the holder located on the top of the table of your choice and we will have someone bring it right out to you."
I'm still smiling. Never once, did she say "oh, it's good" or "oh, you'll like it". Just short, direct and to the point. That's my kinda deal.
"I will. And thank you very much. I don't think you know just how pleasant that was. They are lucky to have such a great employee."
"Thank you, sir. (pause and smile) Can I help the next person in line please?"
We walked over to the only open booth. This place is packed. The table is clean. The tabletop is not sticky. The food came out momentarily. And it tasted great!
Quite honestly, the food could have been less than par and I'd still want to do business there again just because of the treatment we received and the good service we got.
I'm still not all that excited about the restroom set up.
But I can go before I go next time.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Waitstaff
Waitstaff -- 09.27.09
As with most of the annoying things in life, I've learned to just chalk most of them up as "the way that it is". However, as I get older, I've noticed that it has become more and more improbable that I will ever be able to ignore some of the unnecessary comments made by servers. Speaking primarily about the waitstaff of finer establishments.
I don't know about you, but when I go to a nicer place to eat, I don't go just to eat. I go for the experience. I like tableclothes. I like forks that are made of metal, not plastic. I like choosing from a variety of sides. I like to pick what temperature my meat cooked to. I enjoy the large plate with the small portions and that French sounding sauce drizzled all over for added flair. It's not often that we drop a hunsky for dinner, but when we do, we expect something nice. We don't expect the world. Just a little better than what we get at the local burger joint.
Now, I love the local burger joint. But I'm picky. There's something about a frozen hamburger that comes out of box that can be good if the mood hits me. At those places, I expect the sticky tables and an occasional drip down the side of the A1 bottle. It just happens. These people get paid half of minimum wage in most cases to be food servers. They usually work long hours on their feet. And most of them have to work Holidays in order to get ahead. Because of this, I sympathize. So I don't expect great things. And, here's the biggie, I tip well. Usually, no matter what. If the food is remotely decent and I'm pretty sure the food is free of the server's saliva, then I tip. And I don't tip a percentage. I just give them a few bucks based on how easy it was for me to keep my cool.
Example. I hate pickes and mustard. Not only do I not eat them, but I don't like it when other people eat them. Neither one. I don't like the way they look. I don't like the way they smell. And if I even think I taste what might be a pickle or mustard, the food comes right out. End of story. There is no room for error on this topic. It's so bad, in fact, that I don't even walk down the pickle or mustard aisles at the grocery store.
So when I place an order at the local burger joint, I clearly specify: "I'd like a plate with meat and fries. No condiments. No garnish. No nothing. Nothing extra. Just a plain clean plate, with meat and fries." I leave no room for mistakes. Usually, this is an easy order to fill. And when it comes out correctly, I gladly leave $3-4 extra just because it came out right. Ok, it's a little non-conventional, but it's the way I like it. I guess I'm an unconventional guy.
Now, luckily, when we go to a nicer place, it's a lot less necessary to specify such things. At a nicer establishment I usually order a ribeye or filet and some type of potato. Simple and sweet.
I believe that the reason I get so bent out of shape in a better restaurant is because, at one time, I was trained as a fine dining food server. It wasn't anything spectacular. It was about a week or so of listening to what they expected out of me, and most importantly, what they didn't expect out of me.
Here's what I learned. Of course, I will paraphrase.
First, they said not to introduce myself as the server. This would be obvious they said. After all, I'm the one in the tuxedo jacket and white shirt, right? Shouldn't it already be obvious to them?
Second, they said not to ever, under any circumstance, tell patrons anything about my personal life unless it were specifically asked of me to do so. And that includes my spouse, my kids, my mama, my friends, my boss, my car, my house, my bills, my hours, how busy we are, how slow we are, etc. They don't care. They come here to get away from their problems not to hear mine. This actually made good sense to me, that people don't go out to eat so they can have a conversation with me. They are trying to get "away" from such trivial things as conversation. They also said, in a polite way, that customer's don't really care about "me". They just want their experience to be a good one.
Third, they said that the entire table gets sat at once. The entire table receives their food at once. And the entire table gets cleared at once.
Lastly, I was told to explain things if asked and to leave out my opinion, unless asked. "Our feature is sauted in a white wine sauce with cherry vinegarette." Not "its really good". And never, "Oh, you will like it". Especially not "I'm sure you will like it". Under promise and over deliver. And leave out the flowery over talking.
Four things. That's what I remember. I'm sure there was more. But that's what I remember. I learned that immediately. I have since carried that with me into my current profession. And I must say, it has served me well.
Quick introductions. Leave out the personal stuff. Start it and finish it at once. It's pretty simple really.
So even though I learned and have used those standards in my life, it seems only natural that others would have done the same, right? Wrong.
It's quite depressing sometimes when you really take the time to see what all is just done "half-way" nowadays. There is very little, if any, attention to detail. No one cares about anything, it seems. It's all about them. It's never about the customer. And it's never as good an experience as it could be.
Today we wanted to go out to eat. Nothing too nice, but not Sonic. Ya know?
So we decided to go to The Island View. They have a nice little menu slash salad bar buffet thing going on there. That would be fine. Soup. Salad. Tableclothes. Perfect.
And I swear to you, this is exactly what happened.
First, we were immediately seated. That part was the great part. There was no wait at all. I was impressed. Nowhere to go but down now, right? Just kidding. But that's exactly what happened.
This guy comes over to our table and says he would be helping out our server because she was new. Not the most professional introduction, but it's C&G, not Emeril's. But that's not what got my attention. What got my attention was that he forgot our server's name. Even that didn't bother me so much. But it totally threw him off his game altogether. I don't know about you, but I've never yelled for "Margaret" across a crowded room in my life. So it's fair to assume that I probably would not start doing so tonight. My server's name, really was none of my concern.
Just bring some water. Keep it full. And we'll be done in a minute.
But this guy got so overwhelmed with concern after forgetting her name that he forgot to even take our drink order. That deer in the headlight thing was going on. It was like he was in a trance.
He stared down. He looked around. He smiled that OMG/WTF smile. And then walked off like he was going to crawl into a hole. I'm thinking, dude, it really doesn't matter, but I am a bit thirsty.
So he walked off and, after a brief moment, came back. He immediately clarified that her name was... whatever-it-was, even though her name was not the answer to the riddle. So now that he was back, I was going to use this opportunity to order some water. I don't know why I'm so thirsty, but I am.
"Can we just place our order with your now?"
He said that the girl with the newly clarified name would be by to take our order.
"Ok."
But we are at C&G, I'm thinking. And it's really pretty much a buffet or menu deal at this joint. Today we are part of the buffet crowd. Why can't we just start our trek amongst the buffet (which stands for B-ig U-gy F-at F-olks E-ating T-ogether) anyway? Is it necessary that we wait to have our order taken? So we wait to the tune of 12-15 min for the newly clarificated girl.
She's new so its sorta ok, right.
We order drinks.
We mention the buffet, like we should have done almost 15 minutes ago.
And we're on our way.
I get gumbo first. Because of this, I need some hot sauce. I ask the guy that first didn't take our drink order and forgot her name for hot sauce. That's exactly what I said. Hot sauce.
"Could I get some hot sauce, please?" I swear to you, he asked me... "hot or mild?"
I said "Hot sauce."
He asked intellectual question number two. "Louisiana or Tabasco?"
I said "Just hot sauce."
Then come the unnecessary comments. "Ok, I will be glad to bring Tabasco. But if you'd have said Louisiana, I don't think we have it in hot. I think we only have it in mild hot sauce."
You have got to be kidding me. Mild hot sauce? What planet is this guy from?
He turns and walks away just as I hear something being placed on the table next to me from the other side. I turn to the other side of me and see the leatherette check holder.
I look up and make eye contact with the clarified girl as she says, "There's no hurry. This is just here for your convenience."
"For my convenience? How about that glass of water I ordered 20 minutes ago? How about taking that check away and replacing it with a glass of water for my 'convenience'? Now, that would be convenient."
I'm not loud. I'm really not that obnoxious. But I am irritated. And it's evident in my speach. I'm not a mean person. I really do care about people's feelings. But this is hard to accept. The check? Now? Come on now! I think to myself, "You can do better than that, right?" I'm wondering, "Didn't she go through orientation?"
So before the golden boy got back with my hot hot sauce, the new girl had already prepared our bill. And then delivered our bill. I have not chewed the first bite of anything and all of a sudden if the urge hits me to pay, or pre-pay rather, I can, and of course, "there's no hurry" and "it's all at my convenience".
I've been here 20 minutes. I've already been embarassed. I've embarrased my wife. I've shown my ass. I've pondered the probability that the word "hot" holds no meaning in the term "hot sauce". I'm still thirsty. And my gumbo is getting cold. But the staff here is making sure that it's convenient for me.
She takes away the bill and wonder boy brings my water. I trash that cup of gumbo and get another one. It's actually pretty good with the Tabasco. The meal has took a turn for the better.
I decide to fix a salad. I do a once over of the entire salad bar section, so that I can get in my head what I want to have. I decide on a simple and plain "house type" salad. I prepare it all on the plate and look over at the dressing choices. There are about 8 choices and several look good. I see this unmarked creamy italian looking milky one that looks like it might be ok. There are no markings at all on this bad boy. No lettering on the bottle. No sticker. No nothing. So I put some in a small cuplike dish and brink it to the table. When our girl, we'll just call her "Clara", comes back by, she asks, very politely if there's anything she can get for us. I kindly ask if she can tell me what kind of dressing this might be.
Clara smiles and says... and I quote... "Oh, it's good."
"It's good?" I say.
"Yes, sir. It's good."
"Are you kidding me? Am I on Candid Camera? Is this some kind of joke? It's good? It's good to whom? It's good to you? Is that the best you can do? Is that the name? It's good is the name? What are it's contents? Are they good contents? Apparently so. Why even have a menu. Just have a list of good shit and bad shit. That'll save alot of time for people like me. It's good! Are you out of your mind? What if I'm allergic to butter and this shit has butter in it? What if I'm allergic to pepper sauce and this shit has peppers in it? Better yet, what if I don't fucking like pickles and this shit has pickle juice in it? Are you gonna tell the next person that it's good while your are trying to get the vomit stains out of your burgandy carpet down there? So, Princess, can you Clara-fy that one for me? Here, I'll give you another chance. Can you please tell me what kind of dressing this might be?"
That was about the time the manager came over and asked if there was a problem. I quickly calmed down. Not out of respect. But more or less out of pity.
I got myself together and with all the kindness I could bring together, I said, "We were just discussing what type of dressing this might be."
The manager said, "Oh, that's a house favorite. It's a creamy italian with a little kick."
I thanked here. And returned to my meal.
I poured the now well described concoction onto my salad and began to eat. Apparently, I was alot more distracted through all of this than I had realized.
Upon the second bite, I noticed a slight twang that I wasn't used to.
But with all the bacon bits and croutons and nuts and frustration, I didn't put my finger on it too quickly.
I took another bite.
I stopped.
I looked at my wife.
I pointed at the dressing.
Clara was at the next table.
My wife spun around and tapped Clara on the shoulder. "Miss, I'm very sorry to interrupt you. But, we need you to ask the manager to come back over here please."
Like, Johnny-on-the-spot, Clara's manager is back over at our table. By this time I've transferred the contents of my mouth into the cotton napkin that had resided in my lap until this point. My wife is handling this for me, because I am unable. We don't discuss it. We don't have to. But she knows. No words are needed. She knows what is happening.
"Yes, mam." My wife continutes, "You mentioned the dressing had a 'kick'. Can you tell us exactly what that 'kick' is?"
The manager smiles. "Sure. I'd be happy to."
This is all happening in slow motion. I feel like I am watching it on a movie. The words are all drawn out and slow, but I hear them clearly.
"It's pickle juice."
During the last 30-45 seconds, I had played this outcome out in my head no less than 10 times. And through them all, the ending did not change.
I was not proud.
The coming outcome was one that for me was completely unavoidable.
I did not want to.
But I did.
I hurled.
Oh, God, did I hurl.
I must've have lost last week's lunch in the process.
I have never lost it quite this bad before. This put the incident at Outback on the back burner. This one was definitely one for the record books. I had not puked in public in 9 years. I had hoped to hit ten. A personal milestone of sorts. Double digits. But I would have to start all over tomorrow.
I left $20 tip for a $30 meal. It was the only thing I could think of that would remotely come close to an apology.
But, you know, I've thought it all over since it happened and I'm not so sure I was really "all that to blame". I will admit, this was pretty bad. For lack of a better phrase, I think it was just the straw that broke the camel-toe's back.
Either way, it's over.
I still get bent out of shape about stupid things that happen.
Probably always will.
It's just the way that it is.
As with most of the annoying things in life, I've learned to just chalk most of them up as "the way that it is". However, as I get older, I've noticed that it has become more and more improbable that I will ever be able to ignore some of the unnecessary comments made by servers. Speaking primarily about the waitstaff of finer establishments.
I don't know about you, but when I go to a nicer place to eat, I don't go just to eat. I go for the experience. I like tableclothes. I like forks that are made of metal, not plastic. I like choosing from a variety of sides. I like to pick what temperature my meat cooked to. I enjoy the large plate with the small portions and that French sounding sauce drizzled all over for added flair. It's not often that we drop a hunsky for dinner, but when we do, we expect something nice. We don't expect the world. Just a little better than what we get at the local burger joint.
Now, I love the local burger joint. But I'm picky. There's something about a frozen hamburger that comes out of box that can be good if the mood hits me. At those places, I expect the sticky tables and an occasional drip down the side of the A1 bottle. It just happens. These people get paid half of minimum wage in most cases to be food servers. They usually work long hours on their feet. And most of them have to work Holidays in order to get ahead. Because of this, I sympathize. So I don't expect great things. And, here's the biggie, I tip well. Usually, no matter what. If the food is remotely decent and I'm pretty sure the food is free of the server's saliva, then I tip. And I don't tip a percentage. I just give them a few bucks based on how easy it was for me to keep my cool.
Example. I hate pickes and mustard. Not only do I not eat them, but I don't like it when other people eat them. Neither one. I don't like the way they look. I don't like the way they smell. And if I even think I taste what might be a pickle or mustard, the food comes right out. End of story. There is no room for error on this topic. It's so bad, in fact, that I don't even walk down the pickle or mustard aisles at the grocery store.
So when I place an order at the local burger joint, I clearly specify: "I'd like a plate with meat and fries. No condiments. No garnish. No nothing. Nothing extra. Just a plain clean plate, with meat and fries." I leave no room for mistakes. Usually, this is an easy order to fill. And when it comes out correctly, I gladly leave $3-4 extra just because it came out right. Ok, it's a little non-conventional, but it's the way I like it. I guess I'm an unconventional guy.
Now, luckily, when we go to a nicer place, it's a lot less necessary to specify such things. At a nicer establishment I usually order a ribeye or filet and some type of potato. Simple and sweet.
I believe that the reason I get so bent out of shape in a better restaurant is because, at one time, I was trained as a fine dining food server. It wasn't anything spectacular. It was about a week or so of listening to what they expected out of me, and most importantly, what they didn't expect out of me.
Here's what I learned. Of course, I will paraphrase.
First, they said not to introduce myself as the server. This would be obvious they said. After all, I'm the one in the tuxedo jacket and white shirt, right? Shouldn't it already be obvious to them?
Second, they said not to ever, under any circumstance, tell patrons anything about my personal life unless it were specifically asked of me to do so. And that includes my spouse, my kids, my mama, my friends, my boss, my car, my house, my bills, my hours, how busy we are, how slow we are, etc. They don't care. They come here to get away from their problems not to hear mine. This actually made good sense to me, that people don't go out to eat so they can have a conversation with me. They are trying to get "away" from such trivial things as conversation. They also said, in a polite way, that customer's don't really care about "me". They just want their experience to be a good one.
Third, they said that the entire table gets sat at once. The entire table receives their food at once. And the entire table gets cleared at once.
Lastly, I was told to explain things if asked and to leave out my opinion, unless asked. "Our feature is sauted in a white wine sauce with cherry vinegarette." Not "its really good". And never, "Oh, you will like it". Especially not "I'm sure you will like it". Under promise and over deliver. And leave out the flowery over talking.
Four things. That's what I remember. I'm sure there was more. But that's what I remember. I learned that immediately. I have since carried that with me into my current profession. And I must say, it has served me well.
Quick introductions. Leave out the personal stuff. Start it and finish it at once. It's pretty simple really.
So even though I learned and have used those standards in my life, it seems only natural that others would have done the same, right? Wrong.
It's quite depressing sometimes when you really take the time to see what all is just done "half-way" nowadays. There is very little, if any, attention to detail. No one cares about anything, it seems. It's all about them. It's never about the customer. And it's never as good an experience as it could be.
Today we wanted to go out to eat. Nothing too nice, but not Sonic. Ya know?
So we decided to go to The Island View. They have a nice little menu slash salad bar buffet thing going on there. That would be fine. Soup. Salad. Tableclothes. Perfect.
And I swear to you, this is exactly what happened.
First, we were immediately seated. That part was the great part. There was no wait at all. I was impressed. Nowhere to go but down now, right? Just kidding. But that's exactly what happened.
This guy comes over to our table and says he would be helping out our server because she was new. Not the most professional introduction, but it's C&G, not Emeril's. But that's not what got my attention. What got my attention was that he forgot our server's name. Even that didn't bother me so much. But it totally threw him off his game altogether. I don't know about you, but I've never yelled for "Margaret" across a crowded room in my life. So it's fair to assume that I probably would not start doing so tonight. My server's name, really was none of my concern.
Just bring some water. Keep it full. And we'll be done in a minute.
But this guy got so overwhelmed with concern after forgetting her name that he forgot to even take our drink order. That deer in the headlight thing was going on. It was like he was in a trance.
He stared down. He looked around. He smiled that OMG/WTF smile. And then walked off like he was going to crawl into a hole. I'm thinking, dude, it really doesn't matter, but I am a bit thirsty.
So he walked off and, after a brief moment, came back. He immediately clarified that her name was... whatever-it-was, even though her name was not the answer to the riddle. So now that he was back, I was going to use this opportunity to order some water. I don't know why I'm so thirsty, but I am.
"Can we just place our order with your now?"
He said that the girl with the newly clarified name would be by to take our order.
"Ok."
But we are at C&G, I'm thinking. And it's really pretty much a buffet or menu deal at this joint. Today we are part of the buffet crowd. Why can't we just start our trek amongst the buffet (which stands for B-ig U-gy F-at F-olks E-ating T-ogether) anyway? Is it necessary that we wait to have our order taken? So we wait to the tune of 12-15 min for the newly clarificated girl.
She's new so its sorta ok, right.
We order drinks.
We mention the buffet, like we should have done almost 15 minutes ago.
And we're on our way.
I get gumbo first. Because of this, I need some hot sauce. I ask the guy that first didn't take our drink order and forgot her name for hot sauce. That's exactly what I said. Hot sauce.
"Could I get some hot sauce, please?" I swear to you, he asked me... "hot or mild?"
I said "Hot sauce."
He asked intellectual question number two. "Louisiana or Tabasco?"
I said "Just hot sauce."
Then come the unnecessary comments. "Ok, I will be glad to bring Tabasco. But if you'd have said Louisiana, I don't think we have it in hot. I think we only have it in mild hot sauce."
You have got to be kidding me. Mild hot sauce? What planet is this guy from?
He turns and walks away just as I hear something being placed on the table next to me from the other side. I turn to the other side of me and see the leatherette check holder.
I look up and make eye contact with the clarified girl as she says, "There's no hurry. This is just here for your convenience."
"For my convenience? How about that glass of water I ordered 20 minutes ago? How about taking that check away and replacing it with a glass of water for my 'convenience'? Now, that would be convenient."
I'm not loud. I'm really not that obnoxious. But I am irritated. And it's evident in my speach. I'm not a mean person. I really do care about people's feelings. But this is hard to accept. The check? Now? Come on now! I think to myself, "You can do better than that, right?" I'm wondering, "Didn't she go through orientation?"
So before the golden boy got back with my hot hot sauce, the new girl had already prepared our bill. And then delivered our bill. I have not chewed the first bite of anything and all of a sudden if the urge hits me to pay, or pre-pay rather, I can, and of course, "there's no hurry" and "it's all at my convenience".
I've been here 20 minutes. I've already been embarassed. I've embarrased my wife. I've shown my ass. I've pondered the probability that the word "hot" holds no meaning in the term "hot sauce". I'm still thirsty. And my gumbo is getting cold. But the staff here is making sure that it's convenient for me.
She takes away the bill and wonder boy brings my water. I trash that cup of gumbo and get another one. It's actually pretty good with the Tabasco. The meal has took a turn for the better.
I decide to fix a salad. I do a once over of the entire salad bar section, so that I can get in my head what I want to have. I decide on a simple and plain "house type" salad. I prepare it all on the plate and look over at the dressing choices. There are about 8 choices and several look good. I see this unmarked creamy italian looking milky one that looks like it might be ok. There are no markings at all on this bad boy. No lettering on the bottle. No sticker. No nothing. So I put some in a small cuplike dish and brink it to the table. When our girl, we'll just call her "Clara", comes back by, she asks, very politely if there's anything she can get for us. I kindly ask if she can tell me what kind of dressing this might be.
Clara smiles and says... and I quote... "Oh, it's good."
"It's good?" I say.
"Yes, sir. It's good."
"Are you kidding me? Am I on Candid Camera? Is this some kind of joke? It's good? It's good to whom? It's good to you? Is that the best you can do? Is that the name? It's good is the name? What are it's contents? Are they good contents? Apparently so. Why even have a menu. Just have a list of good shit and bad shit. That'll save alot of time for people like me. It's good! Are you out of your mind? What if I'm allergic to butter and this shit has butter in it? What if I'm allergic to pepper sauce and this shit has peppers in it? Better yet, what if I don't fucking like pickles and this shit has pickle juice in it? Are you gonna tell the next person that it's good while your are trying to get the vomit stains out of your burgandy carpet down there? So, Princess, can you Clara-fy that one for me? Here, I'll give you another chance. Can you please tell me what kind of dressing this might be?"
That was about the time the manager came over and asked if there was a problem. I quickly calmed down. Not out of respect. But more or less out of pity.
I got myself together and with all the kindness I could bring together, I said, "We were just discussing what type of dressing this might be."
The manager said, "Oh, that's a house favorite. It's a creamy italian with a little kick."
I thanked here. And returned to my meal.
I poured the now well described concoction onto my salad and began to eat. Apparently, I was alot more distracted through all of this than I had realized.
Upon the second bite, I noticed a slight twang that I wasn't used to.
But with all the bacon bits and croutons and nuts and frustration, I didn't put my finger on it too quickly.
I took another bite.
I stopped.
I looked at my wife.
I pointed at the dressing.
Clara was at the next table.
My wife spun around and tapped Clara on the shoulder. "Miss, I'm very sorry to interrupt you. But, we need you to ask the manager to come back over here please."
Like, Johnny-on-the-spot, Clara's manager is back over at our table. By this time I've transferred the contents of my mouth into the cotton napkin that had resided in my lap until this point. My wife is handling this for me, because I am unable. We don't discuss it. We don't have to. But she knows. No words are needed. She knows what is happening.
"Yes, mam." My wife continutes, "You mentioned the dressing had a 'kick'. Can you tell us exactly what that 'kick' is?"
The manager smiles. "Sure. I'd be happy to."
This is all happening in slow motion. I feel like I am watching it on a movie. The words are all drawn out and slow, but I hear them clearly.
"It's pickle juice."
During the last 30-45 seconds, I had played this outcome out in my head no less than 10 times. And through them all, the ending did not change.
I was not proud.
The coming outcome was one that for me was completely unavoidable.
I did not want to.
But I did.
I hurled.
Oh, God, did I hurl.
I must've have lost last week's lunch in the process.
I have never lost it quite this bad before. This put the incident at Outback on the back burner. This one was definitely one for the record books. I had not puked in public in 9 years. I had hoped to hit ten. A personal milestone of sorts. Double digits. But I would have to start all over tomorrow.
I left $20 tip for a $30 meal. It was the only thing I could think of that would remotely come close to an apology.
But, you know, I've thought it all over since it happened and I'm not so sure I was really "all that to blame". I will admit, this was pretty bad. For lack of a better phrase, I think it was just the straw that broke the camel-toe's back.
Either way, it's over.
I still get bent out of shape about stupid things that happen.
Probably always will.
It's just the way that it is.
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