PHOTO BY RICH ARDEN
By Bobby Valvano
CUTTING UP AT THE TABLE 30 Winter 2004 www.foodanddiningmagazine.com
“WAITER–YOUR FINGER IS IN MY SOUP!” “DON’T WORRY, IT’S NOT THAT HOT.” We have all heard that old joke, which symbolizes the snappy, confident, somewhat world-weary waiter who is unflappable, unshakable and often unforgettable. As a whole, they often are, aren’t they? Unforgettable I mean—waiters and waitresses. I suppose you could make a case that, with the number of times we eat out, they come quickly into our lives, or perhaps, more accurately, we come quickly into theirs, and then just as quickly out, with not much memorable about the experience. You could make the case that, in many ways, they are like basketball officials—if at the end of the night you don’t know their names, they’ve done a good job. I think there are many like me who are able, off the top of their heads, to recall some great servers. Harry Loraine is a worldrenowned memory expert, and he says that if we truly remember something, it is because it is so out of the ordinary, so far from the norm, it is virtually impossible to forget. So to remember something important, like a list of things to do, put it in a story form, and make the story sensational, ridiculous, amazing— basically, unforgettable. It has always worked for me, and the fact that I can pull these server stories off the top of my head must mean the people involved, and what they did, were truly unforgettable. I remember dating my wife back in high school and that was now, I am horrified to say, 28 years ago. A group of ten of us, high school couples all, went to dinner at a Chinese restaurant called Jade East on Long Island. Each of us ordered a combination dinner, which meant, like another old joke, “One from column A, and one from column B”. For you non-math majors out there, that means 20 different entrees, or actually, worse, some duplicated entrees but paired in different combinations. The waiter wrote nothing down—nothing! As each order was given he just scrunched his face up, as if he had just seen our collective chemistry midterm grades, and repeated what we said—then proceeded, not only to have the entire order correct, to deliver all the proper dishes, but in in the correct combinations to all ten diners! I was amazed—I wanted to applaud, which I am sure he would, frankly, not have appreciated as much as a larger tip than we left, but, hey, we were sixteen, and high school kids. We love the snappy patter, the “servers with attitude”, as long as they are funny, and more importantly, competent. One of the best examples of memorable servers is at Lindy’s in
New York, where many of the wait staff have made that their life’s career. These are not outof-work actors, or between-gig comics. They are “waiters” and know their business.The walls are filled with memorable exchanges between the wait staff and the actors and comics who were regulars there, like Jack Benny, Groucho Marx, Jackie Gleason, Milton Berle and many others. In addition to being interesting to read, I guess they make it so you are actually pleased to pay $17 for a sandwich and be insulted by the wait staff at the same time. Ah, New York! It is like comic Richard Jenna says—the only place in the world you can pay 22 dollars for a corned beef sandwich and then leave the deli, walk down the sidewalk and see a guy with a sign, “Genuine Rolex: 5 bucks.” Most of us don’t really want to be treated rudely by our servers, Lindy’s not withstanding, and obviously most of the time we are not. But there are other ways our server can amuse us, albeit unwittingly. I remember being at a wedding with my brother Jim and his wife Pam, when the waiter began pouring the champagne. He worked his way around the table, pouring one bottle, with an opened second bottle under his arm. As he leaned across to fill Pam’s glass, I saw her squirm uncomfortably and then actually leap up. It seems as the waiter leaned over to pour the first bottle, he was smoothly dumping the second down the back of my sister-in-law’s strapless gown. I have heard of drinking champagne from a woman’s shoe (which by the way strikes me as revolting, no?) but never from her gown!
“Waiter, what’s this fly doing in my soup?” “It looks like the backstroke, sir.” I have always been fascinated with “waiters”—you know, the formally-clad men who seem never to be ruffled and who have an answer for any need, always with dignity and courtesy. In fact, I envied my brother Nick, who, for a time when he began his teaching career, was waiting tables at a ritzy steak joint on the weekends. I got my chance to try serving when I volunteered as a waiter for an English Tea Room, run by a church I attended in Connecticut. All proceeds went to the church, and I was eager to help, but secretly I wanted to fulfill my goal of being a waiter. I did okay, but it only reinforced my belief that the really good ones are special indeed. It ain’t easy.