Entries tagged with 'Served'
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! It’s kids’ night at my restaurant. “I’ll be back to close,” says our boss B., the owner. He’s on the way to a birthday celebration for D., his friend who works with us. Our other manager is at the birthday party, too. “We’re going to have our own crazy party while you’re gone,” I tell him. “That’s what I’m worried about.” J. and K. are our elders for the evening—they’re both 27. “I always forget that you’re 27,” B. says. He seems to think they’re younger. As for me, I am the baby. I rang in my...
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! Thursday, September 11 was a perfect Columbia evening. The rare kind that made me feel all warm and fuzzy about my collegiate life. McCain and Obama (Columbia College class of '83!) came to Lerner, our ugly student center, to talk about public service as part of the ServiceNation Summit. The weather was end-of-summer dusk gorgeous. Police and other security-types were everywhere. Snipers hung out on the roof of Butler Library. Streets were closed, campus entrances were locked, and masses of frustrated people were shuffled through labyrinths of barricades. And a Good Time Was Had by All The...
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I get to the restaurant to find a party in full swing. Every once in a while, we close to the public for some sort of private event. Parties are often good money.
That doesn’t mean they’re fun to work.
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! My composer friend U. returned yesterday to Columbia in New York from conservatory in London. We sat on the library steps in the sunshine and talked about how much she’s grown and grown up. She said, “I used to be so intimidated by these brilliant musicians.” Now, they are her friends. “When we’re drinking together and singing in the streets of Brick Lane,” she explained, “I’m not focusing on how talented they are.” Being surrounded by accomplished people can be incredibly inspiring. It can also be challenging, even discouraging. U. told me she will miss living, working,...
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This week, Served comes to us from Seattle, where the tables have turned. She is not serving, she is being served at wine bars, micobreweries, farmers' markets, and burrito joints.
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Until I started waiting tables, I had no idea that there were commonly held generalizations about how people act, order, and tip. In retrospect, it makes perfect sense. There are aphorisms about everything. Why should racism, sexism, and general ignorance disappear inside dining establishments?
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! Some guests pass through our restaurant fairly anonymously. The exchange is routine: a glass of wine, a plate of cheese, maybe a few friendly words. But many customers make an impression: good, bad, and everywhere in-between. Our regulars, our friends, make the place what it is. They love what we do and who we are. We love them, too. Other customers have a more offbeat relationship with our establishment. Here, a few of the quirky characters who color my nights: A Slice of Cake To Go I'm giving last call when the Cake Man walks in. I...
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! The restaurant biz is incredibly transitory. People come and go, quick. Saturday was K.'s last time coming to work in his snappy yellow bandanna and chef's whites. But as he told the owner, "see you tomorrow," at 3:30 a.m., I knew that I would be seeing plenty of K. around the restaurant. In the year he's been there, the place has come to be a home for him. He has also left his mark on the restaurant: the place has a little bit of K. lurking in all the nooks and crannies. The Great Footwear Rescue At...
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! It’s one a.m. and the restaurant is hopping. It was hopping when I got to work at six. It was hopping at eight, and eleven, and midnight. Now a gaggle of girls with glittery purses are huddled around the door. I am trying to ferry them drinks across the bar, and explain our different madeiras (and what is madeira, anyway? and how is it different from port?) to a friendly British couple, and clear plates from the corner of the bar to make way for an oncoming onslaught of cheese. The end is nowhere in sight. Time...
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I blog by day and wait tables by night. I'm excited to bring you Served, dispatches from the front of the house. Enjoy! "F. was going to eat your rueben," J. says, "but I stopped him." Thank God! The closing server (that's me) gets to work at 6, usually quite some time after the chef emerges from the basement with family meal. J. always makes sure that something is left for me. Tonight we have leftover goose breast ruebens, which are obscenely delicious slathered in horseradish aioli, and a salad with greens, faro, oranges, and feta. "Family meal," for those not in the know, is what the kitchen cooks up to feed the restaurant's staff before service. Depending on the...
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