Building a Relationship with your Server

I'll never forget the waiter at Chez Panisse. His name, perhaps, but not his face and certainly not his personality.

It was the mid-80s, and I was in design school. I didn't really have the cash to be spending a lot of time at Chez Panisse, a storied restaurant in Berkeley, California, but it was only the upstairs café, not the prix fixé downstairs, and a bottle of wine and a good casse-croute went a long way to restoring my sanity during those hectic days.

My dining companion was whoever I could find. I always bought, or they wouldn't have come. I didn't have a girlfriend at the time, so it was invariably a friend from the racquetball club that I played at, or rarely, a first date.

But I made it a priority to try to make it to Chez Panisse at least once a week.

The turnover there was quite slow. After all, who wouldn't want to work at Chez Panisse? At the time, it was quite possibly the most famous restaurant in North America. But when the waiter — let's call him John, because I honestly can't remember his name — suddenly entered into the mix, we somehow clicked. John was almost completely silent, all of the time. There were no long speeches or grovelling attempts at ingratiation. When he spoke, John tended to be brief, but there was a sly underpinning that one could never put one's finger on — as if the joke was always on you, but in a nice way.

So, as is my wont with servers I like (we used to call them waiters or waitresses) I gradually started tipping him more and more. It wasn't because I wanted better service. It was simply because when John served you, he served only you. He never forgot that quick "Oh, and a glass of water, too?" like most servers. Even when the restaurant was at its busiest, and it could get very busy, the glass of water would be at your table within a minute. The man had a mind like a steel trap.

It was innocent at first. I usually tipped 20% regardless, but it started creeping up with John. He was regrettably not always my server, but I gradually learned his schedule and tried to arrange my visits around it. And the tip began to creep upwards. Back then, a dinner for two with a few glasses of wine would run maybe $50. I began to tip John 25, then 30%. And silently, always silently, the experience at Chez Panisse got better and better. There was hardly a word exchanged between John and me except for the usual orders and thanks for a good dinner.

But then strange things started happening. On a very busy night, probably a Friday, I came in with a date. It was rare. I was usually with a racquetball partner or two. But John was there, and he immediately knew what had to be done. Within minutes, we were given the bay window table — the best seat in the house. I was amazed. I said nothing but felt like the guy in Goodfellas. My date was wowed. As usual, John said nothing, and attended us with the usual slight smirk on his face, as if we were all in on a huge cosmic joke to which only he knew the punchline.

That night I tipped him 60%.

And it went upwards from there. I wasn't rich, but I did the mental math. I could have this incredible time at the best restaurant in America (and I realised it even then) and all it would cost me was a little extra. I scrimped in other places in order to save for Chez Panisse.

And it paid off. One night, John put a plate of baked artisanal goat cheese (only the best for Alice Waters) down in front of me. "John, I didn't order this," I protested. He just smirked and walked away. It was not on the bill.

Another night, one with another rare date, a half-bottle of Roederer champagne was delivered in an ice bucket with two champagne glasses. By John. I knew by this time not to protest.

By this time the tip was up to 80%. This meant that on a meal costing $60, the tip was $48.

The turning point was the day I tipped John the cost of the entire meal. It was a meal in which my companion and I —I forget who — received a literal red-carpet treatment. It was like I was Charlie Sheen and we were at Spago. Dishes came fast and furious, the wine flowed — and half of it was unordered. Orange and grapefruit salad with wild fennel. Pizzetta with spring onions and anchovies. Caymus "Special Selection" Napa Cabernet.

John's expression did not change when he came to collect the credit card payment. The half-smirk remained. "Thank you, sir," he said, tipping his head slightly, and then he melted into the hubbub.

Imagine my surprise when I next brought a date and John suddenly wasn't there any more. "Oh, John," remarked the server, "He always wanted to open his own bookstore. He went off to do that. He was a good guy, huh?"

Yep. He was a good guy.

Further Reading

A Predictable Outcome (knowing me)

PETA ("People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals," the organization against the killing of animals, also affectionately known in some quarters as "People for the Eating of Tasty Animals") has a new war on its hands. Forget the debate about the murder of harp seals in Canada. This time the group is focused on a small island in the Pacific, several hundred miles from Mexico, now owned by the French. Its name is Clipperton (pop. 18.)

It seems that the island is a haven for Sooty Terns, a type of seabird. The island is so isolated that shipments of fresh food only occur about once every three months. So, "We eat the wildlife. There's no choice," says longterm resident Pietro Rocha, 59. However, since according to an ancient law (still on the books) the islanders are not permitted to carry firearms, the method of killing is somewhat primitive. "We use slingshots," says Rocha. ”We have no other way to cap the bastards."

And PETA is up in arms. "They should find another way of sustaining themselves. Perhaps supplies could be flown in from Mexico. Can't they grow vegetables? Need they kill these defenseless terns with stones? Imagine the suffering," says PETA spokesperson Pamela Anderson.

But Rocha is unrepentant. "Let Pamela Anderson and her boobies (another bird species prevalent on the island) have a grand party together. This is our livelihood. We have to do this to live."

In the face of mounting campaigns against the islanders from PETA groups, sometimes in the form of actual monitoring from offshore organization boats, Rocha summed it up for the entire populace of the island:

"We will not relent. We will never surrender. We will leave no tern unstoned."

Thai Chicken and Yang Chow Basmati

Thai Chicken (adapted from Le Cordon Bleu Home Collection)

4 chicken thighs, skin-on, bone in, or 8 chicken wings, skin-on, bone in, or any combination thereof

Marinade:

4 cloves garlic, chopped
2 T grated ginger
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
2 tsp Nam Pla (fish sauce—do not leave out)
1/4 cup good soy sauce (not Kikkoman)
1/4 cup honey, or 1/4 cup Mirin
2 green onions/scallions, cut lengthways into thin strips
2 serrano or piquin chiles, finely diced (optional)
1 tsp. chopped lemongrass (optional)
2T lime juice

Garnish:

2 green onions/scallions, cut lengthways into thin strips
Small bunch cilantro leaves

Combine all marinade ingredients. Pour over chicken in a container with a lid. Marinate for 24 hours, or if you have a Foodsaver, 3 hours in the vaccuum marinating container (comes in handy!)

Preheat oven to 400F. Arrange the chicken in a shallow roasting pan, well-spaced. Pour over some of the marinade and bake for about 1 hour, basting frequently with remaining marinade.

Arrange the chicken on a serving dish and garnish with scallions and cilantro. Serve with rice and spring rolls with a chile-garlic dip.

Yang Chow Basmati Fried Rice

You don't need to use basmati rice for this, but the only acceptable alternatives would be Patna and preferably Jasmine. Do not use Uncle Ben's, Texmati, arborio or Calrose Japanese rice. Jasmine is the best substitute and cooks very similarly to basmati.

Pre-cooked Basmati

2 cups Basmati rice
2 T ghee (clarified butter) or 2 T vegetable oil
1/4 cup shallots
2 bay leaves
3 whole cloves
3 whole cardamom pods
2" or so stick cinnamon
3 garlic cloves, diced
2 1/3 cups chicken broth or water

Rinse rice thoroughly. Let soak in water for about 90 minutes. This allows the rice to swell somewhat and adds to fluffiness once cooked. Result of soaking is that you need less liquid to cook it in.

Drain rice through sieve. Heat large nonstick sauté pan on medium-high. Melt ghee or oil. Add shallots, bay leaves, cloves and cardamom. Sauté for approximately 5 minutes. Add drained rice and garlic. Sauté until rice becomes somewhat glassy, about five minutes, stirring constantly. Heat chicken broth in microwave until almost boiling.

Add broth, stir to combine thoroughly, reduce heat to minimum, cover pan with aluminum foil, then pan top. Steam for 18 minutes or so. Turn off heat. Let rest for 10 minutes. Remove whole spices, stir to fluff up.

Fried Rice

This must be cold — not room temperature, but cold — before preparation, so either flash-freeze very carefully until cold or store in refrigerator until next day. If you try to make fried rice with hot or warm rice you will end up with a sticky mess.

Chop the following in small dice (about 1/3 cup each; add or subtract vegetables according to taste:

Carrots
Celery
Red onion
Red or green peppers
Green onions

Plus, according to taste:

Diced garlic
Diced chilies

Prepare:

1/2 cup good ham diced in 1/4" dice
1/2 cup baby cooked shrimp

2 large eggs

1T sesame oil
2T peanut oil

1/4 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup Mirin

Sauté chopped vegetables in oil on medium-high heat for approximately 10 minutes, stirring constantly. Add garlic and chilies, sauté five minutes more. Remove from pan and set aside. Sauté cold rice in 2T oil until warm. Add all the rest of the ingredients. Add soy sauce, Mirin. Stir to combine. Break eggs into bowl and whisk together. Drizzle onto rice and stir thoroughly to combine. Cover and cook on very low heat for 10 minutes. Serve.

On a Roll

Warning — Rant Quotient: Off The Charts

I'm sorry to be writing all this airline-centric copy. To people who rarely fly, it must be a remarkable bore. But I think the points I have to make here also apply to the small-mindedness of a lot of other service-oriented industries. Mainly: when the airlines decide to cut back in amenities, they don't really think it through carefully; rather, in emergency terms of black and white. "Jesus Christ," one suit realises, "If we only remove three in-flight magazines per plane per year, we save $10,000 in fuel costs." In suit-speak, this is absolutely true.

You fucking idiot. While you're counting beans, you're overlooking the obvious. I would gladly PAY for a $40 meal in economy — meaning, what you serve in First and with free wine — even though your costs for the meal would probably be more like $20. Fuck it, I'd leave a fucking tip, too, if the meal pleased me! Why is it that the airlines can't transfer the restaurant model to the skies? Fuckin' cruise ships got the idea long ago. Meanwhile, we're being humiliated with choices of Subway sandwiches on flights less than 5 hours. Just plug me in for that in-flight option of "full gourmet meal with wine for $40." I'm already paying up the ass; what's $40 extra?

Listen, motherfuckers, it's quite simple, at least to me: offer a great product, ie. what you plaster your Business Class geeks with, and offer it at a price. A reasonable price, say, what you'd pay in a real restaurant. Serve it on a real plate and include a couple of glasses of decent wine. That's worth $40, don't you think?

What, the rabble that travels in Y class doesn't have brains? Need I remind anyone that all the fucking hijackers from 9/11 were in Business class. Gourmets all, no doubt.

When are the fucking airlines going to get a clue?

The Dagwood Challenge

The challenge: what to make out of this list of leftovers, cooking for one.

After almost a week of cooking a separate meal every night, I am left with a bunch of items in my refrigerator that need to be used. The good news: they're all still very fresh. The bad news: they're all over the place in terms of menu creation. Can you come up with an acceptable menu using these ingredients (plus anything purchased in addition to help the menu along)? It's quite a challenge.

Ingredients:

Small container of sour cream
Small cube of feta cheese
Large cube of Gouda
Parmigiano Reggiano
Garlic-shallot parsley butter
Cilantro
Italian parsley
Lettuce
Jalapeño chilies
Carrots
Celery
Red onion
1/2 red pepper
4 ripe cherry tomatoes
Small amount Jambon Toscane (ham from Tuscany)
Fried rice

All I can think of is some very bizarre salad along with maybe chicken and some fried rice. Is there a soup in there?

Cry Me To the Moon

Warning — Rant Level: *****

Jesus fucking Christ. I don't drive a gas-guzzling SUV or a muscle car. In fact, I don't drive any car at all. So I don't give a flying fuck what the price at the pump is. But they're giving it to me up the ass another way: I just bought a ticket from YUL-YVR-Osaka return and it cost me $1405.58. And that price only if I stayed for six days (which I don't want to do.) If I'd turned around within 6 days it would have jumped $700 to $2200 (all prices Canadian.)

As I'm looking at approximately four roundtrips to Japan and four roundtrips to San Francisco yearly (long story) one can quickly see that any $1 increase in oil prices is going to be hitting me rather hard.

All in an era where the planes are more crowded, they're offering no amenities and flying is basically a fucking drag. Hmm. I'll have to start sharpening up my Business Class wheedle a little more diligently.

Not Your Parents' Salad

I believe I just ate the best salad I have ever eaten (and I certainly got the most out of a $30 steak! Works out to $10 a dinner.)

It's adapted from a recipe in the book Steaklover's Companion, by Frederick Simon. You don't have to use Kobe beef for this — any old filet mignon will do. The crunchy bits of chile, red pepper, green onion and beansprouts coupled with the tangy sesame-ginger dressing and the unctuousness of the steak make for a superlative dining experience.


Pacific Rim Kobe Steak Salad with Sesame-Ginger Dressing (Serves 4)

For the Marinade:
2tsp. sesame oil
1tsp. soy sauce
2 garlic cloves, chopped fine
1 tsp. Chinese plum sauce
1 small serrano chile, seeded, chopped extremely fine ( I used a Jalapeño because I couldn't find Serrano)

For the Steaks:

Either use the leftovers from last night's rare filet mignon or grill yourself some new ones. Slice the steak into very thin strips.

For the Sesame-Ginger Dressing:

1/2 C rice vinegar
1/4 C grated ginger
1/4 C sesame oil
2 T soy sauce (usukuchi is best if you can find it)
1 garlic clove, chopped fine

Mix well in a bowl and let flavors merge for 30 minutes

For the Salad:

2 heads Boston lettuce, leaves washed and separated, only the best inner leaves reserved for the salad
1 red onion, julienned
1 red bell pepper (capsicum for you Brits) julienned
1 cup bean sprouts, cleaned up and sorted for only the best
2 scallions (green onions), white part only, sliced on a diagonal

Marinate the sliced steak in the marinade and cover for at least 30 minutes at room temperature.

Combine all the salad ingredients except the steak and shake with as much of the dressing as you like, but be generous.

Pile salad on an attractive serving vessel and drape steak slices on top. Drizzle with remaining marinade. Serve.