Oh How the Tables Have Turned

It has been less than one week since my last shift at Cafe Confidential and I eagerly await orientation at my new job in the coming days. As I sit on the plane flying away from the corn and soy bean fields for the concrete jungle of my adopted NYC, I'm forced to recon with the fact that I don't do well when unemployed. Over the last three days, today in particular, I have become one of those borderline rude customers that drew my ire, but for different reasons. Honest person that I am, this entry will serve myself up as the annoying customer.

My problem began two days ago during a celebratory dinner at Bacaro in Champaign, IL, easily the finest restaurant in town, no doubt a result of the NYC influences of its executive chef/owner. The meal was superb, exactly what a restaurant experience should be. The bartender, who briefly worked with with my best friend at another restaurant in town, started us off with glasses of Prosecco followed by one each of the two drink specials. Neither disappointed. Next, we were treated to complimentary amuse bouche, a savory smoked shrimp with orange and fennel before our appetizers and entrees arrived. We shared a slice of pumpkin cake for dessert complemented by a fine glass of Riesling. I was in culinary heaven, made that much better by the personal connection my friend shared with the bartender and server and I with another server and the executive sous chef who prepared our meals. I felt connected to the restaurant.

Sounds like a good thing, right? Wrong. The next day, I encountered two customer service professionals before going for dinner at the award-winning BBQ restaurant, Black Dog where, as I discovered, I knew two of the cooks and one server. With each customer service pro and then the Black Dog bartender and host, I found myself obnoxiously trying to help them manage their stations more efficiently, on the one hand, and making demands based on expectations for speed and multitasking held for myself, that were unreasonable for people accustomed to working at a slower pace. I could clearly recognize the bartender's contempt for me and could hardly blame her. Although I will maintain that it is not unreasonable for a person to take two separate drink orders at once.

Today, I reached my low point boarding the plane to Atlanta. Already frustrated by the deliberate (read: ungodly slow) pace of the passenger ahead of me, I interrupted him to request that he reverse the direction of his duffel bag, even as he was reaching to place it in the overhead compartment. Yes, I could already recognize that his duffel placement would be inefficient and decrease the available space for my bag and simply could not suffer the inconvenience of moving it myself. Needless to say, the passenger in 18A is not my biggest fan. Nor is the flight attendant that expressed frustration when I tried to assist his colleague in delivering a beverage to the person sitting next to me. No, I don't know her. But the young woman ordered a drink and shouldn't be expected to wait that long.

My lesson? First of all, sometimes I need to chill out and remember that I am in no way perfect. Second, I can recommit to the notion that line cooks and servers have a special kind of genius for organizing tasks and working efficiently. After three years as a cook, I am not at genius level yet. But I will always do my best to show appreciation to the people that prepare and deliver my food at a restaurant. There is such amazing mental agility to go with physical prowess and culinary knowledge. I am proud to be among them.

She Just Might 'Liquor

Who says you need to work with customers to get a daily dose of buffalo-chicken moments? This ex-cafe line cook hit the road today, leaving my beloved NYC on a jet plane only I know when I'm getting back again. Returning to my most recent roots where my cooking career began, I took a mid-morning flight to Champaign, IL. No, that's not a misspelling... trust me, there's little bubbly about this corn and soybean town. I had some good times in Champaign where I spent four years working on my PhD in Communications, one and a half of those years working on full-time in the evenings as a grill and fryer station cook at a local tapas restaurant. I also met my best friend - a brilliant professor/grad student who happens to have an accomplished resume as a server in NYC - thus my reason for returning.

But I digress. I arrived at LaGuardia in the morning on an empty stomach and made it through security by 10AM, where I found myself in line at a breakfast/lunch cafe and bar feeling overwhelming sympathy for the line attendant. There were three customers ahead in line: two high school or college aged kids (their maturity level gave me no indication either way) and a woman I'm guessing in her late 60s with comically red hair. The kiddies engaged in a spirited commentary bemoaning the cost of the $3.00 hot dog, laughing about the possibility of eating lunch food for breakfast (ever nurse a hangover, kiddies?). No real buffalo-chicken moment here... just a couple people that have probably never worked a day in their life complaining about food cost in A) New York City and B) an airport. I'm sorry, but are they new?

Red hair, on the other hand, is a different story. Actually, more of a muffled conversation. Truthfully, I couldn't hear much of what she had to say. But I caught every eye roll, forced smile, groan and response from the line cook. The exchange went something like this:

Lady in Red (Hair): Garbled sounds resembling any adult voice in the Peanuts cartoons.

Line Cook: The bar is separate ma'am. And it doesn't open until 11:00 AM.

Lady in Red (Hair): More garbled sounds, leaning closer to the line cook in a desperate attempt to emphasize her point.

Line Cook: I understand that ma'am. But I'm sorry, I can't open the bar early. The bar opens at 11 AM.

Lady in Red (Hair): Dejected look, pays for her food, turns toward the bar and then returns to the line cook, speaking in Peanuts voice again.

Line Cook: No, ma'am. The bar never opens before 11 AM.


Points for effort, I suppose. But here's a word to the wise. Asking the same question over and over will not inspire a new answer. It might, however, get you a phone number and address for a local AA meeting.

I'm Back

Hello dear readers! Did you miss me?

I know, probably not. But let this begin my second attempt to share the trials and tribulations of the line cook. But first, an explanation for my absence.

In spite of my best efforts at creating an entertaining, but professional, record of my bizarre and frustrating experiences at Cafe Confidential, this blog rubbed the wrong way a few important members of the parent company. Whoops. In an attempt to diffuse conflict, Buffalo-Chicken-Moments took a short vacation. Their concerns are legitimate - could a blog that serves up many of its customers be bad for business? Perhaps although I thought not likely. Still, I respect their concerns.

So, what's changed to make me bring the blog back? Big news for this lowly line cook - I'm moving on up to a new opportunity with an amazing culinary staff. A very exciting opportunity to say the least, one that will not involve any customer interaction. After finishing my final two weeks, I am gainfully unemployed until I begin my new venture next week.

So what does this mean for Buffalo-Chicken-Moments? For now, not much. I have plenty of stories that have yet to be told and I will happily share them two or three times per week until they run out. After that, I may explore a change in direction to focus more on food and nutrition while offering up classic buffalo-chicken-moments that I might observe during my own dining experiences. It remains to be seen.

But know this, dear readers. I've missed you and I'm happy to be back. Check back soon for new entries.

On Hold

Dear Readers,

For reasons that will become clear at a later date, this blog is going into the proofer for awhile. I'll be back.

Go Giants

Dear Readers,

I've done my best to write only about food in this young blog - that certainly is my commitment. But, as a native Californian who grew up a Giants fan, attending hundreds of games in Candlestick Park and AT&T Park before and even after I began my travels, I need to give a shout out to my favorite sports team. The San Francisco Giants have won the World Series, 4 games to 1 over the Texas Rangers.

Kitchens are often a rag-tag collection of characters. So was this team. To Giants fans all over the world, join me in celebrating misfits gone right!

Back to food tomorrow, I promise.

*** On second though... I want to add one more thing. I watched the final four innings from the bar next door to my apartment in the Bronx. Do not be mistaken, this is Yankee country. But the bartender turned the volume on the TV for the last inning and didn't charge me for my beer. I walked out with congratulations from the waitstaff and bartender. I believe that this is unique to food service. They are special people. So for everyone at Jake's Steakhouse, thanks for sharing this special moment with me.

Best Wishes, Val

I said goodbye to one of my favorite co-workers (and regular Buffalo-Chicken-Moments reader) today. Val, a fantastic prep and line cook is moving on to new and exciting opportunities and I really wish her the best. She made my rare vacations or midweek days off possible and I always knew that I would return with the line in good shape. Her humor, work-ethic and calm will certainly be missed. Thanks for all you've done for me, Val and good luck with the next step!

I'm Begging You... Stop the Squawking!

Remember the 1995 Castle Rock Entertainment romantic comedy Forget Paris, starring Billy Crystal and Debra Winger? I'm a fan of both actors and many of the pro basketball players that made cameos but I'm the first to admit that this isn't exactly Casablanca. There is, however, one character that enters my mind every day I work at the CONFIDENTIALITY CLAUSE Cafe... Winger's senile father-in-law played by the outstanding character-actor William Hickey. In a complain sequence, Crystal bemoans his father-in-law's irritating habit of reading aloud every sign that he encounters. Here's a clip:



You are probably asking yourself, "What on earth does this have to do with food or the line cook experience?" Allow me to introduce you to the latest cafe character:

The Parrot - Unlike its portrayal in popular media, the cafe parrot is neither amusing nor lovable, and it's reasonable to question its overall intelligence. This creature insists on reading every item on every menu, to oneself or one's entire party. Sometimes this is a mother or father reading to a child but, more often than not, this is one half of a middle-aged couple that is just way too excited to be in a cafe, on the one hand, and questions their partner's ability to read, on the other. Whatever the reason, I can say that the endless drone of this customer's voice is enough to make me want to leap across the line and deck the person like Lawrence Taylor after a QB.

Adding insult to injury (to my patience), the parrot is far more likely read the entire menu item name and description upon ordering. This isn't really a big deal outside my growing irritation of having heard our menu transformed into a treatise about why I should hate people. Let me break it down: I know what the entree is... and the quesadilla, the soups, the special appetizer, you get the idea. And I want orders placed as quickly as possible. Rather than repeat every world encountered and then spell out the entire dish, give me a simple "Entree please" and let me get my cook on. Don't make me listen to all of the entree components like I'm learning new and secret information. I got it. I'm not a dufus. And here's the thing... neither is the person with you. Channel this enthusiasm into a nice quiet hobby, like knitting or underwater basket weaving.

Dear Jebus, It's Just Not that Complicated!

 Picking up with my theme from Monday, I will continue to share the most common characters that enter the cafe. Like great literature or film, my day-to-day life at the CONFIDENTIALITY CLAUSE Cafe is made of up about 10 types of people that find old and rarely unique ways to make me regret all of my life decisions leading up to this point. We've already met the field mouse and the rat, so let's move on to the next two animals:

The Ostrich - Most commonly a man (although I use the term lightly), the ostrich appears incapable of making simple decisions on his (or rarely her) own. The cafe caters (pun intended) to a broad clientele but we do have more than our fair share of couples or varying ages or families. Children under the age of 12 are my easiest customers - often polite, sometimes sweet, always absolutely sure of what they want to eat and commonly confident enough to place their orders. Men, especially when traveling with a partner, are the opposite. Too frequently I ask my regular follow-up questions ("Would you like cheese?" "chips or salad?" "small or large?") only to receive a blank stare, followed by a look of panic and then the inevitable turn to the mate and the question, "Dear?" Common foods for the ostrich are the hamburger, a side order of french fries or whatever his mate tells him to order.

The Vulture - The vulture may sound like a terrifying creature, strong and swift, maliciously feasting on the decaying remains of any vulnerable creature in sight, but the cafe vulture is more pitiable and less disgusting. First of all, the vulture is neither neither strong nor malicious... he or she is just naive, lazy, uninformed or downright stupid. And the vulture doesn't pray on decaying remains, no no. Rather, the vulture feasts on someone else's tasty meal with a healthy dose of my patience on the side. You see, I've come to realize that most people don't know anything about food - the food they order or the food they eat. The vulture is a person that waits in line, places an order, and then takes the first plate of food sent their direction regardless of what's on the plate. Here are a few examples:

• This week, I called out an order for and placed on the counter a cup of soup while finishing the previous customer's shrimp quesadilla. This is pretty simple. A cup of soup takes no time for me to serve while a quesadilla requires approximately 4 minutes of prep and cook time. In case there is any confusion, a cup of soup (in a to-go container) looks like this:

And a quesadilla looks like this:

When I finished the quesadilla and called out the order, placing the plate on the counter, I looked around and couldn't find the customer. Meanwhile, there was an impatient customer glaring at me. I asked what she was waiting for and she replied, "My large cup of vegetable soup." What happened? Well, my quesadilla customer either forgot his order or is so amazingly stupid that he doesn't know the difference between a cup of soup and a quesadilla. The answer to this age-old question matters not. This was just another example of a vulture swooping in and feasting on another person's food and, not least important, my patience and that of the irritated customer.

** For anyone wondering about the title, Jebus is a reference from one of the funniest Simpsons episodes that I have ever seen.

Let it Rain

After a day like yesterday, frustrating for so many reasons I can't number (but will attempt later this afternoon), I am thrilled to see a rainy day. Nothing keeps the most potentially awful customers away like some drizzle so keep fingers crossed that I can have a "get-well" day. If not, Wednesdays are often among the most packed with Buffalo-Chicken Moments so check back this evening.

What's the Quesadillio with Dumbass Tortilla Mispronunciation?

This post has been a long time coming; in fact, the subject was part of the inspiration for this blog. After the lunch service that I experienced today, I could wait no longer. I have to ask: what is the quesadillio with my customers' inability to pronounce "quesadilla"?

For longtime readers of this still-young blog, you might remember a story that I shared about a customer  ordering a quesadillio. No, this customer was not P Diddy. It was an elderly woman who struggled to answer her friends' question about her order.

Customer: "I ordered a quesadiller... quesadill... quesa... I ordered a quesadillio!"

Remember this story? It's etched on my brain. But I won't be presumptuous. As a courtesy and to make sure we're on the same page, please observe the diacritical pronunciation and definition of the word quesadilla:

quesadilla |ˌkāsəˈdēyə

tortilla filled with cheese and heated.

Are we good so far? Fantastic! Before we move on, a confession. My Spanish language skills are abysmal, almost comical to hear in person. Some of my native Spanish-speaking coworkers are kind and patient enough with me to speak the language and try to teach me words, even sentences. Patient is the key word here because I am just so embarrassingly awful, especially considering I enrolled in classes from middle school through my first year of high school. That said, I have successfully ordered this cheesy treat since my tenth birthday. What was my secret, you might ask? Language lessons? Infused with a secret knowledge by aliens? Simple... I watched my first Taco Bell commercial. And I've been set ever since.

Unfortunately, it seems that an entire population of cafe visitors has never dined at or seen a commercial advertising my favorite fast food restaurant. What a shame, too! Does anyone else miss the chihuahua commercials? Me neither. But the food is very tasty and the commercials provide a valuable public service. Bronx and Westchester (mostly Westchester) counties are missing out.

It comes down to this. Quesadilla is not a new word. It's been around the good old US of A for a long time now. The concept shouldn't be new either. But, for my customers, it is. Some could not identify a  tortilla in a police lineup. And many have to ask me if it is a hot or cold sandwich. Dear lord, it never ends! Here are some of the bizarre pronunciations (with the diacritical pronunciation marks) that I have encountered since it was added to the menu last fall:

• Quesadilla (kāsə dilə)

By far the most common, I used to have a horrible attitude about this one but now I respect it a bit more. At least customers are trying to pronounce the word phonetically, which is more than I can say for most of these verbal disasters.

• Quesadillio (kāsəˈdil ēy ō)

I've already talked about this one. It makes me shake my head and want to cry.

• Quesadiller (kāsə dilər

Really? Because it's not even close. Where's the "R? and what's with the soft "D"?

• Quesado (kasad ō)

Go back and look at the actual word and then look again at this monstrosity. How many letters need to be removed and/or changed to get from Quesadilla to Quesado. I don't know if this is laziness, foolishness, or both. Your idea is as good as mine.

• Quesadilia (kāsəˈdil ēy ə)

Very close to Quesadilio but not quite as funny because I can't make my standard P Diddy joke. The customer has to shorten an "L" and add a dot to get from the real to the mistake. Seems like a lot of effort.

• Quesadiwa (kāsə dēwä)

Again, I shake my head. My best guess is that this customer is way too big of a fan of the priest from Princess Bride and purposely finds the letter "W" in every word (check out this link if you don't get the movie reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sbqv3MwwVd8).


I heard four of these gaffes today alone. And yes, I did have fantasies of bludgeoning these people with whole wheat baguettes until they got the word right. Oh, a cook can dream...

But let's not stop there. I am compelled to share the most ridiculously culturally narrow-minded comment I have ever heard about a quesadilla. Four well-dressed, guessing mid-fifties women stepped on the line and, after perusing the menu, one said to the other, "Oh look, Mary. Quesadillas! They have ethnic food here!"

Even sadder than the comment? Even that woman got the word right.

Lights are Off... Go Home, Damn It!

A cafe, like any job, serves up its fair share of characters and ours is no different. Over the next week, I'm going to introduce a few of the most common characters, starting with two of my least favorite rodents, the field mouse and the rat.



The Field Mouse - Not a single day passes without at least one encounter with a few field mice, customers that try to enter the cafe after we've closed, seeking refuge from the cold, food-less world outside. Sometimes a single person looking for a late afternoon coffee but more often a family looking to fuel up before getting into the car to return home, the field mouse is never deterred by our locked door. In fact, these customers try ever door (including the exits) and, if still unsuccessful, will search for a side door that might remain unlocked while the utility team cleans inside and out. They pull on the doors and press their faces against the glass. Some wait until someone from the staff (occasionally me) approaches to shoo them away, always asking with a voice full of surprise, "Are you closed?"

Hmmm, I often think to myself. We shut off the lights, working in darkness in hopes of avoiding these types of distractions. Every door is locked, there is no food in sight. Sure, we're open. Come on in! Or not! It's not dignified, begging for scraps. Just get back in your car and cook for yourself or your family. That's what I do - it's rewarding, character building, cheaper. In short, get your tail away from the cafe so this cat can get home.

The Rat - Like the field mouse, a rat is a customer that tries to get into the cafe after closing. But the rat is far more devious and resourceful. Somehow successful in gaining entry to the darkened cafe, the rat quickly scours for food, sometimes removing items from speed racks or the sandwich/salad display area, maybe filling a cup with soda from the fountain while artfully dodging our staff. The rat plays naive with cashiers, expressing surprise that the cafe is closed and confusion as to the meaning of "closed register." And then, the rat tries to rationalize the merits of receiving her or his items for free, to free us of any further inconvenience. Oh, how considerate. Let me thank you by picking up a can of Raid.

We have a couple regular rats that have even gone so far as to lie to our managers about staff involvement in their raids, sometimes even complaints about our poor customer service. Of course, the managers are savvy enough to have security on speed dial. Really, a cafe should never be a target for a small-time Westchester grifter. Just come during business hours, buy your food, and ponder your next investment banking scheme to secure your riches. Leave me and my hourly alone.

This Week's Top 5 Most Irritating Customer Comments

I'm back from a week-long hiatus to share five exchanges that got under my grill during the week. Unfortunately, these questions and comments are pretty routine. Here they are in all of their non-existent glory.

5. "So, what's good today?" Okay, I pride myself on honesty, especially with my regulars. And no cook is perfect despite best intentions and sometimes we swing and miss (outside of a Keller establishment, of course). But this question just bugs me. Of course, as a customer service professional and face of the cafe, my response is always "Everything" followed by a long roll of the eyes that I hope the customer sees. No cook appreciates the presumption that some of the food is good and some is not, especially when forced to engage the presumption. The question is also a waste of time. If a customer is interested in hearing suggestions... ask! Offer some information about yours tastes or palette. There is nothing useful or charming about asking "what's good today." When your line cook hears it too much, the food may be good but the attitude will sour quickly.

4. "Can you make me a small salad fresh to order?" On face, this sounds reasonable, right? Wrong, especially when I have a line extending to the door and I've been pulling teeth trying to herd my cattle, I mean customers, down the line. Every time our lunch service features an entree accompanied by a fall, spring or winter salad, at least a dozen customers request something off menu. Don't get me wrong, I'm sympathetic. But not with a line. Keep it moving people, especially after you get shot down. Don't stand and try to argue your case. The line cook cares about one thing - clearing the line and restocking before the next wave. Oh, and one more thing... the pre-made salads are just as "fresh" as anything I could make from my mise en place. In fact, they are kept cooler and exposed to less air.

3. "Oh, I'm so glad I got here before the crowd. What's ready? Can you toast a bagel?" This string of questions is a pre-service special. Here's some context. There is a limited amount of prep space in our well-stocked and organized kitchen, so I do my prep work on the line. Every morning I work with a sense of urgency to finish my sidework, restock my mise en place, clean, prep panini and tarts and help the lead cook when I have time left over (which is very rare). So imagine how frustrated I am every time an early customer presumes the absence of a line means that I have time to help them early? Customer service before service is a serious trade off. Add on the dash of naivete from the customer that thinks my time is their time and I'm not busy, and you get a ticked off line cook.

2. "What kind of cheese do you use in for the grilled Vermont cheddar cheese sandwich?" I don't even need to touch this one.

*** The final exchange is more than a simple question - enjoy ***

1. Today, we served a butternut squash and apple puree soup, which most people simply in their orders as "butternut squash." It works, no arguments here. But this shorthand became an issue with a customer that didn't read any of our menus before ordering.

Customer: "Would you be willing to give me the butternut squash instead of the side salad or chips? Please, that's what I really want."

Des (my line cook partner on the weekends): "Sure, David will get you a small butternut squash."

David: "Small butternut squash" (passing a small cup of soup to the customer).

Customer: "I didn't order this. I asked for a side of the butternut squash."

Customer's Embarrassed Friend: "That is the butternut squash; it's a soup."

Customer: "Oh, well I really just want roasted squash. Can I have that instead?"

David Thought Bubble: If not for your ability to pronounce panini properly, I would roast you more than the squash that we don't have available in my next blog post.

The Joke's On Me

Re-reading some previous entries, I realized that I might sometimes come off as superior. Of course, I am. But that's not the point. Every now and again, the unintentionally ridiculous comment or foolish moment might come from me. As was the case today.

Before I relay my brief tale, a defense. Cooking is a dangerous, sometimes painful job that involves accidents. All line cooks have war stories involving cuts, burns, bruises, more burns, even deeper cuts, battling live squid or lobsters... you get the idea. Even the most careful, skilled and deliberate cooks make mistakes.

Today I suffered one of the most lame cuts of my culinary career, slicing about 1/4 inch at a beautiful bias into my left index finger when I was cleaning my chef's knife at the end of service. No glorious war story here. I was cleaning my knife. Pathetic.

The other cooks treated the wound with the appropriate amount of teasing and dismissiveness but for a few co-workers outside the culinary arts, my soothing comments included the following:

• "Oh, don't worry, that's not all my finger." In response to the shocked look at the sanitary towel that caught plasma and a little flesh. My co-worker was actually looking at a bit of artichoke heart that came off my blade.
• "Just goes to show how important it is to have a sharp edge - look how clean this cut is!" Working with a dull knife is much more dangerous than a sharp one. A sharp knife cuts clean and a dull knife is completely unpredictable.
• "Serves me right for making fun of your tip slip." One of my co-workers had a more dramatic incident earlier in the week and, like a good friend, I joined many of the other cooks in teasing him mercilessly. We reap what we sow.

Queen of the Cardiac Club

It's half past midnight and I'm about to fall asleep. Friday is such a special day in the workweek. TGIF, right? Wrong. First of all, I work Saturdays, so Friday is nothing more than a tease for me. My dear sweet regulars wish me a happy weekend and I think... yeah, I'll get there soon enough. But really, Fridays are full of dread for the inevitable visit by the Cardiac Club and their queen that I like to call Eliza DoNothing. You'll get the reference in a moment, although I admit this name isn't my finest.

The Cardiac Club is a group of older women who sometimes walk, sometimes jog, but always find their way to my cafe every Friday. In fact, they have been visiting our venue longer than anyone currently on staff including our GM or longest tenured prep cooks. And with their seniority (in every sense of the word) comes a sense of ownership, over the space, the menu, the staff... you name it they think they own it. And none more so than Queen Eliza DoNothing. The Queen is among our many retired guests (hence DoNothing) who distinguished herself within my first weeks as my most despised customer. Join me as I take a stroll down memory lane.

I am in my first weeks, perhaps my second Friday on the job, working behind my line, prepping and getting acclimated with the space. Lunch service begins at 11:00 AM but the doors open at 10:00 for guests who might like an early cup of coffee or one among our pastry or baked goods items. Of course, there are those unfortunate patrons who disturb my prep time, seeking lunch or, worse yet, conversation, since I must not be busy with so few people in the cafe.

Side note: prep time is equivalent to "me" time. I work hard and focused but also with a certain amount of levity with my coworkers, getting into the right mindset for the day. I don't like being disturbed by impatient patrons.

Thirty minutes before service and a stern but possibly sweet woman approaches the line. She stops, sizes me up and asks, "What happened to the Latin woman who used to be here? I liked her." Great start, didn't make me feel at all self-conscious at a time that I wanted to learn and take ownership over the line.

I responded, explaining that my predecessor was no longer with the company, pursuing alternative career options (fun with euphemisms). And then the floodgates opened. She came at me with a barrage of questions, which I foolishly answered thinking that customer service should take precedence over my prep and that there was anything I could do to curry favor with this beastly person. After several questions came the backhanded compliment that raised my ire, "You know, you are surprisingly well-spoken for someone in your position."

Gee whiz, thanks! That wasn't at all obnoxious. Of course, it should be surprising that I can speak in complete sentences because all line cooks are ruffians. There are other assumptions underlying her comment but I'll leave them be only because they are so obvious. Instead, I got a bit defensive and replied, "I'm glad my PhD level education at Research 1 universities isn't going to waste." And then this exchange took the nasty turn that still shocks me today. She glared at me, paused and asked if I ever worked with a speech therapist because she could detect the remnants of a lisp in my speech.

Seriously?! Please explain how this is remotely appropriate conversation or observation in any context other than one person trying to put another, in an obviously powerless position, in his or her place.

Again foolishly, I answered that yes, I visited a speech therapist in elementary school but ceased the visits when my diction was deemed reasonable by the counselor. Her reply, "Well, maybe you should begin again. Why be only 90% of the person you should be?" Catching on to the Eliza reference yet? Shocked and now terribly self-aware of my speech, I detached from the conversation, returned to my prep work, and made a pact with myself to never engage in extended dialogue with this person again.

So tomorrow, I will once again face the patron who managed to get into my head unlike anyone else. She doesn't make me nervous anymore. Really I just think she is sad. But I do not forgive people that expose vulnerabilities, especially when the victim of the exchange is in a lesser position of power. Every time she waddles into the cafe, I keep my interactions brief and can sense her frustration of my refusal to make her relevant. It's really the best revenge.

Things Not to Say to Your Line Cook

The Wine and Food Festival is over, the weather is beautiful and I am back to work full-time at the cafe, which means the buffalo chicken moments are picking up again. The Tuesday shift was uneventful except for an unfortunate couple that remained convinced (even after a polite correction) that they properly ordered a "panari." Of course, my mind so influenced by cartoons as a child, went directly to images of a hybrid grilled sandwich/canary that spoke like Tweety Bird. Boy I wish I was more familiar with PhotoShop.

Today was a different story. Wednesday lunch service is always more eventful than other weekdays for reasons my confidentiality clause will not allow me to divulge. Needless to say, my delightful regular customers are augmented by tourists, elderly patrons looking for a bargain, and the occasional non-working parent with children a bit too young for school. I know what you're thinking - recipe for frustration. You're right. And while I like a busy line, working at a quick clip, I find myself wishing against wish, hoping against hope, that these Wednesday patrons could keep their comments to themselves and let me enjoy my service. Here are a few examples of things I don't want to hear from customers on a busy day:

• "Well hello David!" and you may substitute any other greeting that includes my name. Seems like I'm being pretty cold, right? Wrong. Just because I wear a name tag doesn't mean that you know me personally. I am happy that my regulars know and use my name. They've earned it. But don't think that correctly reading my name tag entitles you to a personal exchange, especially when I'm busy.
• "Wow, it looks like you could use an extra set of arms!" Really? Well I think you could use a little common sense. If I'm working so hard that I could use an extra set of arms, do you really think I have time to listen to witless banter, let alone participate? Here's the thing. A customer may say things like this in appreciation of my speed or effort, but it always sounds like an insult. Just like when I hear people say...
• "I can't believe you're out here all alone. You could use another person." Thanks. Actually, I feel pretty good about serving nine people at once, each with multiple items in their order, that I am able to keep organized and serve hot together. Besides, the greatest impediment to fast service is any among the follow: customers not moving down the line, ordering food item by item, taking another customers food instead of one's own, and forcing the line cook to engage in that witless banter when s/he is clearly trying to bust through some orders.
• "Oh, you mean the panani is a sandwich? I thought it was ____ (insert embarrassingly incorrect food item here)." Where do I begin? We've already been over my issues with sandwich mispronouncitation. My biggest issue here? If you don't know what a word or menu item is, ask before ordering. Don't wait the three minutes I take to cook the food only to stop me when I want to move on to customers that have waited patiently for my attention. Questions come before ordering, not after.

I recognize that some of my issues might seem unreasonable but know this: cooks are prideful  attention-mongers that like the thrill of working quickly, but we will never feel good about unreasonable wait times. We need to work with customers to make sure food gets out hot and fast and we need customer assistance to get that job done. Minimizing the not-so-supportive chit chat is a great way to help.

Knowing what one just ordered also helps. And asking reasonable questions early in the process is the way to speed things along. My total lack of knowledge about food can fill hundreds of books but I always ask questions quickly before ordering. That's how I learn and make things easier for the cooks at the same time.

That's A Spicy Meatball!

As some may know, I am dedicated my free time and a day off work this week to volunteering at the 2010 Food Network Wine and Food Festival as a Team Leader. Thursday was a full day of food festival fun, beginning at noon with a trip down to the Grand Tasting tent where I would later return for my team leader assignment. The tent looked spectacular and, as expected, filled me with great pride and appreciation having worked so hard on Monday to make make the set-up possible.

With four hours before my commitment, the outstanding team from the Food Bank for New York City and Share Our Strength sent me to the Meatball Madness event, assisting with delivery and set-up for the evening's event. I worked with a collection of retirees, culinary volunteers, temps and college students, all happy to be part of the festival in a helping capacity. I won't lie - there was nothing glamorous about this job. There rarely ever is anything glamorous about event volunteering. But I came away impressed with the graciousness and enthusiastic appreciation that we saw from the visiting general managers and chefs (executive and low level) for our swift attention to their product. Warm fuzzies all around. And, I can't neglect to mention just how wonderful the food smelled. How I wish I could have stayed for the event.

I had to leave just as things were getting busy, returning to the Grand Tasting tent for a walk-through and brief conference with the volunteer coordinators before meeting my volunteer team. The volunteers were phenomenal! Patient when we were between tasks, good humor about the physical aspect of our job, and full of good will. I felt so lucky to work with them. One volunteer even ventured to Chelsea Pier on a food run for the evening security guard, dedicated to protecting his post but regretting his lack of food for the evening. What a decent thing to do.

Sunday is my big day, serving as team leader of between 30-50 volunteers at the high profile Carts in the Parc event, featuring host Andrew Zimmern of the Travel Channel.

http://www.nycwineandfoodfestival.com/2010/event_detail.php?id=102

Pun Fun

It was a slow day for buffalo chicken moments - good for my patience but bad for the blog. Sure, I dealt with my fair share of surly elderly customers but that comes with the territory, especially on Wednesdays and Fridays. But really, things moved smoothly. I worked the line alone, had a few fun rushes, and saw a dozen of my favorite customers.

On days like this - a bit slow if not manageable and me maintaining a good mood - I take delight in one of my favorite linguistic exercises... punning. Here are a few of my favorite puns of the day.

• With Cuban Black Bean Soup on the menu, I eagerly waited for the handful of customers who requested a "small black bean." Of course I knew what they wanted, but what they got was a small soup cup with a single black bean sitting at the bottom of the cup.
• Between the temperate weather and a TGIF attitude, more than a few customers treated this day as a burger and fries day. My favorite game? When a customer requests a fry or a small fry. Once again, I know what they want. What do they get? A single french fry, size determined by their modifier.
• Outside the bounds of a pun, I also have fun with passive aggressive questions. Here are a few examples: do you have a paper plate? Do you know what's in this sandwich? Do you know the soup of the day? I heard all three of these questions today. My answer? "Yes." And then I walk away.

I know I'm pushing my luck, but, especially on slow days, I really must keep myself entertained.

Speaking of being entertained, my colleagues and I sometimes find a few laughs in the expectations of our customers. Our standards are remarkably high for a cafe - we keep things fresh and prepared by expert cooks. But today, one of my colleagues was amused by a customer's question about whether or not our burgers are from grass fed cows. Sorry, folks, this isn't Per Se. I understand that the customer really wanted to know if the meat was organic, which is an easier question to field (pun intended, of course). But we aren't going to know that level of minutia. Likewise, I received a question about whether or not our salmon was caught in the last two days. We use very high quality product, but please

You Must Be Clucking Kidding Me

I can't believe I'm back here a second day in a row. After the duck incident yesterday, I hoped that I might have at least one day off from customer inability to distinguish one common food from another. Before I begin, I'll share the special of the day as described on our menu: pan fried pecan chicken, served with candied carrots, creole rice, and praline sauce.

Lunch service was moving at a quick pace, a welcome change after several days of rain-dampened sales, quick enough that I removed the lids covering each of my entrée components. A woman peered at each component, pointed at the candied carrots and asked:

"Is this the chicken?"

All I could do for those first moments was stare, speechless. My thought bubble: "What hole did you just crawl out of?" Offering another helping hand to alleviate any confusion that might linger:

Chicken - may or may not have come before the egg. But poultry nonetheless

Carrot - great for eyesight, which could come in handy looking at cafe food

I don't know what else I could say. I don't know how to interpret this problem. I just don't know.

On a more serious note, the chef shared with me his motivation for serving this dish... a tribute to his childhood friend who lived and recently passed away in New Orleans (RIP). I didn't know his friend but I do know the passion and love that cooks and chefs put into their food. Out of respect for this entrée and his memorial, I offer this post in dedication to his memory.

You Can't Seriously Be that Dumb?!

A dreary day outside put a slow day on our menu at the cafe, but it was not too slow to avoid one of the most plainly idiotic questions that I have ever heard. But first, I'll return to the display plates. I love display plates. They look nice, offer an opportunity for the chef or myself to play with the aesthetics of food and there is something gratifying about hearing compliments followed by orders. But the effectiveness of a display plate is tied to the mental and visual capacities of our guests.


Today's special was braised duck leg (swimming in a brown onion and mushroom sauce) served with roasted acorn squash and a warm lentil salad, garnished with mango chutney, toasted pumpkin seeds and walnuts. The display plate was quite nice, each component artfully arranged with an extra kale leaf, the reds and purples accenting both the plate and the squash.

A customer looks first at the display plate, then our soup menu, and then she moves directly in front of the display plate. She points at the dish and asks "Is that the Wisconsin Cheddar and Beer soup?"

There were no words in that moment.

My thought bubble: Oh my lord, are you really so absurdly naive to not know what soup looks like? Did you grow up in a soup-a-tarian household that rejected not just the tasting but knowledge of soups? Why are you trying to punish me?

My comment: No, ma'am. You will find the soup in these large containers over here. I recommend that you take a glance at our specials menu.


It's buffalo-chicken moments like these that make me want to cry. So, for anyone out there that needs a hand, I offer the following example:

Duck... yum yum!

Soup... also yummy but very different indeed.

I can see the room for confusion. Both are wet but only one has legs. Both are tasty with mushrooms, but one will slide off a plate into a puddle on the counter. I could go on and on but this question made my head hurt.

Building Rome in a Day: The Grand Tasting Tent

The soft tones of the trombone cut through the screech of the screaming subway train, melancholy sounds from a melancholy man. His crooked smile matched his rusted horn, warped bell and bent slide. Was it really a surprise that everything he played was so hauntingly perfect?

On the surface above the 14th Street station, biting winds were unforgiving to pedestrians walking under umbrellas, cold but energetic, happy for a break from the once steady downpour that eased to an equally steady drizzle. The scene was like something captured in a movie, set in Ireland but filmed in Canada, beautiful but not quite real.

Gray, haze, traffic and waves not far away on the Hudson. And through it all, I could tell that something good is about to happen.

The Grand Tasting is the Food Network Wine and Food Festival's signature event opening a dreamscape for foodies and industry pros. It is spread across four weekend sessions in an 800 foot long tent, featuring promotions, free food and beverage samples, and cooking demonstrations from some of the finest retailers and restaurants in NYC. It's a temple for all things culinary. And today, I both watched and participating in the building of that temple from the ground up.

My task as a Volunteer Team Leader was not at all insignificant leading a small team ranging from 4-7 people depending on the temperature and time of day, measuring and marketing every booth, display and table space for over 600 vendors and sponsors. The volunteer staff was very good (mostly) showing tenacity, professionalism and the type of refreshing energy and commitment that makes events like this one so special. We had our ups and downs, mostly ups, before the volunteers left one by one into the haze in search of more comfortable places.

But my recollections are mostly about the surroundings and crews that are constructing this event, people that, if they do their jobs right, will never be seen or even considered by the average festival guest. The evening security guard with a handshake so strong I thought my fingers would crack, whose warm smile and generosity with his time were shared frequently with crew members needing access to our gated lot. The tent and signage/electrical crews, bundled up in thick jackets and yellow ponchos, huddling around wood crates with venue diagrams, schedules and notes creating a jigsaw puzzle that they attacked with ease. In a matter of hours, an open space on Pier 54 had windows, doors, skylights, electrical sources... and that's only what I witnessed this day. The Operations Director and Event Producer, managing people and expectations, vendors, sponsors, staff, volunteers, city regulations, and a complicated pizza order with speed, grace and humility. I can only take these snapshots because a thorough description would take too much space.

I am proud of everything that my team and I accomplished today but this post is for all those people that make events such as this one run, rain or shine. The security guard told me, as he unlocked and unwound the chains securing our gate, "You know, it's almost always like this... a few rainy, miserable days. But you know what? It's going to be a beautiful weekend."

And that's exactly the thought that dominated my thoughts as I sat in a foldout lounge chair with cup holders, bundled so tightly in my jacket that I might have been mistaken for Kenny (from South Park) if we were a bit closer to Halloween. The conditions were brutal but the promise of everything that comes next is nothing short of thrilling. I can't wait until my next shift on Thursday.

Grand Tasting Tent Here I Come

It's cold, raining and generally miserable outside but I'm excited to be heading out in about a half hour to begin my project setting up the Grand Tasting tent for the 2010 Food Network Wine and Food Festival. The project should last all day with follow-up work on Thursday evening in final preparation before the weekend festivities.

I'll be back at work tomorrow wracking up more buffalo chicken moments for your reading pleasure.

Drying Out

Not without regret, I passed on my volunteer evening at the Great World Brew Fest, which opened tonight from 8 PM - 12 AM. It looked like a promising event so I will look forward to hearing comments from anyone who may attend in the next two days.

I am still on for my much anticipated volunteer commitment at the Food Network's Wine and Food Festival, beginning with set-up early in the week and hopefully a few additional evening events on the weekend. Even though a departure from the theme of the blog, I plan on keeping everyone well up-to-date on my experiences working for the Food Bank of New York City. If it's anything like last year, the next week will be one to remember.

This Just Sounds Dirty! Couples Talk Panani

The storm that many weather people are calling epic slowed business almost to a halt today, but even a powerful front like the one that left freeways and city streets flooded, trees downed, and mass transit massively stalled, could not deliver a day free from buffalo chicken moments. While most potential customers stayed away, our old friend the unfortunately sexual sounding "panani" returned today in fine form.

A sweet couple (probably the other side of 55 and, based on my recent experience, probably visiting from the Midwest) entered the cafe under the watchful and professional guidance of one of my favorite regulars. Must be an important customer, I thought, so I did my best to put on the charm. Imagine the difficulty I faced during this exchange:

Kindly Woman: "Oh my, so many choices. You know, I think the panani looks very good. I'd like a panani."

David Thought Bubble: Must... keep... from... laughing.

Kindly Man: "Hmmm, what will I have? Everything looks so good but I really want a panani. Honey (thankfully to his wife, not me), I really want a panani."

David Thought Bubble: Don't we all. But really, this is too much...

Kindly Woman: "Oh, I know, the panani looks so good. That's what I'm having too."

David Thought Bubble: No one will ever believe this!

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I'm really not immature, I swear. This exchange was hilarious but out of respect for my regular, I kept my trademark snarky comments to myself and neglected to correct their pronunciation.

After my first entry on the panini/panani problem, one of my high school friends who also possesses far greater culinary knowledge than me shared a bit of cultural knowledge that I am happy now to pass along, quoting at length. I sincerely appreciate the info and hope you enjoy it as well:

"Panini is the plural Italian word for sandwich (panino usually refers to a small sandwich) and another reason to get annoyed... is when Americans add an "s" to the end of an Italian word ending in an "I" (Paninis, salamis, pepperonis, spaghettis)."

Thanks, S! If anyone ever has something to share, please let me know in the comments or by e-mail.

Fun with Lunch-Time Conniption Fits

Find a line cook that likes a slow day and I'll show you a liar. Sometimes. When your day is filled with buffalo chicken moments, the occasional slow day is just what the doctor ordered and that is exactly what I have experienced this week. Our cafe is driven by two influences: weather and Prince's early work before he changed his name. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating the influence of Prince. Remains to be seen. But when it rains like today and Tuesday, the cafe gets quiet. So this has been a thankfully peaceful week. And what better time than one characterized by calm than to recall one of my most outrageous customer blow-ups?

You may remember, dear readers, that display plates often find themselves at the center of gastronomical gaffes. I sometimes feel like the plate police, trying in vain to protect the food from theft or the aesthetics from ruin. I thought about getting a badge and a whistle.

During the winter slow period, a middle-aged man came to the cafe with his young son who was big enough to talk but small enough to sit comfortably on his father's shoulders. And this young boy was clearly daring, interested in exploring food not listed on the children's menu. Kudos to the lad and his father for encouraging adventurous eating. But the pressure of satisfying the child's appetites must must have been too much and I was the unwitting fool that provoked the father's wrath.

The cafe was empty one hour into our shortened lunch service. After surveying the menus, the father reached for the display plate and removed it from the folded soup cup lid that kept it at an angle. My first thought: Damn it! Another display plate caper! We can't keep losing these things! I did my best Carl Lewis impression, bounding over to the plate and firmly requested "Sir, please put the display plate back on the counter." And this is what transpired in raised voices:

Irrationally Angry Papa Bear (IAPB for short): You know what, David, it's not a big deal! What's the problem?

David: Sir, I simply would like you to replace the display plate. We ask that customers do not move it.

IAPB: You know, David, you have a lot of rules! A lot of rules! What exactly are you trying to protect?!


David: Well, I'm trying to protect my plate, sir.

IAPB now shouting: A lot of rules, David! He's five years old. How would you suggest he see the plate?

David: Might I suggest picking him up instead of the plate?

IAPB: BLLLAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH (and then his head spontaneously combusted, ruining my display plate after all)!


Okay, the last part didn't happen and it's a good thing too. I really didn't want to waste my time and product making another display plate.

Your Food is Cold? Your Own Damn Fault!

Taking a single step before the next is a perfectly reasonable strategy in many facets of life. It works well with walking, that's for sure. Fixing a car and following recipes... great idea. But ordering food step-by-step is not only a recipe for receiving a cold meal, it might also attract a violent reaction from your barista or, in my case, line cook. Let me explain.

Contrary to popular myth (and all of you customer and food service pros can back me up in the comments section), the people that serve your food are not idiots. Their brain capacities exceed that of gnats. Many of them can even spell gnat without looking it up in a dictionary. In fact, it is not an exaggeration to say that cooks and waitstaff (but not banquet staff - whole different thing there) possess a very special kind of genius that civilians simply don't understand. A mental capacity for retaining strings of information delivered under sometimes grueling (pun intended) circumstances and translating that information into a hot meal to be enjoyed by all. The only thing that can get in your cook's or server's way is a customer that simply cannot keep up with the pace or, even worse, insists on ordering food item by item by item ad nauseum. I am not exaggerating when I say that item-by-item customers fill me with a fury that boils as hot as the water in my steam trays. We're talking cartoon steam coming out of my ears.

Why is this a problem? Let's start with my top three reasons:

1. Just like a car doesn't like going from 60 mph to 25 mph, neither does a line cook who actually takes pride in working at a breakneck pace. Grinding to a halt to take and prepare an order is physically uncomfortable.

2. It makes your food cold. Now this bothers me for two reasons. First, I actually care about the product that I send out. All cooks do - in spite of everything, we are prideful people and our food matters. The more significant reason, however, is that customers often complain to managers about cold food, even when they caused the temporal drop. There is nothing quite so punishing as being held responsible for an item-by-item customer's shortcomings.

3. Many customers order item-by-item because they presume that's the most I can handle. That presumption is insulting. Offer the benefit of the doubt that the line cook or server can keep up and, if proven otherwise, hold the person accountable. But do not act like I need a sock puppet show to understand something as simple as an order that I have probably heard before.

This experience is pretty common. My inspiration for the entry on my last night off before the new work week came during a visit to Dunkin' Donuts on my way home from the City. I stood behind a young man, probably a local college student, who waited about four minutes to receive a nice hot order of hash brown bites (they are delicious). The line attendant walked to the register only to receive a follow-up order for hot chocolate and, I kid you not, I could see in her eyes the desire to leap across the counter and shred the customer like a carrot. Funny, I felt the same thing. I didn't want to wait to order my hash browns!

Getting Sudsy! Volutneering at the Great World Beer Fest 2010

I mentioned at the end of the week that I am proud to be participating in the 2010 Food Network's New York City Wine and Food Festival. Following that theme, I found out today that I will be working one shift at the 8th Annual Great World Beer Fest this Friday between 8 PM and Midnight.

This looks like a very fun event. I found it through a new connection on Twitter (you can find me there too with a little work) and immediate contacted the organizer about participating. Last year, they brought in over 15,000 beer enthusiasts over two days, serving samples from the United States, Canada and all over South America. This is my first beer festival in New York City, so I don't know what to expect. But I will certainly write about it Friday night or Saturday morning. Until then, keep it in mind if you are a fan of hops and barley. Their website is still in progress but it has a lot of the pertinent info.

http://www.brewtopiafest.com/

Food Bank of NYC and the 2010 Wine and Food Festival

More than just my (hopefully) humorous rants about life in the food and customer service industries, I hope to use this blog to promote special events, people or organizations that enrich our community. When I moved to New York in 2009, I started volunteering at special events as a way to meet new people, learn about the city and network. The first such event was the Food Network New York City Wine and Food Festival and I am thrilled to be volunteering again this year, this time helping coordinate set-up for the Grand Tasting. For more information about everything they have to offer, a true foodie's dream weekend, check out their website below:

http://www.nycwineandfoodfestival.com/2010/

Part of what makes this event so special is the exposure, donations and funding that are channeled to the Food Bank of New York City. I have volunteered for two of their events (the Wine and Food Festival and the NYC Marathon) and can honestly say that everyone who works for this organization is a winner. They genuinely appreciate everyone who comes out to support their fundraising efforts. So, please take a look at their website and think about whether or not you might like to support them.

http://www.foodbanknyc.org/

If you are a reader of this blog and would like to share any experiences you have had participating in this event or volunteering for the Food Bank, let us know in the comment section.

This Week's Top Ten Most Head-Shaking Buffalo Chicken Moments

My work week is over and it's time for me to share my top ten most ridiculous, frustrating, or otherwise head-shaking comments (with a little bit of context when needed).

Number 10: "Wow, that chicken looks amazing" (looking at the display plate of our breaded veal entree, clearly labeled on the menu).

Number 9: A customer returns to the line to share a compliment after finishing his meal.  He says "That veal entree was the best tasting chicken I've ever had."

Number 8: A rather unpleasant man ordered a cup of soup and requested a plastic soup spoon so I sent him to our cashier. He returns and exclaims, "I have been coming here for over 15 years and always eat my soup with a plastic soup spoon. I am very disappointed!" My thought bubble: 15 years? Time to try speed dating.

Number 7: Courtesy of Toots, my disturbing stalker… I mean regular "Oh, I would love the entree but without the starch. I'm watching my figure and it makes me a little gassy."

Number 6: Customer to a friend "Hey look, they have pananis! Can you tell me what the daily panani is?"

Number 5: This one happens a lot but is not necessarily worthy of a full blog post. Whenever a customer orders a panini, I ask if s/he would like chips OR side salad. The frequent response, that happened four times today, is "Yes!"

Number 4: A customer asks for a freshly prepared salad from our salad bar. Here is what she requested with a helpful translation "Some of that mixed green stuff (mesclun mix), and some of the orange shreds (carrot), some mushrooms (they really were mushrooms, so kudos!), some of those nuts (actually chick peas or garbanzo beans - your choice), and the brown stuff (balsamic vinaigrette).

Number 3: In a nice change, the customer appeared to read the menu. She turned to me and asked "How do they cook the sauté vegetables?" My snarky response "Very carefully."

Number 2: Customer trying to make small talk says to me "You must love interacting with so many people!" My thought bubble: HAHAAAHAAAHAAA! I laugh so I won't cry.

Number 1: Customer asks another customer what she ordered. Her response "I ordered the quesadiller… I mean quesadill… I ordered the quesadillio."

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Yes, dear readers… a quesadillio. And no, dear readers, my customer was not P-Diddy. She was an older white woman who be the feature player in a future entry on the all too frequent mispronunciation of quesadilla. But for another day. Until then, have a wonderful weekend and please write in if you would like to share any similar experiences.

Take Off the Blinders... A World of Trays Awaits!

Cue creepy horror flick music

An unsettling phenomenon is sweeping through the cafe. Like a disease with multiple hosts, it travels on tour buses and in cars, through the MTA and Metro North. It may not be Bubonic but it is a plague… on my patience. Yes, I'm writing about patron tunnel vision.

Patron tunnel vision refers to the inability of some guests, possibly a bit overwhelmed by the menu, our charming decor, that handsome fella standing behind the line, to survey their environment and use that information to their advantage. Okay, I know I'm overwriting but hang with me.

We all know that ordering food takes more than skilled chefs and an appetite. In a cafe setting, it requires silverware, trays, cups, straws, a cashier… you get the idea. And every cafe worth its salt is organized with ease of dining in mind. For example, before a customer can reach my line, s/he must walk past a rack with trays and silverware, a soda fountain, cold beverage cooler, and a display with sandwiches and desserts. So why do I have so many customers make it to the line without any of these essentials? Immediately in front of the entrance are two checkout lines with POS system, desserts, and salty treats. So why do I have so many customers offer me money for their food?

This is a clear case of tunnel vision (the inability to see beyond the center field of vision). Sidebar: I remember the first time I wore contact lenses, the thrill of having sharp peripheral vision again, or maybe for the first time. I don't know why anyone would ever give up their peripherals - they're a gift and oh so useful when purchasing multiple food items.

So how does this play out? Here are a couple examples of a tunnel vision situation and my often snarky reaction.

Scenario 1: The Food Offering

Today, a single patron silently placed his sandwich, beverage and side salad on the counter at the back end of my line. He seemed so earnest in expecting me to ring him up but the question remained… with what? My response: "No thank you, sir. I'm not hungry quite yet. But if you would like to purchase these items, I recommend visiting the cashier."

Scenario 2: The Money Offering

A couple days ago, two separate customers offered me payment for their food. The first asked, "Can I give you money for this?" My response, "You can but you would still have to pay the cashier behind you."

The second customer spoke not a single word, instead waving a $20 in my direction. Already frustrated, I pointed to the cashier with the thought bubble "Wow, $20 and I didn't even have to climb the pole."

Scenario 3: The Cantankerous Tray-less Wonder

The cantankerous tray-less wonder is usually an elderly patron or an adult leading a group of children, someone who orders more food than can reasonably be carried in two hands, and has a tendency to make ridiculous demands based on ridiculous expectations. For example, this patron expects that I have a stash of trays hiding underneath my line, which might be a good idea if I want to corner the market and charge people per tray, but something tells me I would soon move from cafe line to unemployment line.

This charming individual can't request a tray without either snarling like a junkyard dog or whimpering like a neglected puppy. How many times have customers barked at me "I want a tray! You don't have any trays! Where are the trays?!" Again, I only ever point them in the right direction. But my favorite was last week when an overwhelmed customer exclaimed in a most passive aggressive way, "Well, I think I'll have to take multiple trips because I can't find any trays anywhere. it's really unfortunate but I'll make it work. My response, " Try right behind you."

Searching for New Food Blogs

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Do you know of an interesting food, wine or drink blog that you think I might like? Send me a comment so I can add it to my blog feed. Thanks!


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It's the Display, Dummy!

We all know the expression "A picture is worth a thousand words." Well, in the food business, a display plate might be worth a 50 covers during a slow to medium lunch service. The concept behind the display plate is simple: allowing the patrons to feast their eyes on one of the daily specials, entree or appetizer, will increase sales and enthusiasm. Not only does it work, but it's fun to get creative with the plate in the morning before service. Any professional cook will confirm the importance of aesthetics and the fun that can be had with plating.

But what happens when those display plates look a little too appetizing?

Yesterday, I witnessed two of the most common answers to that question… either the food on the plate disappears or the plate itself starts to (or does) disappear entirely.

I'm not sure what goes through the heads of these customers. Here's

Scenario Number 1: The Disappearing Food Act.

We're in our slow season but the lunch rush between 12-2 can be busy enough that I might have 6-12 people on line at any given time and I can't pay close attention to all of them at once. Helping the first three customers on line, I noticed out of the corner of my eye an older gentleman with two companions eye the display plate for our entree that included two pieces of mushroom flan. Enticed by the three-hour old food, the man removed one of the pieces of flan from the plate and motioned toward his mouth. Catching him in the act, I moved down the line and requested that he not eat food from the display plate. His response? Put the flan in his mouth and tell me "Too late." Adding insult to injury (the plate, not me of course), he didn't even show the courtesy to finish chewing before he spoke!

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Scenario Number 2: The Disappearing Plate Act

As if watching patrons take cold food off the plate and munch to their heart's content isn't bad enough, sometimes I look out at the counter and see that the entire plate (or bowl) is gone. This happens more frequently than I care to admit - we must have lost a dozen ceramic bowls during the holiday season to patrons overcome with desire for our winter cobbler. But yesterday, the act was disrupted and my exchange with the customer went like this:

David (watching a customer remove the display plate from the counter: Excuse me, ma'am, can you please set the plate down?

Customer: Is this one mine?

David: Well, you haven't ordered anything yet, so no, it isn't. Would you like the entree?

Customer: I want a cup of soup. But I'll take this instead.

David: That's a display plate. I'll prepare a hot entree for you in just a moment.

Customer: Can I have this plate? It's very pretty.

David Thought Bubble: Where did I go wrong in life?

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Most days, I just shake my head, roll my eyes and move on to the next person. But this time, I took a bit of pride in making such a beautiful display plate. Go David!

Welcome Cafe Regulars

I'll put it out there - I love this blog and look forward to writing every entry. I am very pleased to begin inviting some of my regular customers (you will never find them as a buffalo chicken subject) to see how I walk the line behind the scenes. It's my day-to-day interactions with people like them that make the more frustrating moments a bit easier. So, to all of my regular customers who take the time to read this blog, welcome! I would be honored to see you all as regular followers or just see a few words in the comments section.

Cougar Cafe, Or, Why I Will Never Flirt with a Waitress Ever Again

Hello, my name is David and I'm a recovering server flirter. I was notorious in my day, no cute waitress was safe from receiving a hearty portion of my supposed charm. A couple times in college and grad school, I deftly wrote my name and number on the check, always a bit surprised when no call came. But no worries, I'm sure it had nothing to do with me.

Actually, it had everything to do with me and how completely irrelevant I was to the cute waitress. I understand that now. I also understand just how creepy the flirtation can be and will never be so rude as to burden a waitress or hostess with my banter. Yes, I am paying my penance at what has become the Cougar Cafe. And, no, readers… I do not want any of these cougars to bite.

What started as an isolated incident or two has become a regular occurrence on the line. One, two or three women between the ages of 50-75 (yes, 75 seems an accurate guess) come into the cafe, place their orders, and try mercilessly to flirt with me. I get it - I'm a stud. And please understand, I have no problem with older women in general. The day Jody Foster walks into the cafe and asks for my number (unlikely for so many reasons), I will be all over it. But with these customers in these circumstances, it's a little bit gross.

Ignore for the moment my feelings of helplessness, knowing that a negative response might undermine my commitment to providing good customer service and a pleasant dining experience. The feeling of dirtiness that someone is objectifying me, which honestly, I wouldn't mind if it came from some of my younger more appealing patrons. Part of what makes this so unnerving is just how bad these women are at flirting. Take, for example, my most regular stalker… I mean patron. I call her Toots.

Toots a middle aged woman of slender build who frequents the cafe sometimes as often as four days per week when I have shifts. She does not dine with us on Sundays, my day off. In addition to the usual batting of eye lashes, inappropriate comments about my eyes, smile or physique, and her desperate attempts to interpret our menu as one designed only with her in mind, Toots has the unfortunate habit of telling me just which foods wreak havoc on her bowel. In her more flirty voice and smile of course.

No joke, these exchanges are downright nasty.

You will hear more about Toots in what will be a sadly regular feature called The Toots Chronicles. Until then, here are a couple of the most memorable pickup lines delivered by some of my most seasoned patrons.

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David: Would you like anything else?
Customer: How about your phone number, sweetie?
David: Anything else on our menu, perhaps?

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David: Hi, what can I get for you today?
Customer: Well, dear, is there anything on the menu as delicious as you?
David: Try the chili.

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David: Two small cups of the mediterranean vegetable soup. Anything else today?
Customer: You know, you have very beautiful eyes. Do you have a girlfriend?
David: Some crackers, perhaps? Maybe a half sandwich?

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Customer: You know, you are so cute I could just eat you up.
David: I think your entree will be sufficient, ma'am.