Thursday, June 01, 2006

The 'Good' table

There is an air of excitement and anticipation when you walk into a new restaurant and follow the well dressed host past dining tables to your home for the next hour or two. We look around. We wonder; where are we heading? What will our view be like? Who will our server be? Who will we be sitting by? Are there kids around? Is the crowd old or young? Does the food look good? Are people happy? Is it loud, dark, quiet, bright, stuffy, cozy, cold, warm? Does it smell good? Do the people smell good? What is that smell?

And before all these questions can be answered: you're seated right by the door, to feel the breeze when all the other patrons file into the restaurant. Your server is the goofy guy who was hitting on the hostess when you walked in and that smell is the shmarmy manager's cheap cologne, which you are destined to smell over the aroma of your perfectly grilled steak and well balanced Pinot Noir companion.

We have all heard stories of the Maitre'd being handed benjamins by the rich and affluent to be seated in the "best table." They are either wisked off to a private corner with a view of unicorns prancing in a summer sunset to cuddle with their special someone of the night, or to the most center table so the that all the other diners can hear the ins and outs of investment banking and favorite trendy vodka drinks from six young, well-to-do beautiful people who can afford anything on the winelist, but can't decipher between lamb, beef or veal.

Am I bitter? You bet your ass and Gucci bag.

Being a young, relatively broke cook doesn't not allow for frivolous spending on fancy suits and $100 haircuts. My dining companion and I dress sharp, but not flashy and we are very knowedgeable about food and service. So why the bad tables and second rate service? It's the money.

"I can smell the money," the old, bitter, gay waiter once told me. He takes a look at the shoes and knows where to seat the couple. He can tell how much money they have, and how much taste they have. Unfortunetly for the the rest of us, there is no way to fake it.

A couple of my worst experiences have been in San Francisco. Recently, we dined at Kokkari, a decent Greek restaurant in the financial district. We had a reservation but we were running a few minutes late. We called 20 minutes before our reservation to alert them to our tardiness and arrived five minutes late. We were greeted with a smile and led to a table directly accross from the door. Being in SF, it was quite a cold breeze every two minutes or so. My view was of the hostess and manager chatting at the stand and playing with the computer. I saw walk-in guests being led into the main dining room to private tables.

Another bad experience was at Jack Fallstaff in SoMa. We entered an empty dining room and were led to a far back table, directly next to a curtain leading to the kitchen. I could hear the clatter of pans and kitchen spanish being butchered from my table.

My best seating was as Bouchon in Yountville, Thomas Keller's bistro. For one, all the tables are decent. There are no "in the line of fire" tables by the service door and the closest tables to the door are small cocktail tables for bar service. This can be attributed to Keller's obsession with perfection. I have no doubt the lack of breezy tables is not an accident.

One tatic that some restaurants employ is to reserve the less-than-desirable tables for walk-ins. Such is the practice at Fork in San Anselmo (Marin). The margins in the business are so low that restaurants simply can't afford to turn people away. But you don't want to stick a patron with plans with a view of handbags and belts. Thus is the compromise. One cannot not be overly dissapointed to get a table in a sold out restaurant. Being pickey after an impulse drop-in is not fair.

The fact of the matter is that things probably aren't going to change overnight. Hopefully, as the internet allows people to post their opinions and thoughts in plain view of the world, diners will be willing to share their experiences and restaurants will take note. We all deserve a decent table and should be treated like someone special. Yes, the large table in the middle will always be for the hot-about-towners, but the corners are all equal distant.

To eat, to cook, to write: About Me

If I was a dinosaur, I'd be a Foodasaurus! I am a chef in Portland, OR, by way of San Fransisco and Napa. I have worked in fine restaurants and resorts and would like to share my 'insiders' opinion on the food we eat and the service we receive.

I am not a critic, but a food writer. I would rather be the next Jeffrey Steingarden than the next Ducasse or Bauer. Food is the most basic of cultural color and can be discussed by anyone, anytime. I am not a 'foodie.' I find that nomenclature to be pretentious. Every human on the earth knows what tastes good, to them. I am anit-foodie. I don't want people to buy organic lettuce because it's 'hot,' or to dine out to 'be seen.' People should buy organic if they feel that it is more flavorful or support sustainable farming, not to keep up with the Jones at Whole Foods by buying the most expensive tomatoes. Dining out is to enjoy a meal, with or without company, and to leave satisifed. No feelings of wasted money or guilt should accompany of great meal. I look forward to sharing my experiences and thoughts with the world.