The Man Who Ate Everything - Jeffrey Steingarten [57]
After the main course, many waiters give up on the table. But not Philippe. “It’s far from being finished,” he says. “Every break is a new beginning. Never treat them like a dead table.” A good waiter can double the bill by selling desserts, coffee, and after-dinner drinks. And even after the doctor and his wife pay the bill, Philippe keeps going. “If they stay fifteen, thirty minutes after they pay, sometimes you can open another check. It happens every day.” They are not a dead table until they climb into a taxi.
When Philippe’s powerful psychological weapons fall into the hands of terrorists, the results can be cataclysmic. A week after Philippe’s talk, I had dinner at the Mansion on Turtle Creek in Dallas. Dean Fearing’s modern American cooking is wonderful, and I was looking forward to that unique Texas style of hospitality—it blends the graciousness of the Deep South with the openness and informality of the West. Instead, the service was one part somebody’s idea of Paris, France, and nine parts Al Capone. The captain bickered with my wife when she ordered an inexpensive pasta for her main course and finally bludgeoned her into submission. Then as the wine was poured I took an elbow to the nose because the waiter was too slothful to shift to my right side or shift the bottle to his left hand. (Never reach across a customer unless you have no choice, and then present the inner crook of your elbow, not the protruding joint.) Late in the meal, when it looked as though the staff had quit en masse and I tried to pour my own wine, the very same sloth galloped in from nowhere and wrenched the bottle from my hand.
The captain’s proudest moment came when the main courses arrived. Although our wineglasses were still more than half full, he hastily poured what was left of the very expensive bottle of red wine we had ordered at the start of the meal, sloshing some on the tablecloth, turned to me with a perfectly straight face, and asked, “Would you like a bottle of wine with your main course?” The Mansion is apparently one of those restaurants where waiters are rebuked if any glass in the room looks less than half full. If the captain had attended the New York Professional Service School, he would know that you never fill a glass more than half full and never refill it until the customer has only about two sips left. Most people who spend money on wine like to see how it develops in the glass; topping off a glass of champagne guarantees that only the first sip will be cold and fizzy.
I left the standard tip when I paid my check at the Mansion at Turtle Creek, though I can’t remember why. Maybe because the food was so good.
We learned countless ploys and gambits at waiter’s school. Customers love to hear the sound of their own names, we were told. Constantly reinforce the positive and distract from anything negative or embarrassing; when the kitchen runs out of a customer’s favorite dish, withhold the bad news until you have some good news to bring. Create an aura of comfort and confidence. People go to restaurants to feed their emotions, not their stomachs. (Some customers want to feel important, others to be entertained; some want the staff to take a personal interest in them, others want to be left alone. Find out precisely what each customer needs.) The previous semester, several students had tried an