Stick With The Menu

One quick announcement:  Whereas I thought i'd be posting the second of my two weekly blogs on Thursdays, I think I'm going to do it on Friday afternoons.  I feel it might be a good way for me to mentally prepare myself for a long weekend at "The Joint", the fictional name I'll use for the restaurant at which I'm currently employed (I really should keep 'the place" anonymous for obvious reasons).

So last Saturday was pretty busy; we had a relatively new server and a brand spankin' new bus girl.  Around eight o'clock I seat and proceed to take a table of four, two couples.  Three of the four of them saw that it was busy,  and had their orders pretty much ready to go a few minutes after I opened their wine.  The last gentleman to order opens his menu, glances at it for a minute, and says, "I don't really eat any of this stuff, I wonder what the chef will make me."  There are almost forty items on our menu; every thing from steaks to ribs to seafood and salad.  Vegetarian options, healthily grilled items.  There are endless choices.  After four minutes of my six other tables staring me down we decided on grilled salmon with sauteed mushrooms and some vegetables.  

Shortly after their food arrives I approach their table for a quality check.  The three that had ordered from the menu complimented me on the suggestions I'd made for them and raved about their entrees.  The fourth gentleman promptly and rudely begins to complain about the portion size of his salmon, calling it "an insult," and "a disgrace."  Now we serve an eight ounce fillet of salmon, same as every other restaurant at which I've worked, and some of those places charged ten dollars more for that same portion.  So our price for the dish is by no means exorbitant.  I offered him any side dish he would like, complimentary, in an attempt to appease the situation, but he just loudly remarked how he would've liked some more salmon, and not only would he not return, but he would also tell EVERY ONE of his many friends.  The other couple looked mortified, his wife slapped his arm and told him to stop, and I quietly politely excused myself and left him alone for the rest of the meal.  He at least seemed to appreciate that move because he did tip 20% in the end.

I use this example of the gentleman who ordered something off the menu on a busy night- and then had the gall to complain about what he got, to illustrate a simple dining point:  Order something from the menu.  Ninety percent of the time, the chef is not back there on the line, catering to guest requests.  The cooks that actually do prepare the food are trained to execute the items on the menu, so special orders are usually confusing and not made well.  Dietary restrictions can usually be easily attended to- just go with something the server recommends for vegetarians, gluten allergies, etc.  He or she has served these items to those people in the past, and must have gotten a good response to be recommending them again. Items are on a restaurant menu because those are the things that the restaurant has practiced and does well.  Why not order one?

Well maybe tonight is the night I make a million dollars.  Until next time, 20% is always accepted.