My all time new favorite thing is when people call to make a reservation and then tell me what’s available.

Hi. I’d like to make a reservation for Wednesday night. You have a 7:15 available according to Resy.

So if you know what’s available, why didn’t you just make it online. It would have saved us all time.

Or.

Hi. I’d like to make a reservation for Wednesday. For 8 people. Perhaps you could put us in one of the private rooms.

Yes I could.

And I will.

Because it’s the only place 8 people will fit. If you want to sit together.

I do appreciate that people want to come eat with us. It’s just funny being on the phone with people sometimes.

PS. On the opposite side of things. I love when people tell me what bar stool they prefer.

One side looks at the kitchen.

The other TV’s.

It’s so much easier to organize before the night starts. Instead of in the middle of a busy shift.

Kristen likes seats 9 and 10.

The Smith’s like 13 and 14.

The Jones’s don’t care as long as the face the kitchen.

Perhaps there is no making me happy.

We were quiet tonight.

Never slow. I’ve always believed that the word slow breeds complacency. Always quiet.

We were quiet.

Two restaurants in town reopened for the season.

It was chilly today, but the sun certainly indicated spring is on the way.

And many people were invested in the final four.

So because of the quiet, I took a few minutes before the second turn to look through next week’s reservations.

Two stood out.

The first a man who’d made a reservation for his wife’s birthday.

No big deal.

Except he insisted we call him to discuss what we do for special events.

I’m not sure what he’s expecting. We offer dessert. And a candle.

A birthday is not a special event. Especially for two people.

The second request was more interesting.

Woman left the following note:

Carnivore way of eating. Animal products only. No sugar, no sauces, no plants. Limited spices “ok” but just salt is perfect. Thank you. I am hoping to be able to order ala carte, animal products only. Let’s be honest, I am coming for the BEEF! We are looking forward to it!

Hmmmm.

I love meat!

A lot.

But I can’t imagine how unhealthy a completely meat centric diet would be.

My gout would explode.

My cholesterol would sore.

Can’t imagine how my stomach would react.

Tune in on Wednesday when I report back in.

Meanwhile.

I’m glad tomorrow is my Friday.

Ready for some R & R.

Every night I try to make it to the lobby to say goodbye to our guests and ask them how their dinner was.

First table tonight, sought me out. They wanted me to know it was the best filet they’d ever eaten.

I assured them I’d let the chef know.

We continued chatting and I shared that chef always recommend medium rare but even his mom gets well done.

She exclaims! Me too. That’s how I got mine tonight. I only eat it well done.

I laughed and told her I’d share that with him as well

They were so gracious and kind and appreciative of us.

It always makes me happy.

The second table of note I asked how they enjoyed their dinner. They said, do you even have to ask?

Lots of people respond this way.

And I say, I appreciate their sentiment but I still have to ask.

They then ask if anyone ever says they didn’t enjoy their meal.

I explain that yes, once in a while someone doesn’t enjoy their dinner.

He replies. That’s because they don’t know what fucking good food is supposed to taste like. They have a McDonald’s palette and don’t know any better.

We finish our conversation and they leave.

One of my hosts looks at me and says you should write that down so you can share about it tonight.

And I did.

And now I have.

5:00/5:15/5:30 reservations will always show up early.

Always.

However!

The last reservations of the night will always come at best on time.

But.

Usually they come late.

Tonight’s last reservation was for 7:45. They arrived a few minutes before 8:00.

Additional fun fact.

It’s NEVER the last table that sits for an hour after close.

It’s the one who sits well before close.

This was true also tonight.

This is your quarterly reminder that the man who yelled at me and then told anyone who would listen, including the chef, our survey system and two social media sites that he was never coming back was in yet again.

He pretended not to know me.

I pretended that he wasn’t an ass

He ate, then snuck out the back so he wouldn’t have to ignore mow on his way out.

I’ll see him again in June.

The phone rings on Sunday night.

It’s a man asking to make a reservation in July.

I explain that we only book out 60 days and that he would be able to book online in May.

But.

But.

But.

But I’m in Shawnee, Kansas and I’m coming to Maine just to eat at your restaurant.

I thank him for the compliment, and explain that I can’t over ride the system. He’ll have to wait till May.

But.

But.

But.

I assure him if he calls back in May he’ll have no problem getting a reservation.

He asks if I’m sure.

I assure him he’ll be fine.

He thanks me and hangs up.

I wish we filled up that fast.

Lots of people coming in to the restaurant at the end of the night tonight.

We sat 4 tables at 7:45.

All should have been well. No issues. Just a normal night.

Until 8:30 when a server approaches the table that chef and I are seated at. He has in his hand a half eaten pork chop.

He explains that table 12 is insisting we served her chicken instead of pork. She says it looks like chicken. It tastes like chicken.

We all look at the plate.

It’s definitely a pork chop.

The server shows the sous chef in the kitchen. He confirms. It’s a pork chop.

The chef asks what the guest wants to do. The server has given her a menu to choose a new item.

But.

As I’ve said before.

There is no fire.

We might have enough to cook a skirt steak. But definitely nothing bigger.

I go to the table and explain that it is indeed a pork chop. We can only offer her a salad or a skirt steak, giving her my speech about end of night fire.

She declined to order anything else.

I apologized about the confusion, hoping she would change her mind.

But alas.

She did not.

She didn’t seem upset.

But I like when people leave happy. When I can turn things around.

Ugh.

Sunday night around 6:30 the phone rings.

A woman asks if there’s room at the bar around 7:30 for 2 people. She also asks if they can sit on the kitchen side so they can see the basketball game.

It’s a couple who moved to the area last fall. They come in about every 10 days or so. They’ve been out of town.

When they arrive she’s very grateful that we have room, but the game they wanted to watch is already over. They wanted to know who’s be playing in the final four.

I ask who she was rooting for. She didn’t have a team but wanted to know who was playing Duke.

I ask her why.

She informs me that Duke is her team. At which point I explain we can’t be friends anymore and that we’ll be booked the next time she calls for a reservation. She is now dead to me.

I did say all if that.

She laughs and asks why.

1992. Duke vs UK.

The shot heard round the world.

She laughs and tells me that she understands.

She then tells me that she worked at a children’s cancer center in North Carolina and that CL would make regular appearances there to cheer up the kids.

I share my experience that day bartending. O’Charley’s Nicholasville Road. Packed. Shoulder to shoulder.

The shot happens. The game is over. The bar is empty in 90 seconds.

I get them seated.

We laugh more about the rivalry in their way out.

But I’m still not sure we can be friends.

Yesterday I got to work at 1:00 as always. Hit play on the answering machine. 3 messages.

One was a cancellation.

One was a reservation for next weekend.

One was a man asking if we had menus without prices available. He was celebrating an occasion and wanted the table to order with caring what things cost.

I returned the first two calls. Then waited to speak with chef before calling call three back.

He’d created a menu without prices over Xmas for a woman treating her daughters boyfriends family to dinner.

Chef assured me he had it on his computer.

I call the man back.

We chat for about 90 seconds. He’s happy about the menus. He wants to make sure he gets the check. And he wants three desserts brought out when it’s time for dessert.

I take the notes. Tell him we’ll take care of it.

I think nothing else about it.

At 4:00 I get around to checking reservation notes.

His reservation is for his mom’s 72nd birthday.

At 5:30 they arrive. He is an early fortyish professional type. He comes in first and hands me his credit card. His parents arrive next. They remind me of my parents. His mom did all the talking. His dad is quiet. His mom tells me how excited she is. Her son has told her he’s taking her to a very special dinner at a steakhouse. She’s very sweet. And a little country. Definitely rural. Out of their element.

We get them seated.

Every thing goes off without a hitch.

They have a great time.

On their way out the parents go to the restroom. The son is so appreciative and thankful. He says they didn’t even notice there were no prices. They had a great time.

He also shares that his parents are visiting from Virginia. And he just moved here from Washington DC. He lives in Portland in one of the new apartment buildings downtown.

He goes off to the restroom.

His dad sits quietly.

His mom shared that they are visiting from Virginia. They’ve come up to stay ay his apartment to care for his dog while he goes on vacation. He just moved to Portland. You can see she is proud of her son. She tells me how much she enjoyed dinner.

They leave with more thanks.

I wish her happy birthday.

I feel like I had just watched me and my family have dinner out. 20 years ago.

I was moved by how much this man cared for his parents.

It was one of the sweet moments that I get to witness.

I pick up the phone tonight.

Hello. Thank you for calling. How may I help you.

Yes. I can’t find your menu on line. Do you serve sushi?

Did I hear what I think I heard?

I tell her I missed what she said so she’d repeat herself.

Do you serve sushi?

Uhhh. No. We don’t serve sushi.

Okay!

Click.