Tuesday

Waiter!

Though I’m currently out of the restaurant business, I am pretty sure I have not waited on my last table yet. I have always maintained that of all my jobs—waiter, teacher, salesman, account rep, development person at a museum—waiting is the one that came most naturally to me. It allowed me to combine my love of food and wine with my love of entertaining.

I was a very good waiter, in most areas; I had my weaknesses too.

What makes a good waiter?

A good waiter knows the menu inside and out. He knows the ingredients of a dish and can, if asked, help a customer plan a fine meal. He knows enough about wine to ask for help from appropriate managers, if needed, or make good recommendations based on table interaction.

A successful waiter will also up sell a little. Not a lot. Trying to move someone from a $28 bottle of wine to an $89 bottle of wine is not only difficult, but folly. But getting a table to add a $13 appetizer to their salads and entrees is relatively easy:

“The chef has a gift with scallops. Our scallop appetizer has two sweet, fat scallops, served with a crispy potato crust and a little smoked ham shank and wilted greens—a great southern-inspired dish. We could easily split these onto two plates for you. Would you care for an order?”

By making good suggestions, you show your knowledge and concern, and build a trust with your customers.

A good waiter can read a table. While not always correct—it certainly pays to keep an open mind and not be too judgmental—a good waiter does have this skill and almost innate sense of what a table expects in waiter interaction and food and wine choices. A good waiter anticipates diners' needs.

Timing. Pacing the meal. Keeping glasses and cups filled. Keeping guests moving without them feeling rushed.

Not saying too much (but being earnest and confident when you say it). Not using “waiter talk:” “A pleasure.” “But of course.” Waiter talk sounds so phony. In some ways, talking when spoken to, when asked a question. But definitely not bombarding your guests with your deep knowledge of food and drink.

Sidework. Not one of my strengths. But pitching in and doing the dirty work—polishing glasses and silverware, keeping the place neat and tidy.

The job itself is not all glamour. The timing—especially if you have a family—is awkward: you work when others (including your family, usually) don’t. A shift often starts at 4:00 PM but doesn't really get going until 7:00 PM.

While the money can be very good, occasionally intoxicating, waiters do not get benefits that many of us take for granted, like health insurance or paid vacations. Some waiters work for restaurants or restaurant groups that are large enough to offer them the opportunity to buy-in to a health plan. But taking time off to enjoy your family, who you often don’t see because of your schedule, can be painful and a real hit to the wallet.

In better restaurants, where the majority of tips are on credit cards, wait staff often pay a percentage of these back to the employer to cover the fees charged the restaurant. Since these tips are on paper, the wise waiter declares them to the IRS. He also makes quarterly estimated payments to the IRS, because, being paid $2-something per hour, he can’t cover his contributions to our nation’s government out of his paycheck. He’ll almost certainly owe quite a bit come April 15th.

Waiters love cash tips.

Waiters tip anywhere from 20-30% to their colleagues—bartenders who make their drinks, busboys who clear their tables and assist in the dining room, and hosts who seat their guests.

I generally went straight home after shifts. Many colleagues, with tips burning holes in pockets, blew off steam in bars. I was more prone to do this when younger, with fewer responsibilities. But falling into that lifestyle (of a sort) is a vocational danger.

I enjoyed interacting with the “back of the house.” I took a genuine interest in some of the more interesting cooks. As a result, they were more likely to offer me a couple of pints of duck fat for my own confit, or perhaps a dabble of demi-glace for my Christmas roast.

I was fortunate to work in restaurants that either had great reputations, offered a high earning potential, or both. Here in Pittsburgh, that included:

Chi-Chi’s (1982-1984)
The Carlton (1984)
The Park Schenley (1984-1985)
Le Petit Café (1985-1986; 1988-1989)
Café Giovanni (1990-1991)
Hotlicks (bartender) (1992-1993)

Here I finished my Master’s degree and departed to travel and teach in the Arabian Gulf for four years. Following that I entered the world of graphic design and advertising for six years. Then:

Eleven (2005-2007)
Café Zao (2005)
Pittsburgh Rare (2004-2005)

Chi-Chi’s had a very strict order of drilled service steps which actually stood me in good stead, and gave me a good foundation.

Thankfully, the Carlton was hiring based on personality, not experience. Though I had a lot to learn, and was ultimately released after about six months there, my experience there helped me stay at that level of fine-dining restaurant.

The Park Schenley, a Pittsburgh icon, was on its last, long legs by the time I arrived there. Very old school—tuxedo’d waiters, many with thick European accents; tableside food preparation—it was fascinating.

Dollar for dollar, the steak house at the Sheraton Hotel, Pittsburgh Rare, is where I made more money than any other restaurant. There was very little tip-out, and a captive audience of diners for a damn fine $30 steak. It wasn’t the most creative restaurant I worked in, but the manager liked me and darn if I wasn’t pulling in up to a grand a week—more at times. That goes a long way in Pittsburgh.
But Eleven remains the pinnacle. It’s a hugely ambitious undertaking. It’s very large but served consistently excellent modern American Cuisine.

I suppose the main drawback of service for me is, having had somewhat responsible positions in the community, and knowing lots of well-educated, connective movers and shakers, I always felt a little awkward seeing my peers in the restaurant while I was working, with me in a clearly servile position. I sense they feel—heck, I feel it myself—that I’ve taken a huge step back.

Still, there are better ways to make a living, but much worse ones too.

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