In the eight years since I began this column, many of you have taken the time to share some of your experiences with me. Others have written to tell me that I haven't got a clue about my subject matter.
One of my favourites arrived after I had questioned (rhetorically) how a Mexican restaurant could be out of avocados. If I only knew what had happened that day, the writer said. A member of the kitchen staff had gone to the store to buy a box of avocados, but on the way back, he was hit by a cement truck. It gets better. As he could no longer walk, he began to crawl in the direction of the restaurant, pushing the box along the pavement. Before long, he was attacked by a gang of thugs who beat him up and stole the avocados. When he was in the hospital, someone showed him my column. He instantly lost the ability to speak, and the prognosis, we were advised, was not good. The entire staff was bereft and broken, he said, closing the letter by saying I should be fired and that he had no affiliation whatsoever with the restaurant, before signing his name above the phone number and address of the same.
A lot of you write to say that being a restaurant critic is your dream job. It certainly is a unique way to earn a living, but it changes you. I cannot avoid analyzing what I am eating. I have rated the ambience in a moment, and I can usually predict what the service will be like based on my first interaction with whoever is assigned to my table.
Fortunately, there are a few spots I go to with my closest friends and always have a pleasant evening. At least, almost always.
Last month, two friends and I were having a celebratory dinner at a small restaurant in Oak Bay.
Shortly after our appetizers arrived, three people were seated next to us. They were an animated, happy group and we exchanged a few pleasantries. They ordered drinks and discussed various things on the menu.
Everything was going well until about half an hour later when I looked up to see a woman charging across the street.
As she swept into the dining room, she simultaneously sucked the life force out of it. She thrust her coat at the waiter and joined the table next to us, launching directly into a litany of complaints about everything under the sun before she was in her chair.
Angered to find they had ordered without her, she spat an order at the waiter without bothering to look up. When the appetizers arrived, she actually complained that hers didn't arrive first. Her mood had not improved by the next course. She screeched at the waiter that it didn't take that long to cook lamb, and in a remarkable display of selfrestraint, he made a quick observation about physics instead of tipping his tray over her head. When her food arrived, she began eating before he could put down the last dish, displaying all the grace of a wild animal. This experience left such an impression that I decided on the threshold of my ninth year in the job that I wanted to write something for the men and women who take on the difficult role of server.
I deliberately play the part of high-maintenance customer for this column, but that doesn't extend to being rude to the people who are serving me. I will ask what the specials are if you don't tell me. I will ask what is in a sauce or what spices are used in the "Asian blend." I expect the server to know, but if they don't, it doesn't mean they deserve to be treated with contempt.
The person who hands you a menu is a real person. They have sick kids, elderly parents that need care they cannot provide, car problems they can't afford to fix and dreams just like you do. It's not funny to ask them to smile. Would you do that to your hairdresser?
It is not OK to snap your fingers at a server, or wave them away when you are done. Don't speak to the person serving you without making eye contact. It astonishes me how many times I see people doing this, particularly in high-end venues. If you think I am exaggerating, watch the next time you are out.
If you're in a bad mood, pick something up from a deli and go home. If you're travelling, don't complain that the prices are too high. If you're visiting Victoria, don't ask if the prices are in American, or for directions to the bridge back to the mainland, or if our flag comes in different colours because it would look so nice in your rec room back home - all questions that people who work downtown have dealt with.
If you make a reservation, be on time. There are two people in my life that I will not make plans to eat out with, because they are always late. Worse still are the people who show up half an hour late and then make a scene because their table wasn't held.
Don't make unreasonable requests. If you want to pretend you're in Italy and drink your wine from a straight glass, that's the sort of thing the server can help you with. But if you want to change the fried shallots on your dish to green onions, change the salmon to halibut and have colcannon instead of the jasmine rice, don't get upset if they cannot help you. It's not their call.
If you have a complaint, don't leave without trying to resolve it unless you are prepared to forget about it.
Discuss it with your server. If your complaint is with the server, talk to the manager.
If your complaint is with the manager, talk to the owner.
Most people want to put things right, but if you don't give them the chance, they can't.
Just don't stop writing to me. I am still waiting to hear if that guy got his voice back.
