Restaurant Mistakes: Take it Or Leave It?
The Boyfriend formerly known as Kid-alicious and I were enjoying a celebratory meal at Kefi this week. The Upper West Side's gift to Greek is the scene of our first date, and many subsequent meals with family and friends. It's our place; important enough that he's pre-claimed it in exchange for letting me keep my dog, should a break-up occur.
TB had made it through his first weekend working for my favorite former boss, and she has been making pleasant small talk with him, so we were celebrating. We ordered some our favorite mezze: the crispy codfish with oven roasted tomatoes; the sweetbreads with lemon, spinach and caperberries; the taramasolata and warm pita, among others. Oh, yes.
In our ordering frenzy, we lost track of exactly what we asked for. So when a plate of meatballs landed on the table, instead of thinking, not ours, he picked up his fork and went to town. The Waitron arrived minutes later, waving her hands and saying, "Omigod! That wasn't yours! Omigod!" She ripped the plate from the table, and scurried away, like Chicken Little.
He made a little frown.
TB: "Well, at least I got to try one."
Me: "Were they good?"
TB: "Really good."
I let it go, for a second.
Me: "What do you think she did with them?"
TB: "You know what she did with them; she threw them in the garbage. She can't serve them."
Me: "Well she didn't have to throw them out."
I believe that mistakes like this are an opportunity to do something unexpectedly nice. If it's going in the trash anyway; why not just let us have them and avoid the awkwardness of taking food away?
When she returned to the table, I couldn't help myself.
Me: "Can I ask you something?"
WHAM! Something fast slammed into my shin.
Waitron: "Sure."
Me: "What happened to those meatballs that were on our table?"
Waitron: "Well, first the manager really yelled at me, and then, you know..."
I looked at her, full of inquiry. Then the table popped up; TB was now digging the heel of his shoe into my foot.
Waitron: "Then, um, I threw them in the trash."
Me: "Really? The trash?"
Waitron: "Yah. We can't serve them, and you didn't order them, so you know..."
Yeah, I know. I know that I'm here frequently enough that I get a hello-again smile when I walk through the door. I also know that you can't serve a half-eaten dish once you've already served it. But you can leave it where it is, tell the guests you made a mistake, and tell them it's on you.
This seems like a better option than feeding the mistake to a garbage bag.
Kefi
222 West 79th Street (Broadway)
Upper West Side
Manhattan, NY
(212) 873-0200.
NY Times Review
NY Magazine Review
TB had made it through his first weekend working for my favorite former boss, and she has been making pleasant small talk with him, so we were celebrating. We ordered some our favorite mezze: the crispy codfish with oven roasted tomatoes; the sweetbreads with lemon, spinach and caperberries; the taramasolata and warm pita, among others. Oh, yes.
In our ordering frenzy, we lost track of exactly what we asked for. So when a plate of meatballs landed on the table, instead of thinking, not ours, he picked up his fork and went to town. The Waitron arrived minutes later, waving her hands and saying, "Omigod! That wasn't yours! Omigod!" She ripped the plate from the table, and scurried away, like Chicken Little.
He made a little frown.
TB: "Well, at least I got to try one."
Me: "Were they good?"
TB: "Really good."
I let it go, for a second.
Me: "What do you think she did with them?"
TB: "You know what she did with them; she threw them in the garbage. She can't serve them."
Me: "Well she didn't have to throw them out."
I believe that mistakes like this are an opportunity to do something unexpectedly nice. If it's going in the trash anyway; why not just let us have them and avoid the awkwardness of taking food away?
When she returned to the table, I couldn't help myself.
Me: "Can I ask you something?"
WHAM! Something fast slammed into my shin.
Waitron: "Sure."
Me: "What happened to those meatballs that were on our table?"
Waitron: "Well, first the manager really yelled at me, and then, you know..."
I looked at her, full of inquiry. Then the table popped up; TB was now digging the heel of his shoe into my foot.
Waitron: "Then, um, I threw them in the trash."
Me: "Really? The trash?"
Waitron: "Yah. We can't serve them, and you didn't order them, so you know..."
Yeah, I know. I know that I'm here frequently enough that I get a hello-again smile when I walk through the door. I also know that you can't serve a half-eaten dish once you've already served it. But you can leave it where it is, tell the guests you made a mistake, and tell them it's on you.
This seems like a better option than feeding the mistake to a garbage bag.
Kefi
222 West 79th Street (Broadway)
Upper West Side
Manhattan, NY
(212) 873-0200.
NY Times Review
NY Magazine Review
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 1:54 PM
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