Dining Features Article |
Great Expectations
Boston diners’ biggest complaint is bad service. But as restaurants evolve, so does our definition of what that means. In the end, it seems, good service is a matter of taste.
By Jane Black
A few months ago, my friend Amy and I stopped in for lunch at Eastern Standard, the deservedly popular brasserie at the Hotel Commonwealth. It had been ages since we’d seen each other and we were looking forward to a good catch up. After we’d set aside our menus, the waiter bounced up to the table.
“How are we today?” he asked eagerly.
We are just fine, I thought, catching Amy’s incredulous eye.
He crouched down next to us, leaning his pad on the table to take our order. Then he thought better of it.
“Scooch over,” he said, sliding into the banquette next to me. Now we were definitely not fine.
The food arrived hot. The courses were well-paced. And everything tasted great. But for me, this was well-intentioned but bad service. Since then, I’ve told the story to a dozen experienced diners. Half were horrified; the rest couldn’t understand why I had a problem.
Which, of course, is the problem. Gone are the days when formal etiquette—serve from the left, clear from the right—was set in stone. And diners can’t seem to agree on whether it’s polite to clear before everyone is finished (it’s not) or if it’s déclassé to mention the price of the specials (technically it is, but it’s awfully helpful when, say in truffle season, an entrée might top $40.) Today, especially at hip but casual bistros, good service has become a matter of taste.
Indeed, according to the latest Zagat survey, 76 percent of Boston diners cite bad service as the single most serious irritant when eating out. “The challenge is in engaging the diner at their level of expectation,” says Eastern Standard owner Garrett Harker, who faces the test of catering to an eclectic mix of hotel guests, foodies, and Red Sox fans. (He called my experience “bad judgment,” but not bad service.)
So here’s the question: In an industry with ever shifting mores—and, worse, ever-changing staffs—can you teach good service? Some restaurants certainly try. Ultratraditional L’Espalier, for example, asks its staff to take four levels of written exams on food, wine, and etiquette, some as long as 25 pages, covering everything from wine and food pairings to the proper presentation of the cheese tray. A waiter who passes all four tests gets a bigger share of the restaurant’s pooled tips. (There are also pop quizzes on, say, a food trend reported in a magazine or newspaper.) At Aujourd’hui, manager Simon de Swaan teaches etiquette, too, but spends equal time trying to demonstrate the difference between friendly and overbearing: “You need to know where the professional boundaries are. And that’s a hard one to teach.”
Ultimately, good service often comes down to instinct and experience. Witness the Sunday brunch rush at no-frills Centre Street Café. Each week, locals line up for a seat at one of the 15 tables and whopping portions of pancakes and vegetable scrambles. The place is noisy. The tables are cramped. Yet dining room manager Marc Arsenault tames the crowd with a mix of candor and efficiency. If there’s a line out the door on a hot day, he starts pouring ice water and coffee. If you’re looking impatient, he’ll notice—and let you know that your table is just finishing up or that you’ve got three parties ahead of you and it’s going to a be “a while.” (Arsenault never gives precise times because “people freak out” if he estimates wrong.) Once you’re seated, you’re never rushed. Arsenault’s philosophy: You’ve waited your turn and deserve to enjoy your meal. “I’m super honest with people,” he says. “And by talking to them, they tell you what they need.”
His last word of advice: Speak up. Whether you’re at a fine-dining establishment or your local cheap eats, don’t be shy about telling your waiter what you want. The waiter will appreciate it. And you’ll get the service you expect. How are we doing now? Just fine.
“How are we today?” he asked eagerly.
We are just fine, I thought, catching Amy’s incredulous eye.
He crouched down next to us, leaning his pad on the table to take our order. Then he thought better of it.
“Scooch over,” he said, sliding into the banquette next to me. Now we were definitely not fine.
The food arrived hot. The courses were well-paced. And everything tasted great. But for me, this was well-intentioned but bad service. Since then, I’ve told the story to a dozen experienced diners. Half were horrified; the rest couldn’t understand why I had a problem.
Which, of course, is the problem. Gone are the days when formal etiquette—serve from the left, clear from the right—was set in stone. And diners can’t seem to agree on whether it’s polite to clear before everyone is finished (it’s not) or if it’s déclassé to mention the price of the specials (technically it is, but it’s awfully helpful when, say in truffle season, an entrée might top $40.) Today, especially at hip but casual bistros, good service has become a matter of taste.
Indeed, according to the latest Zagat survey, 76 percent of Boston diners cite bad service as the single most serious irritant when eating out. “The challenge is in engaging the diner at their level of expectation,” says Eastern Standard owner Garrett Harker, who faces the test of catering to an eclectic mix of hotel guests, foodies, and Red Sox fans. (He called my experience “bad judgment,” but not bad service.)
So here’s the question: In an industry with ever shifting mores—and, worse, ever-changing staffs—can you teach good service? Some restaurants certainly try. Ultratraditional L’Espalier, for example, asks its staff to take four levels of written exams on food, wine, and etiquette, some as long as 25 pages, covering everything from wine and food pairings to the proper presentation of the cheese tray. A waiter who passes all four tests gets a bigger share of the restaurant’s pooled tips. (There are also pop quizzes on, say, a food trend reported in a magazine or newspaper.) At Aujourd’hui, manager Simon de Swaan teaches etiquette, too, but spends equal time trying to demonstrate the difference between friendly and overbearing: “You need to know where the professional boundaries are. And that’s a hard one to teach.”
Ultimately, good service often comes down to instinct and experience. Witness the Sunday brunch rush at no-frills Centre Street Café. Each week, locals line up for a seat at one of the 15 tables and whopping portions of pancakes and vegetable scrambles. The place is noisy. The tables are cramped. Yet dining room manager Marc Arsenault tames the crowd with a mix of candor and efficiency. If there’s a line out the door on a hot day, he starts pouring ice water and coffee. If you’re looking impatient, he’ll notice—and let you know that your table is just finishing up or that you’ve got three parties ahead of you and it’s going to a be “a while.” (Arsenault never gives precise times because “people freak out” if he estimates wrong.) Once you’re seated, you’re never rushed. Arsenault’s philosophy: You’ve waited your turn and deserve to enjoy your meal. “I’m super honest with people,” he says. “And by talking to them, they tell you what they need.”
His last word of advice: Speak up. Whether you’re at a fine-dining establishment or your local cheap eats, don’t be shy about telling your waiter what you want. The waiter will appreciate it. And you’ll get the service you expect. How are we doing now? Just fine.
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Posted by | Jan. 16, 2008 at 2:43 AM