Whenever I go out to dinner, I start with the same thing: Diet Coke, no ice. Most of the time, the server gets it right. But not infrequently, my drink will arrive with ice, thereby doubling the server’s task. Of course, the drink can be removed and a new one brought in its place. But what of the diner’s confidence in the upcoming meal?
If “no ice” is too taxing, what lies ahead?
I mention this since most servers jot such details on a pad, so there’s no heavy lifting in the memory department. If they look at their notes, it’s all there.
Fast forward to the other night when four of us ate dinner at a little Italian place. The menu listed both standards and specials, all with their own accompaniments. As it happened, each of us placed an order that veered slightly off course. There was the swap of eggplant for snap peas; of sweet potatoes for rice. Would it be possible to get a center cut of salmon? Though the list of quirks and variations was long, our waitress ”“ 40-ish, wiry, efficient ”“ was unfazed. She took it all in, glad to accommodate.
Nor did she write down a single word.
Unarmed with paper or pen, she listened to each order with its sundry detours, then she’d nod. No repeating after we spoke to clarify or confirm. There was just that nod, an occasional question, an air of competence. All the while, she was making small talk.
I couldn’t wait to see the outcome of this little magic trick. With all the fine points that go into a meal ”“ presentation, timing, service ”“ memorization barely makes it on to the list.
After all, why should it matter if a waitress knows by heart the details of every diner’s meal? Isn’t that just a sideshow that can divert from the main event? And isn’t that the very point of writing it down?
Frankly, if magic were to be part of the program, I’d prefer a juggling act, maybe a card trick, over this culinary sleight of hand. No doubt the spectacle of such mental gymnastics can be impressive; it can add considerably to the meal ”“ especially by way of errors. (I keep thinking of those misplaced ice cubes in so many Diet Cokes.)
Besides, in most aspects of life, we’re told to make copies, back-ups, contingencies. The lack of even the most basic notes ”“ just some hieroglyphs ”“ is asking for trouble.
Maybe if I knew the waitress’s technique ”“ was she using some mnemonic device or thinking, “sweater, beard, flank steak rare?” ”“ I’d be more amenable to the idea. But I couldn’t help envisioning a head full of conflicting orders, a cacophony of tables, diners and details that had written off a time-honored tradition.
Oh, for a few slips of paper.
In the end, dinner went without a hitch. Our waitress brought each plate to the proper person, its particulars exactly as requested. Personally, if I owned a restaurant, I’d want a wait staff of scribes, not illusionists. Panache is nice; accuracy is better. Our waitress, thankfully, delivered on both.
— Joan Silverman is a writer in Kennebunk. This article originally appeared in The Maine Sunday Telegram.
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