He was friendly without being cloying, attentive but unobtrusive. His attitude made me feel like I was being taken care of, not just waited on. Everything was "Wonderful wonderful" and "Great to hear and thank you for coming," imbued with enthusiasm and fervor. His attitude was infectious, and he stoked the already billowing fondness I have for foodservers, the camaraderie I've felt with them even before I became one.
My earliest memory of a waiter was when I was 12, having dinner with a large group of extended family at a TGI Fridays. He reminded me of Matthew Fox (circa Party of Five), and he knelt down at the table, bringing me face-to-face with him as he took my order. This simple gesture made me feel like he knew me better than he did, like maybe he cared more than he actually had any reason to.
A few years later, I would make my family go on regular pilgrimages to Chili's for our Saturday night dinners out, back when the one location in the area would regularly have hour-long waits on the weekends. I loved the buffalo wings there, and we would routinely get a waiter who maintained the same five o'clock shadow across his face each time we'd see him. I still remember the way his biceps pulsed as he carried our plates back to the kitchen, staggering them up his forearm like fallen dominoes.
And later still, my boyfriend and I would go to El Torito's in Sacramento almost weekly for dinner. While the food was definitely serviceable, we would opt for this restaurant over others because of a server who made us feel like she was just hosting old friends at a dinner party. She remembered our preferences, referred to us by name, and made small talk like we were the only ones in the restaurant.
These "formative" foodserver experiences all came together when I took a year off between college and grad school to work at Max's Opera Cafe. I tried to merge all of the best qualities of the servers I remembered in order to be the best one I could be. I would kneel down beside the table when taking orders, remember the regular customers and converse with them like friends. It was an important job to me, and one I remember feeling good about going to
It was also one of the best years of my life. People often say that one's college years are those years, but I'd have to disagree. I enjoyed myself just fine, but it was this year at the restaurant that I look back on with the nostalgia that most people probably reserve for their collegiate days. I was carefree, young enough not to worry about a career but old enough to be making my own money. And I loved doing what I did to make the money.
This love for the job was what I recognized in our waiter today, and if not love, then at least a credible performance of it. This singular quality in a foodserver may be what separates the good from the great. This love reminds me of all the good servers I've ever had in my life, of the good waiter I tried to be during one of the best years of my life. Truthfully, the food this morning was alright, nothing I would devote an hour to write about.
Our waiter, obviously, was a different story.
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