By Brooke A. Brown

Major understatement alert: The restaurant business is not an easy one. I still remember the daily challenges my family and I faced running a small, diner-esque establishment back home in Oliver Springs, Tennessee. Did we order enough supplies for the month? Should we really switch to those new hamburger patties? Who’s up for changing the oil in the deep fryers? Where’s Brooke?!

Then, there was the fact that we had to prepare meals for actual paying customers. We never really worried about that part, though, because we did serve up some tasty vittles, and each one of us could really sling the hash. My uncle Ronnie especially cooked with gregarious flair, working the grill like a master Teppanyaki chef while frantically voicing his best Swedish Chef impression: “Børk! Børk! Børk!”

I’m certain that concerns such as these, and even ones much greater, are universal in the food service industry. And most places, I’d say, are pretty good at keeping diners oblivious to such problems. It’s quite impressive when a restaurant can operate in such a seamless and efficient fashion considering they do, in fact, have so many cooks in the kitchen. But I’m not here to talk about how well Charleston-area restaurants operate. This was all a buildup to discuss, well, a spot of bother.

While most of the eating establishments in our area do a fine job of running their business, cooking their food and serving it to us with a smile, some of them, and I will name names momentarily, let the simplest of details pass them by. Let me paint a picture for you:

You walk into a place - hungry, of course - that clearly has a wait. You part the sea of folks aimlessly waiting and wandering around to give your name, or perhaps a phony one like ‘Squarepants,’ to the keeper of the waiting list. You talk about going somewhere else, thinking you’re never gonna get a table, but your friends say, “Let’s give it a few more minutes…” so you do, with arms crossed.

At last you hear your party’s name (or the phony one) over the loudspeaker (giggle). You follow the host/hostess to your table. It’s such an exciting thing, finally being able to sit down with your friends to enjoy a meal, some good conversation and thoughts — already — of the dessert menu. So you anxiously take your seat, scoot in to a comfortable proximity and as you go to pick up your menu, Wham-O! You notice that your table-top resembles the hosed-down surface of a Slip ‘n Slide.

Thank you, the Cracker Barrels and Bob Evans-es of the Kanawha Valley, for wiping off my table with such a wet, soppy rag. You, too, beloved FirstWatch and Blossom Deli* (see footnote below) at lunch. Tidewater, I know your food is primarily of the sea, but I don’t need an ocean under my plate!

The way I see it, the person in charge of ‘pre-seating table wiping’ could just as easily be the one carrying a second, non-waterlogged towel strictly used for drying purposes. Yes, eventually towel B would become wet, too, and need to be replaced. But that would be better than me having to awkwardly ask for extra napkins right out of the gate, long before the ordering of food takes place. How much of a mess does this guy plan on making?

Now a moistened table is by no means a meal deal-breaker. Neither is this phenomenon a knock on the food or service of the aforementioned restaurants. It’s just one of those little things - a spot of bother - that has slipped through the cracks of the myriad other details occupying the floor manager’s mind. It’s an easy fix, really, and one that would make for an even more enjoyable dining experience.

*Concerning the Blossom Deli, this “spot of bother” only applies to their lunch service. Come dinnertime, they fancy the place up with tablecloths, thus eliminating the need for a suds-soaked washrag.

NOTE: ‘Spot of Bother’ graphic at top by Brooke A. Brown

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 2nd, 2007 at 3:49 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.