Tonight I'm inspired by none less than my very own dinner plans. What am I having, you ask, that causes me to run to my computer posthaste to inform the world at large (well, a small part of it, at least) of my dining activities?
I am having a mushroom risotto stuffed green bell pepper.
That's a mouthful, both in the eating and in the typing.
Risottos are, in my opinion, fabulous. They're easy, they're delicious (when done right, of course), and can actually be used in a number of different ways.
Let me pause to give a bit of clarification. Risotto is not, in fact, synonymous with rice. Rice need not come anywhere near this dish. The term risotto refers to a cooking method, using low heat to slowly cook the (starchy) item of choice, gradually adding liquid as you go.
Rice just happens to be very well suited to this particular activity. It's packed full of starch, is pretty cheap to come by, and goes with just about anything else that you have lieing around in your kitchen.
So what's the deal with the starch? Risotto is without a doubt known for it's creamy, rich texture. This is caused by thickening, and thickening is caused by starch. How you ask? For this we look at the other part of the equation - the low, slow cooking style. As you cook the rice (or whatever else you've got in that pan), the starches leak out into the liquid and eventually absorb enough that they blow up. This sends tiny bits of starch all over the place which thickens the whole mess to a deliciously rich consistency.
I've heard people say that they'll get their first impression of a risotto just by looking at what dish it's served on. The proper consistency is not too thick, not too thin (descriptive, I know). It shouldn't hold its shape like play-doh, but it shouldn't run all over the plate, either. It should shmooze lightly (official culinary term, that one) after it's dropped, but should stay in the general location. If a chef will serve a risotto on a plate, (s)he is showcasing that perfect consistency. A bowl, on the other hand, might be a way to sneak an overly-runny product out of the kitchen.
As for an actual recipe, like I said - you can throw in about anything that you like. I'll give you something to go by, though.
Mushroom Risotto
Oil, for pan
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 c onion, diced
1/2 c Crimini mushrooms (baby portabellos)
1 c White basmati rice (the standard stuff)
Stock*
Milk (or dairy product of your choosing, up to heavy cream)
1/4 c Mozzarella cheese
2 T Parmesan cheese
1/2 T Butter
Salt and Pepper to taste
Saute garlic and onions in the pan. Add mushrooms and cook down (cook out any water that comes from the mushrooms).
Lightly saute the rice*. Add just enough stock to cover the rice, and continue to cook, stirring regularly. As stock reduces, add more (just enough to cover with each addition). Use milk (or other dairy) for the last addition.
When risotto is finished, remove from heat and slowly stir in cheese (cheese does not like to play with very high heat). Finish with butter, salt, and pepper.
Told you it was simple. A few notes, though.
On stock - I've heard that 3 cups of stock per 1 cup of rice is the proper amount. In my personal experience I've never had this come out to be exactly true (in fact, I often use much more than this). As a rule I like to keep 5 cups of stock (heated, of course) on hand and add as needed. I finish with maybe 1/2 cup of milk, although you could use more (reducing the amount of stock accordingly) if you want.
On sauteing - When it comes to risotto cookery, it's all about the starch. Stirring helps to release starches, and to make sure that you get the full thickening power that's available to you. Sauteing rice actually helps to lock in starch and to keep the grains separate (which is great for a pilaf). Sometimes I saute, sometimes I don't. I haven't noticed a huge difference. Although, I've never tasted two batches side by side to compare, which is often the only way that you'd be able to tell anyway. Proper stirring and other methodology is what's really going to give you that creamy consistency that you're after.
So, like I said before, there's more than one way to serve your risotto (rice or otherwise). It's fine on its own as a side or even an entree. You can take a note from me and use it as a stuffing (tomatoes, peppers, even meats). And, of course, there's the perfect use for leftovers. Frying. To be honest, I'd make up a batch and let it sit overnight just for this. Risotto fritters. Feel the love.
Equally simple, and equally delicious. Also great for parties and the like where you want to do as much as you can ahead of time so that you're not completely burnt out when you're supposed to be having fun. Make your risotto of choice. Move immediately to a cool baking sheet and store in the refrigerator (this has the same effect as running hot water over pasta - it will help to stop the cooking process). Let it sit and firm up. I'd suggest overnight for ease, but if you're in a rush you can check it as you go. The more spread out it is, the quicker it will cool down and firm up.
Once it's ready, form the risotto into patties. From here, it's the standard breading schtick - dredge in flour, a quick dunk in egg wash, and breaded with [enter your favorite breading here]. Breadcrumbs, panko, greated parmesan cheese... anything that'll stick and sounds like it's a good idea.
These guys can either be deep fried (I'd try at 375 - just need to reheat and brown up the crust), pan fried, or even baked for those of you who think "fry" is a four letter word (all good things in moderation, I say).
Sick of rice? Try for potatoes (sweet variety included). I'm actually of a mind to try out a dessert risotto based on bananas (nothing too ripe, or all the starch will have turned to sugars). I never claimed sanity.
Though you may not have given it much thought in the past, risottos can be easy, versatile, and delicious. I can't speak for everyone, but those are three words that I like to hear when it comes to my food.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I will do it... for science!
Molecular gastronomy is something of a buzzword these days. Tabasco sauce pearls to annoint clams, fruit and vegetable turned caviar by adding who knows what chemical (okay, so plenty of people do know, and I've heard what it is even if I can't remember).
Ferrera Adria changed the way that some people looked at food, and at cooking. It was revolutionary. It was incredible. It was the next big thing.
Or was it?
Now don't get me wrong, what he does, and much of what so many of his followers do, is very impressive. He, and some of them I'm sure, are charting new territory, breaking new ground.
But it's just not for me.
Call me simple, call me homey, call me whatever you want... but I don't think any of it is really necessary. The food I know, the food I love, is all that it needs to be. A strawberry, picked from a field, is enough to send me into a frenzy of adoration (this is, of course, in the height of strawberry season). Strawberry mousse-foam with CO2 chocolate capsules isn't bad, I'm sure, but it just doesn't hit me the same way.
This is, of course, just one man's rambling opinion. I personally don't feel the need to recreate my food in order to create it.
Along this same vein is a bit of cookery that is (at least relatively) new to the scene. One such implement that I've seen in use is the anti-griddle. Rather than heat, it freezes. It's a very (and I mean very) cold metal plate set on an almost absurdly large piece of machinery (all told, it's roughly the size of a moderate microwave... that is, the one that I came into contact with was).
The idea is that when making something like a lollipop (the only thing I saw it used for), the extreme cold leads to extremely fast freezing which leads to an extremely creamy end result. I've got nothing against a quick, easy, and good way of making a lollipop (or anything, for that matter), but would I buy a multi-thousand dollar piece of equipment for just such a purpose? The practical part of my brain has to consider its uses. As it's flat (with no edges), it is somewhat limited. Those lollipops (or maybe an ice cream pancake, if you're feeling frisky) are all I can come up with off the top of my head (although if you know anyone running an anti-griddle cooking class, I'd be open to more ideas).
The big question is "Can I do the same thing cheaper?". What if I keep a sheet tray in the freezer, drop some of the batter on that and slam it back in (gently, of course, to keep those perfect circles perfect) to freeze? Will I still be able to get the same product? Is it really that much better to be able to do it a la minute? Will holding them for a few hours really kill the flavor? Will the texture be noticeable enough to warrant that little piece of gear who's pricetag could feed me for a year?
All things to consider for those interested in starting up your own restaurant.
Of course, if you're a normal person and just want some ice cream, then sure, check it out. Go to a place with one, order something that uses it, and get a kick out of a frozen confection being made before your eyes in probably less than two minutes.
Another new method ("new" being the exact opposite of the truth, here) is sous vide. It's been around for a while, but Thomas Keller of The French Laundry (and much else) is bringing it back as the "hot new thing".
So what is sous vide? "Under pressure" is more or less a translation. Take whatever it is that you want cooked, toss it in a bag, put the whole mess in the machine, push the button, and walk away.
Ding, fries are done.
I have to be honest, when I think of this, I think of the bagged soups from my days at Ruby Tuesday.
And no, I'm not comparing the food at The French Laundry to anything from Ruby Tuesday. But when I first learned of sous vide, this is the context that I learned it in - commercial production of soups, sauces, and other such items.
Now maybe Chef Keller can take this method and use it to make some great new stuff, doing to sous vide what Adria did to food as a whole. Power to him, if he can do it.
On my end, if you ask me for a bowl of soup, expect it to come from a pot.
Ferrera Adria changed the way that some people looked at food, and at cooking. It was revolutionary. It was incredible. It was the next big thing.
Or was it?
Now don't get me wrong, what he does, and much of what so many of his followers do, is very impressive. He, and some of them I'm sure, are charting new territory, breaking new ground.
But it's just not for me.
Call me simple, call me homey, call me whatever you want... but I don't think any of it is really necessary. The food I know, the food I love, is all that it needs to be. A strawberry, picked from a field, is enough to send me into a frenzy of adoration (this is, of course, in the height of strawberry season). Strawberry mousse-foam with CO2 chocolate capsules isn't bad, I'm sure, but it just doesn't hit me the same way.
This is, of course, just one man's rambling opinion. I personally don't feel the need to recreate my food in order to create it.
Along this same vein is a bit of cookery that is (at least relatively) new to the scene. One such implement that I've seen in use is the anti-griddle. Rather than heat, it freezes. It's a very (and I mean very) cold metal plate set on an almost absurdly large piece of machinery (all told, it's roughly the size of a moderate microwave... that is, the one that I came into contact with was).
The idea is that when making something like a lollipop (the only thing I saw it used for), the extreme cold leads to extremely fast freezing which leads to an extremely creamy end result. I've got nothing against a quick, easy, and good way of making a lollipop (or anything, for that matter), but would I buy a multi-thousand dollar piece of equipment for just such a purpose? The practical part of my brain has to consider its uses. As it's flat (with no edges), it is somewhat limited. Those lollipops (or maybe an ice cream pancake, if you're feeling frisky) are all I can come up with off the top of my head (although if you know anyone running an anti-griddle cooking class, I'd be open to more ideas).
The big question is "Can I do the same thing cheaper?". What if I keep a sheet tray in the freezer, drop some of the batter on that and slam it back in (gently, of course, to keep those perfect circles perfect) to freeze? Will I still be able to get the same product? Is it really that much better to be able to do it a la minute? Will holding them for a few hours really kill the flavor? Will the texture be noticeable enough to warrant that little piece of gear who's pricetag could feed me for a year?
All things to consider for those interested in starting up your own restaurant.
Of course, if you're a normal person and just want some ice cream, then sure, check it out. Go to a place with one, order something that uses it, and get a kick out of a frozen confection being made before your eyes in probably less than two minutes.
Another new method ("new" being the exact opposite of the truth, here) is sous vide. It's been around for a while, but Thomas Keller of The French Laundry (and much else) is bringing it back as the "hot new thing".
So what is sous vide? "Under pressure" is more or less a translation. Take whatever it is that you want cooked, toss it in a bag, put the whole mess in the machine, push the button, and walk away.
Ding, fries are done.
I have to be honest, when I think of this, I think of the bagged soups from my days at Ruby Tuesday.
And no, I'm not comparing the food at The French Laundry to anything from Ruby Tuesday. But when I first learned of sous vide, this is the context that I learned it in - commercial production of soups, sauces, and other such items.
Now maybe Chef Keller can take this method and use it to make some great new stuff, doing to sous vide what Adria did to food as a whole. Power to him, if he can do it.
On my end, if you ask me for a bowl of soup, expect it to come from a pot.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Passing the buck (with extra bernaise sauce, please)
I was privvy to an interesting and, dare I say it, thought provoking conversation earlier today. The topic of said conversation was a question that came up after discussing Anthony Bourdain's piece My Miami, largely from the opening paragraphs when he speaks of a restaurant specializing in "beautifying food", meant to cleanse and purify and otherwise help the body from the inside out.
Bourdain was, shall we say, unconvinced that the nigh-unrecognizeable dishes (afterall, high heat and things like creating a beautiful sear destroy vital beautifying qualities in the food) were the wave of the future.
The question is a simple, but important one: is it the responsibility of chefs to provide healthful food?
My answer?
No. Not at all.
But...
And, mind you, this is a big one...
I do support the idea. I encourage the idea. I'd like to practice the idea.
See, there's this little thing called "real life" that has the habit of getting in the way of our best laid plans and aspirations. Even some of the best intentions. The bottom line is, conveniently enough, the bottom line. I'm talking dollars and cents, here. As much love and passion goes into the food that comes out of a kitchen, that food still costs money. That kitchen costs money. Those people in the kitchen, with or without that passion, aren't doing what they do for free.
The bottom line is that the food has to sell.
If the only thing that people will buy is butter-loaded, skinless mashed potatoes, peeled asparagus (with hollandaise, of course, that artery clogging combination of butter and egg yolks), and a 12-oz Prime cut steak (fat is flavor, afterall), then that is what you have to offer. Unless, that is, you like owing thousands (and thousands) of dollars to the bank even after everything you own is reposessed and sold to pay back your loans.
People have this little thing called free will, and tend to get a tad uppity when you try to take it away (and rightfully so, I think). A person can eat whatever they so choose. I encourage people to eat a healthful diet, and do try to do so myself, but if someone really, really wants to sit down and nosh on nothing but sticks of butter and maybe some cocoa powder for extra flavor, then that's their own perogative.
"Well then," you might say, "what about those that do want to have healthy options? Shouldn't chefs be expected to put those on the menu?"
Again, as before, I say no. No obligation at all.
But I do think it's smart.
In a world where even McDonald's makes at least an attempt to sort of offer healtier options (sorry Ronald, but I think I can do better than half a chicken breast rolled in a plain flour tortilla with some lettuce) it makes sense for other restaurants (read: the ones serving actual food) to follow this same line of thinking.
To some, "healthy" is a four-letter word. I don't believe that myself (far from it, in fact), but I do expect it to still taste amazing. Yes, this means that certain items won't be making it onto my plate every day. I'll have a tomato or anti-sauce with my pasta far more than an alfredo (but you'd better believe that I'll be enjoying that alfredo when I do have it). But I love a good salad. And I do mean love (and do, also, mean good).
Long story short, I am of the opinion that the words "healthful" and "delicious" can, and often do, go hand in hand. Far worse things could happen, I think.
So while I don't hold the guy (or girl, for that matter) in the tall hat responsible for my (theoretical, thank you) budding beer belly, I would give a word to the wise to offer up some more waisteline friendly foods.
Bourdain was, shall we say, unconvinced that the nigh-unrecognizeable dishes (afterall, high heat and things like creating a beautiful sear destroy vital beautifying qualities in the food) were the wave of the future.
The question is a simple, but important one: is it the responsibility of chefs to provide healthful food?
My answer?
No. Not at all.
But...
And, mind you, this is a big one...
I do support the idea. I encourage the idea. I'd like to practice the idea.
See, there's this little thing called "real life" that has the habit of getting in the way of our best laid plans and aspirations. Even some of the best intentions. The bottom line is, conveniently enough, the bottom line. I'm talking dollars and cents, here. As much love and passion goes into the food that comes out of a kitchen, that food still costs money. That kitchen costs money. Those people in the kitchen, with or without that passion, aren't doing what they do for free.
The bottom line is that the food has to sell.
If the only thing that people will buy is butter-loaded, skinless mashed potatoes, peeled asparagus (with hollandaise, of course, that artery clogging combination of butter and egg yolks), and a 12-oz Prime cut steak (fat is flavor, afterall), then that is what you have to offer. Unless, that is, you like owing thousands (and thousands) of dollars to the bank even after everything you own is reposessed and sold to pay back your loans.
People have this little thing called free will, and tend to get a tad uppity when you try to take it away (and rightfully so, I think). A person can eat whatever they so choose. I encourage people to eat a healthful diet, and do try to do so myself, but if someone really, really wants to sit down and nosh on nothing but sticks of butter and maybe some cocoa powder for extra flavor, then that's their own perogative.
"Well then," you might say, "what about those that do want to have healthy options? Shouldn't chefs be expected to put those on the menu?"
Again, as before, I say no. No obligation at all.
But I do think it's smart.
In a world where even McDonald's makes at least an attempt to sort of offer healtier options (sorry Ronald, but I think I can do better than half a chicken breast rolled in a plain flour tortilla with some lettuce) it makes sense for other restaurants (read: the ones serving actual food) to follow this same line of thinking.
To some, "healthy" is a four-letter word. I don't believe that myself (far from it, in fact), but I do expect it to still taste amazing. Yes, this means that certain items won't be making it onto my plate every day. I'll have a tomato or anti-sauce with my pasta far more than an alfredo (but you'd better believe that I'll be enjoying that alfredo when I do have it). But I love a good salad. And I do mean love (and do, also, mean good).
Long story short, I am of the opinion that the words "healthful" and "delicious" can, and often do, go hand in hand. Far worse things could happen, I think.
So while I don't hold the guy (or girl, for that matter) in the tall hat responsible for my (theoretical, thank you) budding beer belly, I would give a word to the wise to offer up some more waisteline friendly foods.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Addendum the second
I just want to take a minute to go back and make a few things clear.
First and foremost, I do respect the front of house staff and the work that they do.
Yes, I do throw around terms like FOHSOB.
Why?
Well, for one, I am one. Willingly, at that. So I have some sort of leeway when it comes to making fun of a group that I am a part of.
My reasons for taking this job were two-fold. The obvious is that I needed a bit of money (until grocery stores start giving me food for free, this will be a common need of mine). Furthermore, it's relatively easy money.
Relatively.
Another thing that I want to make clear - each individual part of the job is, in and of itself, easy. Polishing silverwear, not a big deal. Filling waters? No problem. Folding napkins and taking them out to the server's station, done. It's a matter of having to do twice as much work in half the time, and having any given number of servers needing help with their tables when it's busy, and anything and everything else that's happening all at once.
I'd say that I wish it were as simple as waiting on one table at a time, but then I'd be bored all day.
Reason number two: I actually want serving experience. I want to be able to say that I've worked out front, to have learned how (and just as importantly, how not) to do things. If I ever do open my own restaurant, I'm going to have to know a bit about the workings of the front side. No better way than to jump in and start swimming, so to speak.
Now, on the whole tipping thing. I don't mean to jump up and down ranting about how everybody in the world is a horrible person for not leaving a big tip. Most people are courteous and know the American tipping system. The people of whom I speak are, thankfully, a minority (afterall, if no one tipped well, no one would be willing to take the job). It's an admitted sore spot... but hey, if your tip share was $15 from working a weekend plus one or two nights during the week you'd have a few select words to say yourself.
Lastly, on the note of "knowing the chef".
That's cool. It's fun to be able to walk into a place and say "I know the guy (or girl, as the case may be) who runs this place".
But, let's be honest here, it's no reason to climb up on some elitist pedastle. Storytime, kids.
I was at work, just coming out of the kitchen and headed back to the upstairs dining area when i was stopped by two ladies. They asked for a glass of wine. "We're meeting with the sous chef" one said, with the tone and look that you'd expect from someone who just got promoted to Supreme Galactic Emperor.
I went to the bar, got them their drinks, and took them back with a smile. I wished them a good evening.
I like to think that I was pretty gracious, despite the hilarity of what they had just asked me to do.
"But isn't getting guests what they ask for your job?"
Well, sure, and I did. But there are a few details that are worth knowing.
These two ladies weren't seated at a table. They were standing.
In the bar lobby.
Roughly ten feet from the bar.
There was no line to speak of.
Considering that they were, in fact, standing, I can only be led to assume that they were both fully capable of leg movement. Despite this ability, they could not seem to bring themselves to take five steps to the bar, and if they so chose, the five that would take them back to the original position.
Isn't voluntary servitude just great?
And, just in case you were wondering, no, they did not see fit to slip anything my way for saving them that dangerous and hard-fought journey to the bar and back.
I don't mean to complain about following my job description, but it goes over better if you don't treat me like a lap dog.
First and foremost, I do respect the front of house staff and the work that they do.
Yes, I do throw around terms like FOHSOB.
Why?
Well, for one, I am one. Willingly, at that. So I have some sort of leeway when it comes to making fun of a group that I am a part of.
My reasons for taking this job were two-fold. The obvious is that I needed a bit of money (until grocery stores start giving me food for free, this will be a common need of mine). Furthermore, it's relatively easy money.
Relatively.
Another thing that I want to make clear - each individual part of the job is, in and of itself, easy. Polishing silverwear, not a big deal. Filling waters? No problem. Folding napkins and taking them out to the server's station, done. It's a matter of having to do twice as much work in half the time, and having any given number of servers needing help with their tables when it's busy, and anything and everything else that's happening all at once.
I'd say that I wish it were as simple as waiting on one table at a time, but then I'd be bored all day.
Reason number two: I actually want serving experience. I want to be able to say that I've worked out front, to have learned how (and just as importantly, how not) to do things. If I ever do open my own restaurant, I'm going to have to know a bit about the workings of the front side. No better way than to jump in and start swimming, so to speak.
Now, on the whole tipping thing. I don't mean to jump up and down ranting about how everybody in the world is a horrible person for not leaving a big tip. Most people are courteous and know the American tipping system. The people of whom I speak are, thankfully, a minority (afterall, if no one tipped well, no one would be willing to take the job). It's an admitted sore spot... but hey, if your tip share was $15 from working a weekend plus one or two nights during the week you'd have a few select words to say yourself.
Lastly, on the note of "knowing the chef".
That's cool. It's fun to be able to walk into a place and say "I know the guy (or girl, as the case may be) who runs this place".
But, let's be honest here, it's no reason to climb up on some elitist pedastle. Storytime, kids.
I was at work, just coming out of the kitchen and headed back to the upstairs dining area when i was stopped by two ladies. They asked for a glass of wine. "We're meeting with the sous chef" one said, with the tone and look that you'd expect from someone who just got promoted to Supreme Galactic Emperor.
I went to the bar, got them their drinks, and took them back with a smile. I wished them a good evening.
I like to think that I was pretty gracious, despite the hilarity of what they had just asked me to do.
"But isn't getting guests what they ask for your job?"
Well, sure, and I did. But there are a few details that are worth knowing.
These two ladies weren't seated at a table. They were standing.
In the bar lobby.
Roughly ten feet from the bar.
There was no line to speak of.
Considering that they were, in fact, standing, I can only be led to assume that they were both fully capable of leg movement. Despite this ability, they could not seem to bring themselves to take five steps to the bar, and if they so chose, the five that would take them back to the original position.
Isn't voluntary servitude just great?
And, just in case you were wondering, no, they did not see fit to slip anything my way for saving them that dangerous and hard-fought journey to the bar and back.
I don't mean to complain about following my job description, but it goes over better if you don't treat me like a lap dog.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
FOHSOB's
The culinary world tends to have witty little abbreviations for things (afterall, who can be bothered to waste time with things like pronouncing full words in the middle of a dinner rush?).
FOH is one such acronym, refering to front of house. Generally this refers to people working out front (servers, host(esse)s, and whoever else might be found running around). The astute among us can probably deduce that BOH refers to the Back of House (cooks, dishwashers, and other friendly vermin).
SOB... well, you can refer to everyday vernacular for that one.
Now why is any of this important? Well... it's not... not the name, anyway. It's the distinction that matters.
In any given industry there's bound to be friction between the different areas of operation. Restaurants are no different. Servers often get the blame for an ill-prepared dish, and cooks (at least sometimes) view servers as people who carry their hard-made food to the tables (ie, not much of a job).
You can see how this can lead to... let's call it less-than-friendly confrontation.
Currently I myself am a front of house employee. I work as a server's assistant, which in a lot of ways is just a fancy way of saying "busboy". Essentially, to get paid, I rely on the generosity of the people that already are relying on yours.
No, it's not pretty.
Despite all of this, though, I do have respect for the servers (and other front of house staff) of the world. It's been said before, and I fully agree, that everyone should have to spend some time as a server. You may think that "carrying food" is easy... and if that's all there was to it, it would be. Trust, there's plenty to keep us occupied other than waiting on you hand and foot.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for getting the food out in a timely fashion (whether I'm working behind the line or taking it out), but please, have a touch of patience. Try not to glare too much if you get your neighbor's plate (it's an easy enough fix if you just tell them). And please, please don't get all high and mighty because you're "friends with the chef". You're meeting with him after dinner? That's nice. I see him every day that I go in to work.
And, I hate that I even think saying this is necessary, tip.
One might think that this would be common sense. Afterall, servers only make about $2.15 an hour. But it seems that, at least in my neck of the woods, people need reminding of this little post-dinner act.
What's a good tip? Standard is 20%, based on the actual cost of the meal and drinks (not tax). If the service really is bad, then sure, tip less. But make sure it's actual bad service. Everybody makes a mistake now and then - it's how you recover from it that counts. And hey, feel free to tip more if they go above and beyond - my own paycheck will thank you.
I have seen people leave $6 on a $50 tab. I've also seen them stiff a waiter completely on $30.
If you can't afford to leave a decent tip, then you really can't afford to eat out in the first place. It really should be considered as part of the cost.
As they say, sharing is caring. What say we put that into practice?
FOH is one such acronym, refering to front of house. Generally this refers to people working out front (servers, host(esse)s, and whoever else might be found running around). The astute among us can probably deduce that BOH refers to the Back of House (cooks, dishwashers, and other friendly vermin).
SOB... well, you can refer to everyday vernacular for that one.
Now why is any of this important? Well... it's not... not the name, anyway. It's the distinction that matters.
In any given industry there's bound to be friction between the different areas of operation. Restaurants are no different. Servers often get the blame for an ill-prepared dish, and cooks (at least sometimes) view servers as people who carry their hard-made food to the tables (ie, not much of a job).
You can see how this can lead to... let's call it less-than-friendly confrontation.
Currently I myself am a front of house employee. I work as a server's assistant, which in a lot of ways is just a fancy way of saying "busboy". Essentially, to get paid, I rely on the generosity of the people that already are relying on yours.
No, it's not pretty.
Despite all of this, though, I do have respect for the servers (and other front of house staff) of the world. It's been said before, and I fully agree, that everyone should have to spend some time as a server. You may think that "carrying food" is easy... and if that's all there was to it, it would be. Trust, there's plenty to keep us occupied other than waiting on you hand and foot.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for getting the food out in a timely fashion (whether I'm working behind the line or taking it out), but please, have a touch of patience. Try not to glare too much if you get your neighbor's plate (it's an easy enough fix if you just tell them). And please, please don't get all high and mighty because you're "friends with the chef". You're meeting with him after dinner? That's nice. I see him every day that I go in to work.
And, I hate that I even think saying this is necessary, tip.
One might think that this would be common sense. Afterall, servers only make about $2.15 an hour. But it seems that, at least in my neck of the woods, people need reminding of this little post-dinner act.
What's a good tip? Standard is 20%, based on the actual cost of the meal and drinks (not tax). If the service really is bad, then sure, tip less. But make sure it's actual bad service. Everybody makes a mistake now and then - it's how you recover from it that counts. And hey, feel free to tip more if they go above and beyond - my own paycheck will thank you.
I have seen people leave $6 on a $50 tab. I've also seen them stiff a waiter completely on $30.
If you can't afford to leave a decent tip, then you really can't afford to eat out in the first place. It really should be considered as part of the cost.
As they say, sharing is caring. What say we put that into practice?
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