Arion

Oh, gosh, all you'll get from me is fretting about the not agreeing. I'm such a weenie. I should clarifiy that by "endure" I mean "happily and patiently endure the wee vagaries of dining out" because these things happen and you roll with it and it's not the end of the world and running a restaurant is no picnic and the unexpected is a given, so be patient and polite.It's just food (*ducks to avoid barrage of heirloom tomatoes*),

"Heat" was interesting as a peek into the mind of Batali, but Bill Buford works my last nerve. This self-described foodie is all a-fluster when confronted with a chicken's oysters. "Oh, my, is poultry, is not fish, tee hee I am cute!" Kill. How can you not know that, Jessica Simpson? I am halfway through "The Omnivore's Dilemma" and find I can't with good conscience eat anything on the planet anymore. Oh, Polyface Farms, come back to the North Arlington Farmer's Market before I starve! Also got Alex Kapranos' "Sound Bites" because he's smart and funny, loves music and food, and I wuv Franz Ferdinand. Can't wait. Has anyone read it?

I am new; please don't hurt me. Nadya, you're one of the nice servers who doesn't think that the moon has fallen into the sea and cats are singing arias from “Tosca” because a woman is going to order the wine, And she wants to taste it, too!!! Mwahahaha! Next, well be walking on our hind legs. Also: Do I want some freshly cracked pepper from a peppermill the size of the Washington Monument on my salad? How do I know? I haven't tasted it yet. Here's a plan, chef – sauce and spice your dishes. That's why I'm here; you're supposed to be better at this than I am. Please don't offer me a “classy” box of teabags. I'm paying a lot for a good meal. Everything is made with care and is fresh and expensive and coddled. Can I please get a damn cup of brewed tea? And please don't tell me, as a snotty waiter told my mother at a swank doom-spot in L.A., “Not many people order tea.” Don't offer it if you can't make it. If many people didn't order beef cheeks, would they suck? If we show up five minutes before our reservation, expecting to wait 5-10-15 reasonable minutes, please don't make the party six that we are huddle in the entranceway in late January while the door keeps opening for 50 minutes. The Palm. We may not be celebrities but my mother-in-law deserves a nice birthday dinner just the same, As for diners: Don't touch the fixtures (man playing with lampshade at Ten Penh, unloosing it and sending it crashing to the floor) and don't make fun of my food (man's companion, loudly exclaiming that that FISH had a HEAD on IT and a TAIL EWWW. Who can EAT something like that???!! Uh, me, bitch. And I can hear you. I'm sure I sound testy, but having both waited tables and written about food (a hundred years ago and on another coast), it helps to see both sides. You learn very quickly what hill is worth dying on. I had neutral opinions about most diners, was fond of some (those who clearly love food and are fans get lots of love from me) and raged silently at a very few. As a critic, and now a lowly diner, I endure unexpected waits, dropped plates, cold dishes (with apologies -- once as a server I was asked to palpate a lady's halibut, which was indeed ice cold and embarrassing for us all) and forgotten sides. I do not countenance sass, eye-rolling at requests, or being charged for the entire pizza you dropped in my lap, missy at California Pizza Kitchen (don't ask), AND the one you brought to replace it. An unearned sense of entitlement -- it's not just for D.C. anymore.