Nadya

That's great! Anything under Meshelle and Cathal's tutelage is bound to blossom. Can't wait to visit. Excellent news!

If he was disabled in a way that was invisible, i.e. not immediately obvious to people around him, all he had to do was mention to us that he has difficulty moving around by other means. I would have kept my big trap shut and no one around here would have heard a whiff of this story. We bend over backwards to accommodate disabled customers, and certainly would not have objected to someone's unconventional way of dealing with their disability, if that disability existed.

That would be different because a person in a wheelchair clearly has very limited options and probably can't travel any other way. We gladly stash wheelchairs in the coatroom. In fact, we have a ramp for wheelchairs to help them navigate three steps down into the dining room. The Segway dude clearly CHOOSES to tool about on his toy. That's the difference.

I feel for you, baby! I'm sure Corduroy was a star attraction.

Thanks, babe. There is too much material in this job to contemplate leaving, you know?

So this Restaurant Week has come and gone, right? And I know y'all have been some really, really good, smashing, porny, hilarious stories from the ho'stand. And I have been really, really eager to give them to you. So off I went into the week, ready to face the crowds and looking to be delighted by the ridiculous. But Thursday night came and went, and nothing really outrageous had happened. Oh, general stupidity and cluelessness was abound, but is that really THAT unexpected? Not during Restaurant Week, it wasn't. I knew there had to be a big one - a really fat, good, juicy one. Where was it??? It was Friday night. To call this night busy would be like calling a dwarf short. Or like calling Rocks a recluse. What I mean by that is that the regular meaning of the word "busy" had to be multiplied by a factor of one hundred to give an accurate idea of what was going on. That night was our busiest ever, in our entire history. In other words, it was a bloody stampede. Two hundred and twenty people on the books, walk-ins galore, phone ringing off the hook. Midway through the night, around seven-thirty, from the corner of my eye I noticed a man on a Segway, one of these ridiculous two-wheel contraptions (Segway) riding into the hotel lobby next to us. Ten seconds later - WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE ARSE ARE YOU DOING???? OH JESUS. The man straddling a stupid contraption is still riding it, weaving through the crowd, pulling up to the glass door to the restaurant, opening the door, riding up to the ho'stand. WITHOUT DISMOUNTING, he pulls up to the stand, looks down at me from his seven feet of be-wheeled height, and bellows: "Got a table for us?" It is not often that I am stumped for words. The condition of "speechless" is not a frequent guest in Nadyaland. But this was the hour. Looking up, staring into the man's face, I was silent for what felt like eternity. "Are you on drugs?" I wanted to ask. "What kind are they? Am I on drugs? Is this really happening???" The man wasn't even a yuppi looking to make an impression. He was around 60 and was moving about a bit more nimbly than his age would have suggested. "What the hell do you think that is, a bloody drive-in? Why don't you ride a bloody MOTORBIKE through these doors???" After regaining speech, I realized I have an opening. "Yes, you can have a table, which I need back in an hour and a half." "Super! You are a sweetheart!" (Have we got a dangerous maniac in the place?) Finally, thankfully, he dismounts. I fully expected him to ride his thing all the way to the table. But he steps down and looks at me, expectingly, searchingly. "Where's a good place to put this?" he inquires chirpily. Speechlessness makes a brief appearance in my house, again. Do you expect me to put the bloody thing up???? If you ride a bike in here, do you expect me to have a bloody bike rack someplace?? "Er, there isn't one." "Haven't you got a coat room?" "I do. It's for coats. I won't be able to turn around if it's there." The man is undaunted. He begins to wheel his toy around the bar, poking, searching, trying on corners. "Well, how about I put it up here? Or here?" he asks, unfailingly picking the busiest spots. Like right next to our entrance. Even a midget in any of these would make foot traffic impossible. Add a Segway, and our stylish lounge would suddenly transform into a Copenhagen trailer park. Finally, to get him out of my face, and to start dealing with a growing crowd behind him, I hiss, "into the coat room. Push it as far back against the wall as you can. No, not in the middle of the room. No, not right next to an entrance. Up the wall. Next to the vacuum cleaner and a rug pad and a pile of rags for our night porter." I never thought the day would come. I thought all the fine details of restaurant etiquette have been discussed and argued to death. I thought common sense has finally won. My Friday night proved otherwise. We thought once that "don't drink if you're pregnant" signs were saying the obvious. But apparently there is a whole other unexplored, undiscovered world of stupidity out there that is yet to be marked by signs. And into this world, I wish to make a tiny step of my own. Here is my addition to the restaurant signs in this brave new year of 2006. "ABSOLUTELY NO SEGWAYS ALLOWED INSIDE." Or, in a slightly more charitable mood: "PARKING YOUR SEGWAY IS NOT OUR PROBLEM."

Go to BdC. Second date is still very much an audition, and BdC gives you 1)good, unpretentious food, 2) opportunity to find out how the person responds to minor annoyances, and 3) opportunity to find out how the person responds to massive eye candy on display. Komi is too much of a production. I would (and do) enforce a one-month minimum before even bringing it up. (How can you not have sex after dinner at Komi? - to be deleted soon, I'm sure.)

This is true if you come early. Last Friday we got in about 8.45 and had to hang out at the bar for about half hour to get seated. The food is worth it and being at the bar is no punishment; I was just trying to say that seating is not always immediate.

This is the best and the subtlest condemnation with compliment I read this week. Two polished fingernails up!

Well, folks, it's been two nights and I wish I had a trunkful of stories for you. Something really outrageous. Something egregious. Something that would have you shake your head and say, "really? people do that?" But there just hasn't been anything THAT juicy so far. Oh, we get the usual. We get the innocent, the wide-eyed. As in, four little pumpkins tremulously approaching the host stand, and timidly breathing out, "Jennifer....", only to be confronted with my blank stare followed by barking, "what's the LAST name??" We get the pissy. "I called to adjust my reservation to five people from three." "Well, it is still showing as three in my book." "That's not MY problem!" We get the crafty. "Um, er, I have a reservation for 5.30 on Saturday night for three....there's now going to be six, and we'd like to come at 7.30 instead.." - "I didn't have anything for that number at that number when you made your original reservation, and I still don't." (Reservations are not like a darling T-shirt from H&M you brought home and decided to get a larger size tomorrow, baby....you get it, and that's all you gots.) But nothing really OUT of the ordinary. What I just described is ordinary. Mostly, we got (so far) really nice, cooperative folks who show up on time, like the food, tip the waiter and behave in a civilized fashion to everyone. I knew there had to be something....here it is. To all the concierges at all the fancy hotels around town. I know that right now you are a person in a shiny-button uniform. I know that right now you are someone whose compensation and encouragement depend on the number of times and degree of enthusiasm with which you say "yes! yes I can! absolutely!" to your guests. But you used to be a person once. Remember that. Don't send people over on a busy night without calling ahead. Don't tell them "OF COURSE you don't need a reservation." "OF COURSE they can take four on a Saturday night at 8 pm." Because when a dressed-up couple shuffles through my doors and says to me, in a rather blooming and confident voice, "We are from the Fancy Hotel XXXX.....our superhelpful concierge XXX made a reservation for us....here is our confirmation." And with this, they hand me a hotel card on which the superhelpful concierge has written, by hand, "Bistro Bis. Eight p.m." as an indelible proof of their reservation. And my computer doesn't have a slightest idea what they are talking about. So, dear hotel concierge. Don't make me out to be a bitch from hell. Make a call. Ask. THEN send people out. Especially in the middle of the Restaurant Week. Because I don't care where they are staying. If there is a free table, they are getting it. And if not, not.

My diagnosis of the whole rigamarole: Wholly ridiculous reaction of a control freak, defined as "she who wants to control the uncontrollable." P.S: Want a hello kitty cellphone, just ask me for permission to use my avatar as your cellphone wallpaper. It would be more like: "Hell-oh", drawled little kitty, squinting her little kitty eyes over gun. Very truly up yours,

We don't take reservations for the bar/lounge seats, and typically these are open seating. Your only constraint may be that the kitchen may be slammed so they'll ask you to wait a few minutes before ordering.

According to JM, a week from now, perhaps - insha'allah.

Days until Saturday of RW: 9 People on the books for Sat night: 230 Brrrrring it on! Meanwhile, last night a lady telephones wanting a reservation on Saturday night of Restaurant Week. "I'll be dining with my two daughters...when is a fun time to come in on a Saturday night of Restaurant Week?" Welllll....I could tell you to come to the Irisn Times after service but I don't think you'd appreciate that idea of fun. "We'll be full all night long, Madam, so it's up to you. I have 6.15 and 8.30 for three, which would you like?" "Hmmm....I would need to check with my kids to decide. Can you reserve both times and I'll give you a call later to pick one?" Folks, please refer to the beginning of this post. People on the books: 230. At this point, I feel like putting her on a speaker, and calling all waiters to listen in, as this is simply too good to keep to myself. "Madam, I regret that my computer won't let me do that. Please pick one." The voice on the other end slips into a tone of generous tolerance usually used with finicky children who are being naughty and won't eat their turnip puree but Mommy will prevail no matter what. "Can't you make it under two slightly different names? And I'll call you back before Saturday to pick one?"

Chef, thank you very much for taking the time to visit. Your answers are very witty and make lots of sense! Here is my question, I threw it out before and it still stands in my mind. Like you, I grew up in Europe, and I'm sure you know that putting down American cooking, restaurants and cuisine is as customary among Europeans as wearing black on a Saturday night Every time I go back to visit, I have to hear about how Americans don't understand food, eat and cook lousy, and on and on. But whenever I want to defend the dining scene and food here, which I think is wonderful, creative, diverse and improving every single day, I get stumped for words. "So what IS your so-called American cuisine?", my fashionable friends across the pond will inquire, squinting their eyes at me, as if I was a retarded child to be pitied. "Are you telling me you are calling a hamburger "food"? That's not food. What do you people eat there? Steaks? Some gastronomie. " So I wonder how you would a) describe the concept of American cuisine, and explain how the U.S. dining scene stacks up to European standards? How is it different? How is it the same? Just would really, really love to hear your perspective as a European working in the U.S. Thank you! I cannot wait to eat at your restaurant.

Always kidding around with me like this....you know very well I don't wear any. Before your drool spilleth over, remember Rocks' recommendations re: smartcracks on the nekkid lady poster.

Days before Saturday of Restaurant Week: 10 People on the book as of last night: 205 Keep it coming!!!!!!!!!!1

I will agree that the food was a lot better than I expected, certainly better that it had to be at 8 bucks a platter. Sweet potato fries were a hit; I could have eaten two more heaps of these babies. I really liked the unpretentious vibe of the place - there is a lot to be said for honest dives that don't pretend to be fabulous.

Come on. Y'all just like typing "breasts."

Tempest in a bloody D-cup. (I wish.) (No I don't.)

Though I've never breastfed or exposed myself at the dining room table in any other way (I say if it's not on this continent OR in this century it shouldn't count), but I am going to part ways with the PC fiber. I agree breastfeeding is a natural, worthy, noble, fantastic thing. I just don't think it ought to be done in public., much less at a dinner table. Call me a prude. Surely you can time a once-in-two-hours process to coincide with your bathroom break? Besides, can't you think of a few other perfectly natural things that you prefer to to in private? Even if they are related to food? A diabetic friend of mine would always retire to the bathroom to shoot up before the meal, even though it's perfectly natural, nay, medically indicated. Okay, maybe not a good comparison, but what of belching, stomach-grumbling and other intestinal noises? Natural, sure, but sightly, no! Of course, people have the right to do it wherever, but I likewise have a right to be grossed out by it.

We do call and confirm our reservations the day or morning before. We do take credit cards and charge no-shows. We do work the phone. And yet, stories like these are more common than I would like. It's 1 pm on January 1st, a New Year Day's brunch shift. My eyes need to be propped to stay open. This fantastic bit of scheduling is what I get for talking crap online. It's not too terribly busy but a few large parties are on the book. This means that tables have been set, waiters are waiting, and kitchen has prepped accordingly. At 1.30 pm, half an hour past the reservation time for a party of 8, I telephone the contact number. When he picks up, I can smell his hungover breath on the other end of the line. "Happy New Year. Are you planning to make your reservation?" "Really?" he says. "What time is it now?" "It's 1.30, half an hour past your reservation time." "Nah, we're not gonna be able to make it." "Thanks for letting us know!" An hour whizzes by and yet another party of 8 isn't in a hurry to show up. Digits are dialed. "Happy New Year. Are you planning to make your reservation?" "Ahahahaha, we actually wouldn't, we were going to call you." (When?) "Thanks for letting us know in advance!!" - sarcasm on. And this reminds me of another story of a guest who no-showed for a reservation once. On her next visit, she located the manager and complained about a "rude" call from a hostess who told her to let the restaurant know of her plans. "I'm an adult and shouldn't be told what to do...by hostesses, no less." After that, I resolved to add the following optional features to my calls to no-shows: 1) exaggerated foreign accent, 2) mandatory use of "ve have vays of marking your record, and 3) USSR anthem playing in the background.

Coming to brunch, Mikey?

Brrrring it on!! Hard to stay cheerful right now because I'm scheduled to work a BRUNCH shift on the 1st of Jan. Report to work at 10 bloody a.m. So instead of a usual PG-13 glamorous hostess trilling excitedly, "Hullo there, what would you like?" guests will be treated to slowly rising swollen eyelids to reveal a look of pure repulsion, followed by barking, "What?" "Oh go seat your bloodyselves." So yeah, bring on surprises.

We take credit card numbers and charge $25 per person for no-show of parties over 6. I believe notification time is 24 hrs.