Nadya

I'm sorry, I just don't buy that. Dealing with a waitron who can't communicate with you effectively is frustrating. If that contributes to the impression of authenticity, well, let me try a highly scientific field test tonight. I will trill at people at the door in a particularly heavy accent and frown at every question from under a jauntily perched beret. On the way back, I'll ask them if that made their veal blanquette taste more intense. Results will be shared tomorrow morning. Secondly, you may enjoy no waiting time and no hassle with reservations. But from the restaurant side, being empty is just bad. Bad. Bad. There is no second opinion. Empty is bad. Do you think the chef keeps ringing in fresh orders of two pieces of mackerel every morning, on an off chance that a sole customer will show up? Do you think good waiters will stay at a place that doesn't fetch enough money to keep them well-fed and well-lubricated and the car away from repossessing? Good cooks? Hell, even good cleaners? Empty means no money. No money means no credit with suppliers, no competent staff, no good cooks. Ask anyone who works at a restaurant how much they like empty. It sucks. And if it continues, everyone with half a brain cell hauls bottom. Which leaves, as you may guess, people with quarter brain cell and less. Which may explain my original point about the glacial+clueless characters.

I work across the street from that place, and wanted to make a break from the Sawatdee routine more times than I care to enumerate. But every time I got put off by the emptiness of the place, and by the service that's equal parts glacial and clueless.

Also, TenPehn mojitos are sissy-bottom and Asian in name only.

I don't think people who work at restaurant expect an inordinate amount of bottom-kissing, in fact, I don't. I also don't think the focus of the column is "let me tell you in graphic, excruciating detail just what a bunch of ignorant pencildicks you lot are." What I'm trying to write about, and I appreciate the chance DCist gave me very much, is to give people who are not as familiar with fine dining scene as we are a bit of an edge. We can all agree that eating out can be an average, a sucky, or a delightful experience. And it's really easy to have a delightful experience if you know a few little tricks. Like, you know, don't call at 7 pm and expect no time on hold. Ask for a nice table in advance. Talk to a live person, not a computer, if you have a special request. I want people to think of it as tips from a retired casino dealer on cleaning at blackjack. I don't think people who read this board need any of these tips, incidentally. No, the customers are not there to make our life easier. And I don't expect that. You know everyone will get seated. You know everyone will get their food. But some of them will be seated better than others. Some of them will even have better food. And everyone wants to feel like a special customer, not an arse in a chair. I'm not trying to tell customers what to do - just what to do to have a really good time. They don't have to do what I say. But then they don't have to have a really good time, either, now do they?

Do You OpenTable? Take 4.

Don't you let anyone take my size SMALL or EXTRA-SMALL. I intend to use it as a fashion item, not a jammy top.

This right here is a beautiful piece of writing. You go girl. Superbly narrated.

No...it's the looks...I'd love to see a quasimodo cop the same attitude and get away with it...never...looks count!

May I just say: the man is sickeningly handsome. I mean, just ridiculously good-looking.

Pumpkins, you are too good to me. Stay tuned as the real wit and porniness begins to emerge once the unsuspecting readership has been hooked. Perhaps I will run "The Best Snippets From The Trenches" once RW rolls along

Take 3

I know what you mean...the curse of tall people. Have I got a cure for you! When dealing with a too-short barstool, assume half-inverted lotus pose (one ankle folded under back of opposite thigh, thus elevating the height from which the other leg will now attractively dangle.) Works for me!

Who you callin' fat?

I adore Lepic, it's always a good choice for an upscale but relaxed dinner. The lounge seating is okay, but I much prefer the bar. Pig feet never disappoint. Speaking of the bar, stop by and introduce yourself to Steve, who hails from Bis and is quite fabulous in looks and character.

And report cards with room for comments. A la patron record in the OpenTable.

That's brilliant...do they come in red and crotchless?

And the calendar, babe. Don't forget the calendar.

I am, in actual fact, going to a party at Morton's Thursday night and have every intention to enjoy it. It's drinks and desserts - what's not to like about booze and sugar? If someone else is paying, why not?

I've been to multiple Mortons, and never impressed by any of'em. Forgettable food, predictable crowd and an utterly ridiculous dog-and-pony show by waiters who insist on showing you a shrink-wrapped piece of beef before taking your order. As if I'm a raving schizo who can't tell her mignon from a prophylactic without visual aids.

Been There, Done That

I don't think there is a problem with asking chefs for recipes; with open kitchen, one is tempted. Of course, timing is important; asking the chef anything when he's yelling, "Pick up!!!" is not much better than chatting up a surgeon during appendectomy. I personally never had a problem approaching, talking or asking chefs for stuff. They also don't seem to have a problem with giving it to me. I do have a problem copying their instructions in my kitchen. But that's my problem.

Whatever you do, move your bottom fast! It's two weeks away and we are already fully booked, and I imagine other places aren't much better.

"Enough with this figure-watching business," I said to myself this morning. "Bottom is crying out for calories contained in actual foodstuffs, not compressed in vile SlimFast cans cunningly designed to taste as repulsively as possible. Ich heisse superfantastische." So around lunchtime I went roaming around the roads of suburban Va. whose only redemptive value in my book is high percentage of ethnic eateries. (And outlet malls, but that's a bit too far.) Actually, lately I've been cheating on Rocks and taking food advice from the folks at DCist, what with my newfound home and all. And it's ever so convenient that their newest find, Taqueria San Vicente, is not even a ten-minute drive away from my office. It's a quaint little shack plopped right in the middle of a CVS parking lot. Decoration is minimal. Salvadorean music videos playing on a staticky TV. Neon signs advertise tacos and other goodies like pupusas and hamburgers (note to self: would love to see a pendejo who would go there for hamburgers.) I admit, I came jonesing for the chorizo tacos as advertised. To my chagrin, chorizo tacos were no mas. "Maybe this afternoon," offered a shy waitress. Fat lot of good will that do for me! "Si no chorizo, que?" I said, pouting. "Carne," she smiled at me. So tacos con carne it was. And I have to say, for under $10, it was a damn good lunch. Three neatly double-layered tortillas with only a hint of scorching. Lean shredded beef grilled before my very own baby blues. Finely chopped tomatoes, radishes, onions and cilantro, not brunoised, of course, but chopped finer than I can chop, and generously ladled onto the mounds of beef. Wee containers of jalapeno sauce (ay mamita linda hot hot!) and chile sauce (gringo regular hot.) All prepared and assembled from scratch while I waited, not fished out of glass counter where it may have lingered for hours. Got a side of San Vicente's version of cole slaw, which was delightfully free of creamy, nasty white sauce in which typical gringo cole slaw is usually awash. In fact, their slaw was curiously close to what my own mamochka used to preserve back home - just salty cabbage with a hint of carrots and an even daintier hint of fennel. If you order to go, as I did, the same shy waitress packs a few tongfuls into a ziplock baggie. For $1.25, what do you expect, bloody Wedgewood? Upon return to the office, tacos were consumed with much gusto and found neat and flavorful if a touch too dry - which perhaps comes from my gringo reluctance to dump the whole container of hot sauce on said tacos. The upside of that is you can comfortably hold the said taco aloft while you bite into it, unfraid that gobs of unknown origin grease will drip on your darling cashmere. All in all, a nice diversion and $10 spent on actual prepared foods, not Boston Market or Cosi or similar nonsense. If you live or work nearby, consider the trip, it's a very nice alternative to the usual, tired and tasteless suspects.

Take two Thanks for your encouragement, darlings.

Isn't Ceiba supposed to have good hot chocolate? I'm seriously still getting over the fact that what you people call hot chocolate would be called tepid cocoa where I come from. Hot chocolate is supposed to be made of melted chocolate bars, not sodding Nestle packets.