Menu Choices

The parking lot was full. A misty rain spritzed me as I walked to the door. Attentively, I looked for clues to this restaurant's character. There was a cheerful hum among the guests in the crowded foyer. A plain, teen-aged girl with straight hair stood at the podium. (She reminded me of myself 30 years ago). Behind her was the quarterback of the business. You could see it on this woman. She had jet black hair, shortly coiffed, dressed smartly, and carried that air of authority. This was the woman who had the knowledge and the power to make things happen in this Italian restaurant. Yes, this was going to be an interesting meal.

While the parties ahead of me were seated, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. Not upscale, but clean, and I noted that the motion-sensored towel dispenser fed a generous amount of toweling for drying your hands. I like that. No reason to be stingy with the toweling so your guests have to stand there and wave their hands at the machine to get enough to actually dry their hands. Good start. Now back to that busy waiting area.

I had to wait another minute or two, but the dark-haired Italian woman seated me then, and assured me that Mackenzie would be with me in just a few minutes. Indeed, she was. She was pleasant, not overbearing in her service, and left me alone without ignoring my dining needs. Very nice. The service staff wore khaki pants/skirts/shorts with forest green polos and white shoes. Interesting. I could see that the management was relaxed about the bottom half of the uniform. If it was khaki-colored, it counted. I like that in a management.

There were four servers and one bartender in a very small bar. There was a smoking and nonsmoking side. Rare, these days. There was no busperson, but I noticed the stringy-haired hostess and the efficient woman were very helpful in clearing and readying tables. The boss lady also took food out to tables, and helped where needed. Very put together woman. I saw in her the ability to manage and multitask with a smile on her face. She appeared to me to be seasoned and professional. I liked her. So did the servers.

I enjoyed that there was a high counter the chefs worked behind. They'd set up finished plates for servers to whisk away to hungry customers. No kitchen doors or corners to plot and navigate your way through to your waiting table. I like that, as well. If one was keeping score, one might say I liked how this place felt. It was buzzing with a dinner hour crowd with minimum staff who worked well together. Very nice. I'd grade it a B, overall.

When I finished my meal, it was the managing woman who asked if needed my leftovers boxed up. She coolly let my server know that I was ready for a box. My server appeared, wrapped my food, and brought my check promptly after my dessert refusal. After I paid, I took my time getting my coat back on so that I could watch the workings a little longer. When I did exit, the goddess who was probably the owner was busy cutting focaccia bread, but she still sent me out the door with a "thank you." Extremely well executed. Bravo!

I don't know if this will be the restaurant that replaces the poor choice I made when I moved a month ago, but I do know I like how they operate a whole lot more than the way my chain restaurant does. I hate that I can't make enough money in a place that I trained for three weeks at before I ever got on the floor. I hate that 5% of my sales go to tip share for people who aren't taking care of me. I hate that I work harder than any of the servers there and they are half my age. Who should be running circles around whom? I hate that I'm scrambling in my new life. Most of all, I hate that I don't have enough confidence in my understanding of restaurants to know if what I pick next will net enough business and tips to pay my bills. Strap yourselves in readers: There's a crisis and I'm back to the blah, blah, blah!