Food Servers Infidel Thumb
The server has just finished uncapping a spectacular sight, a renaissance feast. The eyes of the beholder take a ravenous hold of the magnificent platter of food artisanship. Ever so slightly, the left cheek of the guest begins to quiver. His eyes bulge with fascination. The corners of his mouth moisten. The upper lip abdicates in anticipation, as the lower lip submerges deep, like a sinking ship into the chin. His entire body erupts with silent volcanic spasms of gastronomic ecstasy. The tongue peeks wearily out of the mouth, witlessly in search of its next entertainment, then is caught by an unbridled tidal wave of hard, sucking undertows as it tries to resist against the mighty bursting dam of saliva that gushes forth. The pressure forces the mouth to succumb and swallows hard.
And then... the eyes behold treachery... they see it!
A vulgar intruder has crashed onto the plate. What the hell is the servers thumb doing in my food? The nubby, greasy thumb is eclipsed by an ever slight black half moon rim that magnifies the servers thumb nail. The dastardly deed is done. The moment is shattered into a gazillion crystal pieces, impossible to mend, and never able to hold the moment again. The thumb has infiltrated the plate. Like a wild infidel, it has contaminated the purity of the succulent meal and vanquished its innocence. It is nothing more than mutton now. The euphoria has been snuffed out to oblivion.
The mind is buzzing, swishing back and forth, attempting to bulldoze the recollection of the thumb’s image, but the mind won’t have it. It quickly tries to switch tracks like an Amtrak bullet train. Then suddenly, his wife jars him back to reality. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like it. Just look at that beautiful plate! I’ll have it, if you don’t want it.” He shrugs like a castrated bull and replies, “No, everything is fine. I guess it’s all right.”
His brain feels like an mellon being mashed in a vice. He tries to remember if his waiter was the one who was chewing his nails when they walked in to be seated. He can’t recall - they all look alike. As he exhales deeply, it takes him a moment to regain his composure, then pauses to think some more.
Should I or shouldn’t I say something?
Damn it! Shouldn’t these jokers know better?
Damn! I’ve heard the horror stories of what goes on back in the kitchen when you complain and send back your food.
Damn! Why don’t these guys pay attention to this stuff?
OK! What Just Happened?
Your gratutity may be burnt toast!
For the guest, that exact moment can neither be retracted nor recreated. It’s final. The only thing you can do is not commit this grievous err. It’s avoidable. And yes, it may take some practice, but it is avoidable!
Be assured, it's a real turn-off to see a stranger's finger in your food, but far worse is the spread of bacteria from your hands. Most servers clear dirty dishes and cutlery from their tables, grabbing soiled glasses by the tops with their fingers, which is another reason why you should never handle a glass by the rim for a guest, or put your hands near your mouth.
(c) 2010 ptsaldari.posterous.com : PTsaldari Group Inc. | The Art of Serving Well | Serve Me Well Inc. All rights reserved. This article originally appeared on ptsaldari.posterous.com blog authored by PTsaldari. This article may be shared and reprinted as long as this entire copyright message accompanies it. Email: ptsaldari@gmail.com
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