08/27/2007

In the Kitchen

Tales from the dining-out front

By Sally Ketchum
Local columnist
ketchum1985@
gmail.com

Read Sally's past columns here

Incidents and accidents involving service at restaurants might be considered hilarious or disastrous, depending on whether one looks at the wine glass as half full or half empty.

Certainly, such events occur at both simple and fancy restaurants. I've experienced exquisite, uniquely plated presentations that were served with a gentle and practiced hand, but I've also had house salads so forcefully plopped on the table that a couple pieces of arugula and half of a cherry tomato ended up in my lap. These service incidents may involve folks from the maitre d' down through the ranks, the sommelier, dining room manager (did we used to say head waiter?), the table's server and busboys.

It seems that the kitchen help is another matter. While we can see kitchen disasters up close on the Food Network, the shenanigans in the kitchen are mainly hidden when we dine out. Who knows what is going on in there?

A few years ago, Liz, a Nevada acquaintance, and I met in San Francisco to see our kids for Mother's Day week. My son took us to the now-defunct (but most accurately named) restaurant, The Flying Saucer, then a rage with young San Franciscans. I have written about the incident before, telling of the dramatic entrance of a notable diva who sashayed to her table, winding her enormously long scarf around her neck. As she maneuvered among the closely placed tables, she dramatically flung her scarf over her shoulder and through a lady's lap, scattering her partner's salad. Then, at the next table, she threw a hip out in a seductive move and knocked a pork in pistachio pesto entrée and a bottle of red wine into the aisle. However, until now, I have never written about the reaction of the multitude of servers at the restaurant.

Of course, these servers were aghast at the scene. Frozen in place, their eyes darted around at each other rather than surveying the considerable mess. They were like young children at the beach, each daring someone else to be first to brave the cold waters.

For a long minute, not one waiter moved. Finally, as if choreographed, they converged on the mess all at once, looking very silly, and each was reluctant to dig in. The troupe dabbed at the mixed food with their small towels until the floor manager arrived with proper clean-up towels and directed the crew. Amused laughter rippled through the diners, something akin to flying saucers.

Another remarkable catastrophe took place at a dinner at a posh Evanston, Ill., restaurant on Northwestern University's campus. I wanted to treat my son and impress his date, a lovely girl studying chemical engineering. The evening was, indeed, memorable.

We were late — the last diners. The maitre d' enthusiastically romanced, then emotionally argued with, his beloved in the lobby, alternately winding himself around her and pushing her away. Further, after audibly throwing a tantrum in the kitchen about an incident with his staff, the chef stalked out and left the restaurant.

Finally, at least an hour after we carefully ordered, our server arrived at our table with a very large platter of spaghetti and three plates. (The restaurant soap opera had entertained us meanwhile.) The waiter said, "I cooked this for you myself, and the dinner is complimentary. It's been a bad night.”

In days past, it seemed that tipping was exactly that, gratuitous in proportion to the extra service rendered. Note the word, "extra.” Now, it seems that we have no choice, however the service. It is 20 percent all over and even demanded in small print at the bottom of some menus. These tips are usually earned, since most service people do their jobs well.

In a resort town like Traverse City with its summer crowds, the need for service workers is heavy, and restaurants depend on high school and college students to deal with the vacationers and tourists. Restaurateurs value good help and often hire the same people year after year, sometimes family members.

Poppycock's staff includes three of owner Mark Butzier's children. They know the ropes and take pride in the family's business. Owner-chef Pete Peterson of Tapawingo has hired local teachers every summer for many years. They are well-trained to upscale service so they do not need to climb a learning curve; and, as teachers, they are free to serve summers. They also love the work.

In all fairness, if we find service lacking or funny, there is another side to the issue. I bet waiters and waitresses have a whole lot of tales of diners' table manners.

They ought to write books about them.

Genovese Pesto

• ½ lb. basil leaves
• 2-3 garlic cloves
• 1½ T. toasted pine nuts (pignoli)
• ½ T. coarse salt
• 4 oz. Parmesan cheese, grated
• ½ c. virgin olive oil

Wash basil (or other greens), and carefully dry them with paper towels.

Put all ingredients except the olive oil into a mortar or blender. Work or blend the mixture to a paste. Gently work the olive oil into mixture in the mortar or add olive oil in small batches to the running blender.

Notes: Greens like spinach, chard, parsley and other herbs may be used in combination with basil or each other to make pesto. French pistou, usually used as a dollop on soup, differs from Italian pesto in that it sometimes includes tomatoes and never includes parsley or pine nuts. Pistachios can be used in pesto, but they must be blanched and peeled like almonds.

Sally Ketchum in a northern Michigan food journalist. She likes basil as the main ingredient in pesto but often uses a smaller portion of other greens with pine nuts or pecans. Her favorite basil is the new "Bolloso,” or Genovese, basil. Ketchum can be reached at ketchum1985@gmail.com.