The Food Critic

My footsteps seem to echo through the packed restaurant. There is weight on all of the workers tonight to please me. Of course, every restaurant in the state fears my presence. I have the power to shut them down in a matter of months or to boost their business in a matter of days. My husband clings to my arm, a fellow food critic himself. This is my assignment, but it is always better to have company when going out to eat something. I can sense every member of the waitstaff giving our table a nervous side eye as we are seated by the maître d’ and given our menus.

“Your waitress will be with you in just a few moments. We hope you enjoy everything tonight.” His words are filled with confidence. He acts like he actually cares about the patrons of the restaurant. He was doing it with guests who he brought in before us. Once he moves away I remove a small notebook from the black, luxury handbag I brought with me and make a note about him being friendly and a good addition to the front of house staff. I am lucky to have caught his name on his name tag. Dominic. A lovely name for a lovely human being. 

“Do you know what you want, darling?” My husband asks with a smile on his face.

“You asked me this in the car. I am always prepared.” He knows this too. A laugh escapes him and he nods his head.

“I know. I am just making sure you are positive that you know. You said the newspaper is paying for this, right? We should get the full three course meal.”

“Always a glutton. However I don’t think we need dessert tonight..” I let out a laugh myself and reach for the menu to see the alcohol selection. “Have you made your decision then?”

“Hold on. I don’t go all out on them when I’m not working. You know this.” His eyes scan the menu. I sit and take notes on the details of the restaurant. All of the waitstaff are constantly checking in on their tables and glasses are refilled regularly. It is exactly what their review from five years ago said. That is a good sign for them.

“Hello, folks. My name is Miranda and I will be taking care of you this evening.” Miranda is a younger girl with crimson hair and eyes that shine like diamonds. She can’t be any older than twenty two. Her uniform is crisp and there isn’t a wrinkle in sight. There is a reason we were sitting in her section, and I think I can figure out why. “Can I get you both started with something to drink?”

“Yes, I am going to have water, please.” My husband says. He is the designated driver tonight since I will be drinking.

“I will have a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.” The best wine to have with a steak. At least in my opinion. Red wine was for red meats.

“Very well. Ma’am, may I see a form of ID, please.” I already had it ready. It was in the front of my journal. This waitress had passed my first test, which was a good look for the restaurant. “Alright. I will go and put this into the system with your drinks. Are we ready to order any food?”

“Yes, we are actually ready to order entrees as well. I am going to have a lobster risotto for my appetizer and the salmon for my entree.” That is my husband’s go-to order. He loved the stuff. He looks at me expectantly as the waitress writes down the order.

“I will have the scallops for my app and the filet for my entree.”

“Great! I will go to put all of that in and get your drinks out to you shortly.” She vanishes around a corner with vigor and excitement. I know first hand that working food service isn’t a fantastic job because of the constant rudeness from customers, but Miranda seems to be taking it in stride. That is another note that I write in my notebook. I may as well give credit to those who take care of us. While she is gone, we discuss our normal work days and plans for the morning. Friday nights meant we could sleep in on Saturday before cleaning. As we talk, I continue to keep my eyes on the rest of the restaurant staff. Some poor girl drops a glass filled with soda in it by one of her tables. She is quick to apologize and gets help cleaning it up from a manager. I hear a table talking about their son with autism who loves to come here and get the chicken tenders off the kids menu, but he isn’t always great with sitting in one spot or speaking with an inside voice. The staff is kind enough to bring them more crayons and kids menus for him to doodle on and keep himself occupied. I always have to wonder if it’s an act because I am here or if this is normal behavior. I hope it’s the latter.

“Alright, I have a water for the gentleman and a Cabernet Sauvignon for the lady. Please enjoy, you two. I will be back with your appetizers shortly.” My husband utters out a thank you before she leaves us again. I already know he wants to tip her well. I do too. We have both seen our fair share of awful servers, and this girl is exceeding both of our standards. I take a small sip of my wine, swirling it around the glass before I do. 

“Up to your standards in terms of red wine, love?”

“Yes. Is your water up to code?” It’s a snarky comment, but he laughs along and I feel okay with making it.

We sit for about ten minutes before Miranda comes back with our appetizers. She places both in front of us with a smile. “I will be back shortly to check on you and make sure everything is good. Enjoy.”

My fork slices through the scallop with ease, a perfect cook on it. Even the small amount of leafy greens in the center are seasoned well. My husband also seems to enjoy his meal, slicing through his lobster without an issue and humming while he eats. That is the sign he loves it. The hum is both literally and figuratively music to my ears. That is until he pulls a hair from his food. I can see the disgust cross his face. He can probably see the same reaction across mine. Many people our age would yell at Miranda for this, but we can’t blame the waitress for a hair that was buried deep in the risotto. Once she returns to our table, I know she can see the disgust on our faces.

“I assume something is wrong. Is there anything I can fix or get the chef to fix?”

“Yes. I found a hair in my risotto. Can I get a remake of it, please?” He has only taken a few bites so it isn’t a huge deal. Miranda nods her head and reaches for the plate.

“Yes. Right away, sir. Apologies for that. Are the scallops okay?”

“Yes. Thank you, Miranda. I am alright though.” I try to be gentle with my words. I know our presence is stressful, but there also needs to be an air of professionalism. Miranda scurries off with the plate and my husband reaches his hand across the table.

“Please eat. Your food will get cold and it won’t be good anymore.”

“Are you…?”

“Yes, I am sure.” He interrupts my question. I would be mad, but I know it is from a place of love and care. I drive my fork back through the scallop and split it in half. Once I stab the half with the fork, I hold it out for my husband to try a bite. He does so and hums as he chews. A good sign for the restaurant that he likes their food.

After another short wait, and me finishing my scallops, Miranda comes back and sets the fresh plate in front of my husband. She bows slightly in apology. 

“The chef extends his sincere apologies to you, sir. Hopefully this one meets the standards you have.” I struggle to hold in my laugh. She is so serious about an innocent mistake, but then I remember how others have probably reacted to it. 

“It is fine. Mistakes happen, Miranda.” He is gentle with her too. His hand motions to his empty water glass. “Is there any way I can get another water, please?”

“Of course! I will be back in a moment with that.” We don’t even get a chance to talk about anything once she leaves because she is back in around a minute. We must be very close to the bar. “Just a heads up that the chef was almost finished with your entrees. We can certainly put yours in a to-go dish, sir, or just bring it with the filet and let you eat at your own pace.”

“You can bring it out to me with her food. I am fine with that.” Miranda only nods and leaves the table, my husband smiling as he eats his risotto. I swear the man is a human vacuum because I look down to write another note about the restaurant only to look back up and he is done with it. Somehow I am not surprised. 

It is only a short wait before the entrees arrive. Miranda lets out a gasp of shock followed by a laugh. 

“Well I see you finished your appetizer, sir. That is great. I will get the plate out of your way in just a moment. First, I have a filet with our signature scalloped potatoes for you, ma’am. Then I have the crispy skinned salmon with a lemon butter broccolini for you, sir.” Both of the plates are set down in front of us and both look exquisite. Miranda grabs the plate from the risotto and smiles. “Do we need any drink refills while I am here or are you all set?”

“We are fine. Thank you.” I tell her. She leaves again. I can still sense the eyes of other workers looking at us as they walk by to go to their sections, but it is less extreme than it was earlier in the meal. 

“Everything alright for you this time?” I ask my husband, but I only get hums of approval in response. That was the clear answer for me. He does give me a thumbs up though. Once he swallows, his eyes look up at me.

“Yes, it is well made. How about yours?” 

“Perfect. The sear on the filet is great and the potatoes are cooked all the way through. It is gorgeously plated. No complaints from me.”

“So, are you sure you don’t want dessert?”

“Not from here.” I give him a playful wink, though we don’t take it further than that. 

As we finish our plates, I pull out the company card and my notebook to write a few final thoughts. They had done well for sure. The hair was a negligible detail and didn’t need to be brought up in my eyes. Accidents happen. Miranda comes back around in time for me to finish the note and her manager follows behind. I expect the manager to speak, but Miranda goes first. 

“It was a pleasure to have you two here tonight. Is there interest in any of our desserts?”

“No. We are set tonight, but thank you.” I speak before my husband can. He would have demanded dessert if I hadn’t spoken up first. 

“Alright, well I can leave your check with you unless you are ready to pay.” She sets it on the table and I pick it up to see the price. Well over eighty dollars, but I figured as much.

“We are set to pay. Here is my card and the check back.”

“Wonderful. I will be back with that soon. My manager here wanted to speak with you for a few moments before you leave so I will leave him to that.” She leaves again, the manager looking at us with dark brown eyes. His hair sat messily on top of his head.

“Hello, folks. My name is Dan. I understand there was a small issue with the lobster risotto earlier in the night. We did compensate for that and only charged you for the other parts of the meal.”

“Thank you, Dan. That wasn’t necessary for you to do, but we appreciate it. May we ask how long Miranda has been here.” I speak softly, not wanting to risk her overhearing us. 

“A few years now. She is one of our most loyal workers. She is a single mom, so I know she appreciates this place for working with her schedule. Actually she requested to serve you both tonight.” That makes a lot of sense. I don’t think she did it out of greed for our money or wanting to suck up to the bosses either. Not from how she acted or treated us. I give my husband a nod before speaking again.

“Well we appreciate the hospitality given to us tonight. She was a wonderful server to have. Thank you for coming to speak with us, but,” Miranda appears, handing me the card and a copy of the receipt to sign and one to take home. “We must be going.” 

“Very well, please don’t hesitate to come back as guests. We loved serving you both tonight.” Dan ushers Miranda away before she can say goodbye, though she does give a wave. Once they are gone, I grab three hundred dollars from my wallet and shrug.

“They gave a good meal and great service. Why not pay them well for it?”

“Hey, I wasn’t arguing. Now let’s get home and have some dessert!”