It’s not them, it’s you!
About those snooty servers in Parisian brasseries...
We celebrated our first anniversary in Paris. A local chef suggested a nice, non-touristy and affordable restaurant within walking distance of our hotel.
“Book well in advance, it will be packed”, he said.
The restaurant didn’t open until 7:00 pm which was a bit of a worry because we were on a tight schedule and wanted to catch the late show at Moulin Rouge…
We arrived promptly at 7:00. The place was empty. It was also small, and the tables were less than an inch or two apart, running along a side an end wall, with a few more up by the window. A server guided us to a table in the middle of the row along the side wall. He pulled a table out so Kirsten could squeeze through and sit on the padded bench.
He knew it was our anniversary, and brought us each a glass of champagne. Two or three minutes later a very loud, very non-French-sounding, person in a very French beret of the kind only tourists wear, entered with a girl on his arm.
He didn’t have a reservation. The waiter told him that without a reservation, he couldn’t seat the couple.
The man protested loudly in French, which was worse than mine, and then in English.
The waiter said he would give them a table. The man insisted on one of the window tables and, again, the waiter told him that all the empty tables were reserved.
“I only have one table”, he said. As soon as the waiter started to lead the way, I felt fear, frustration, and perhaps a little anger, rise within me. I knew exactly what was going to happen and it did.
The waiter moved the chair beside mine, pulled the table beside ours out, and motioned to the beret-wearer’s arm candy to sit down. She did.
Fortunately, our evening wasn’t ruined listening to complaints from our neighbour. The man in the beret was so upset at the atrocious service that he made it known to the world that he would not accept being treated so poorly. He would simply refuse to dine there. He dragged the table out and then dragged his girlfriend out of the restaurant. We had a lovely meal and by the time we left the restaurant was indeed packed. Only tourists book early so they can rush off to a tourist trap the same evening…
Several years later, we moved to Brussels. Suddenly Paris was only 90 minutes away by train.
The first time I visited the brasserie that would become our favourite, I was with an English and a French acquaintance from the corporate security world. Our French friend booked the table for 8:30 pm (as mentioned, only tourists book early times). We went for a beer, my counterparts had a discussion about rugby, we got lost, and finally, we arrived at the brasserie at 9:15.
“We have a reservation”, my friend told the host.
“You HAD a reservation. You’re late. We’re full.”
A discussion ensued. It was in French and I was pretty sure it wasn’t about rugby. It was a discussion, not an argument though, and a few minutes later we were led to a small table that was outside the main dining area and almost blocked the steep steps that led down to the restroom. It wasn’t normally used for customers, but staff had cleared it and set it up while the discussion about our tardy arrival was ongoing up near the restaurant entrance. The meal was amazing.
“There are 15 000 brasseries in Paris”, my friend told me, “and some of them have great cuisine. It’s just not always easy to tell from the outside.”
Kirsten and I had probably visited Garnement two or three times when we found ourselves nearby on a grey Autumn afternoon. The grey clouds became black and it started pouring rain. We hoofed it over to “our place” for a coffee or a drink while we waited out the rain. We had planned to book a table for dinner anyway so it was a two birds, one stone kind of thing.
I asked the server if it would be busy that night.
“How should I know?” was the curt reply. “It’s not evening yet.” Then he walked away.
When he returned, he asked what time we’d like to come for dinner.
That evening, the same server was still working.
Shortly after we sat down, he returned with two glasses of champagne. They were complimentary. On the house as it were.
“Now you can sit here and see if we are busy tonight!”
It was slowly dawning on me that all the arrogant Parisian waiters I had heard about were perhaps just misunderstood when their pride and professionalism were tested by a biased, ignorant, or ill-informed clientele.
Maybe we just didn’t understand their humour.
Maybe we don’t really know what professional service looks, sounds, or feels like.
Maybe our expectations of hard-working people who quietly serve us meals we could never cook at home are off.
Maybe we shouldn’t expect to be interrupted by fake-friendly servers pretending to care about what we think of the first few bites or what our plans for the rest of the evening are as they robotically recite the same script that bores both them and us half to death.
Maybe we don’t appreciate the use of subtleties to create an atmosphere and experience that allows us to savour the tastes and enjoy the company of those we are dining with to the fullest.
Shortly before we moved from Brussels to Canada we had an enjoyable Sunday lunch at our favourite brasserie. We noticed their new wine glasses had the restaurant logo engraved on them. I asked if we could buy some to bring with us to Canada.
“It was Saturday night yesterday, I’m sorry. We broke some, so I don’t have enough to give you.”
That wasn’t bad news, it only meant we’d have to make one more trip to Paris before we moved from Brussels.
Oh yeah, remember that first anniversary I told you about? You may be wondering why I didn’t voice my disapproval when the loud American couple was shown to a table that was right up against ours.
Well, as he led them towards us, the waiter looked me squarely in the eye and when our gazes locked, he winked.
“Trust me”, his gesture told me.
After he’d shown them the door and told them not to bother ever trying to book a table in his restaurant he returned to our table, filled our champagne glasses, and said, “Thank you for understanding. The best way for me to get rid of them was to let them choose to leave.”
Stay safe, Always Care
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This week we’re looking at bias. Try to leave yours at home next time you’re travelling. Leave your expectations of having everything served up just like your used to at home too! Isn’t travel about getting away from it all? 😉
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Agree with your sentiments here.
I have never had a bad experience in a brasserie or restaurant in France.
Crap! Now I want to go to Paris and eat out in a French Brasserie.
I never get to travel. I don't get to see exotic places and can only imagine them in my head.