Ask George: When you’re at a restaurant and not “working,” can your analytical self take a night off, too? —Kathy B., St. Louis
Only when sitting in a corner, facing a wall, wine bottle nearly empty, and deeply engrossed in conversation.
I exaggerate, but only slightly.
My antennae are up from the moment I get out of the car. Is the back door and Dumpster area clean? Are burned-out bulbs in the outdoor fixtures? Is there grease or cigarette butts on the stoop? Are there dust bunnies in the vestibule? Are 20-year-old framed reviews still hanging on the walls?
I contend that all customers get at least a subliminal feel for a place long before they approach the host stand. By then, I'm on full alert. Recently, before even being greeted, I noticed tension on several staffers' faces and announced to my wife we should leave because I sensed things were off. As we headed for the door, I overheard a woman at a table say, "When's our food coming? We've been waiting for 45 minutes." Observing details and body language are how restaurant people survive and thrive. It's a spigot that never shuts off.
I asked the dining team if they ever shut down. Their responses were no surprise.
Sarah Truckey: "Hell no."
Ann Lemons Pollack: "Analytical has no 'off' switch. But there's a modulator to vary the intensity. And there's definitely a mute button. Still, my pals have all heard me say, 'Hey, I'm off duty."'
Jenny Agnew: "I'm not a critic, but I am always in evaluation mode, and it goes both ways: I am also hyper-aware of how the people who are with me act in restaurants. Do they make eye contact with the server? Are they thankful? Do they tip well? I absolutely cannot turn off the editing mode, especially when reading a menu or looking at a restaurant's website. The plural-possessive apostrophe confusion and everyday versus every day are my pet peeves."
Bill Burge: "As a result of my having worked in the industry and being analytically wired in the first place, I never stop. I'm always thinking about how someone made something, what's in it, what made a dish work, or what might have made it work when it falls flat or is ill-conceived. The biggest quirk I have, however, is service ware. I always feel a plate to see if it's hot for a hot dish or cold for a cold dish, and I have an obsession with flipping over china to see who manufactured it. You'd be surprised at how often you see plates from Crate & Barrel or even Ikea at a high-end restaurant or Steelite in a place that could have afforded damn near anything."
Joe Bonwich: "I've had to train myself just to enjoy the experience. I went to two really hot places in Chicago, Duck Duck Goat and Roister, last week and found myself dissecting the dishes and watching the staff instead of just having fun with my daughter. (It doesn't help that she's the most critic-like of all my kids—and is in the restaurant biz—and was doing substantial critiquing of her own.) Conversely, when I go out with people other than my immediate family, they expect me to go into critic mode."
Dave Lowry: "Alas, I am unable to take off the critic’s chapeau no matter where I am dining. I have peered over the top of my glasses at Lord knows how many burgers, gyros, and poor boys, examining them for composition and such. I notice whether a place uses plastic forks and spoons or if they cheap out with sporks. I even find myself examining the composition of my Taco Bell Burrito Supreme, noting when the sour cream is disproportionally added, making a big blob in one end. "
