bitterwaitress

We don’t take reservations for brunch. Most places don’t for that matter and certainly none of the restaurants in our neighborhood do. It’s like an unwritten code. Why don’t we take reservations for brunch, you ask? None of your fucking business, I respond. But I will tell you anyway. Based on the observed habits of those walking in for brunch:

1) you are always late

2) your party is always incomplete

3) there is always a child/cripple/incontinent elderly person of which we were not forewarned

4) the party is always +/- 3 people. (by the way, why is 3 the most popular party size for brunch? what is it? the drab 20-something couple and his/her fat friend who couldn’t get laid?

 

Sounds relatively reasonable, even in your self-centered patron world. But you know the REAL reason you can’t have a brunch reservation? Because for this one meal we’ve got you by the balls. We know you’re not gonna cook it. We know you won’t want to clean up after it. We know you don’t want the 200 square foot apartment you share with a maltese and a Bugaboo stroller to smell like bacon. We know you didn’t shop they day before. We know you didn’t plan it. We know it’s a ritual (it was on Sex & The City all the time…) and unlike dinner, you can’t have it delivered.

 

As good as this flirtation with power is, I enjoy even more the ways in which people will try to <b>get</b> a reservation. These are a few of my favorites:

“We live in the neighborhood.” 64,312 people live in the neighborhood.

“We eat here all the time.” Everyone eats here all the time. That’s why it’s always busy.

“How long will the wait be this weekend at noon” Hmmm, let me see. Well, I really CAN predict the future but rather than play the Lotto or Wall Street I choose to seat yuppies for eggs.

“My kids can’t sit for long.” Yeah, that one will really get you in.

“I know the owner.” This comment, in which they mispronounce his name, is invariably followed by them walking by the owner’s brother to a mutual lack of acknowledgement.

“My grandmother is 93.” Yeah? Mine’s dead.

“I spoke to someone and they said to come by and you’d seat me.” Really? What was his name? “I don’t remember his name.” Of course you don’t - all the people answering the phone that day are women.

But here’s the kicker:

“It’s a really special occassion. We love your place. People are coming in from all over for little Mason’s christening. My grandmother is coming in from Ft. Lauderdale. She’s 88 and can’t wait at the bar. There’s gonna be 10, maybe 12 of us. We’re regulars, look us up (no name comes up in the computer). We know Chris, he always helped up out (he was fired a year ago)”

Let’s do some math here. 10 people @ $25 a head. That’s $250 dollars. 8% of that is $20. $20 is the amount, granted the minimum, that would have to pass over my palm to take the reservation and break the rules. $50 and I may even send over some desserts. Maybe. See, were are allowed and encouraged to take side tips, but we cannot solicit them. Still, you would think that someone would figure out that a simple twenty, BEFORE the actual meal, would ensure the meal takes place at all (other than the Guidos from brooklyn, God bless them.) But I guess they are blinded by entitlement, and by being regulars from the neighborhood who eat here all the time but whom I haven’t ever seen in two years.

They seem to forget that this is New York City. And in New York City you get what you pay for. And if you don’t pay for the special brunch reservation, you aren’t getting it.

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