Working lunch

Is a restaurant ever justified in telling people to get off their laptops?

Ever since I began to earn enough money to pay for restaurant meals, I have enjoyed the experience of going out to eat with myself. In the pre-smartphone era, I would take a book along, try and bag a window table, and graze for a couple of hours while entertaining myself with a spot of people-watching interspersed with reading (with some sneaky eavesdropping on neighbouring tables providing some food for thought!). When I stopped working in an office, and got a bit stir-crazy writing in the solitude of my study, I would often head out with my laptop to do a bit of writing while grabbing a sandwich and coffee. And more recently, it is my smartphone that keeps me occupied, whether it is answering emails, scrolling social media, or just reading a book on my Kindle app.

 

I have done this sort of thing for decades, all over the world, in restaurants both expensive and cheap, fancy and fuss-free, and I have never been made to feel that I was making a nuisance of myself, by working on a laptop, an Ipad, or even my phone. So, it came as a bit of surprise to read on X that a restaurant in Delhi had told a female single diner not to work on her laptop as she waited for her meal. This being X, there were heated opinions on both sides of the debate, with some saying that restaurants had the right to ban laptops and others – like me – saying that such prohibitions should be stated upfront and not sprung on guests after they have ordered. 

 

Of course, restaurants have the right to lay down rules about what guests are allowed (or not allowed) to do. Equally, guests have the right to vote with their feet and not go back to restaurants that make them feel unwelcome. But the more I thought about it, the more the laptop ban made no sense. The argument goes that if you allow people to work on laptops then the ambience of the restaurant changes and it becomes like a co-working place. But given how technology works these days, you can do the same kind of work on an Ipad and a smartphone, so why just discriminate against laptop users? And if you are committed to not letting your restaurant turn into a co-working place, then are you going to police your guests’ smartphone usage and make sure that they are not actually doing any work while they wait for their entrée to be served? 

 

And what would be allowed and disallowed? Is it verboten to answer emails but responding to a Whatsapp message is fine? Is scrolling through Instagram allowed but working on a presentation forbidden? A book is ok but Facebook marketplace is not?

 

Frankly, this makes zero sense. And if you ask me, rather than police the use of laptops at the table, restaurants would be better off ensuring that people use their devices with due consideration to others. I have lost count of the number of times I have sat at a restaurant while people at the next table watched video shorts or listened to music clips without the benefit of headphones. Instead of banishing laptops, how about we prohibit noise pollution like this? 

 

Now, that’s a ban I could get on board with. 

 

The middle has moved

 There is now a new definition to being middle class

The definition of being middle class in India has changed in my lifetime. When I was growing up, it basically meant any family who could afford to send their children to English medium schools, who could go on holiday twice a year (even if it was just to visit relatives), and who could save a little something over from the combined household salaries every month. Most people who called themselves middle class could not afford a car (though they did take taxis on special occasions) and air travel was a luxury that only the rich could afford.

 

Things have changed now. The average middle-class family these days drives around in its own car, it takes air travel for granted, and when it holidays, it spends time in hotels rather than crash at a relative’s house. It’s not just that the middle class has more money; more importantly, its attitudes to money have changed. Now, nobody thinks twice before booking a restaurant for a meal or ordering takeaway – something that was a rarity when I was growing up.

 

And sure, with the passing of time, my attitudes have changed as well. But only up to a point. There are some things that I learnt during my very middle-class upbringing that persist to this day.

 

Frugality, for instance. I cannot bring myself to throw away a toothpaste tube until I have squeezed the last bit of toothpaste out of it. When there are only dregs left in the shower gel or shampoo bottle, I find myself mixing a little water in so that I can use every little drop. Slivers of soap have to do service until they literally disappear in my hand. Any leftover bread in the fridge is turned into crumbs and frozen to be brought out when needed. And when my cotton nightclothes and T-shirts get worn out, they are torn up and used to dust shelves and the like.

 

Electricity consumption is a particular bugbear of mine – unnecessary consumption, that is. I cannot bear it if someone leaves the lights or fan on in an empty room. So, I find myself morphing into my grandfather who used to run through our childhood home, turning off every unnecessary light (muttering all the while about how money didn’t grow on trees). For me, this has become something of a full-time job because my husband seems incapable of switching any lights off at all (when challenged, he insists he was just returning to the room in question; so why leave it in darkness? Right!)

 

That’s not to say that my spending habits haven’t changed in all these decades. The teenage me would be quite appalled by what I spend to get my hair colour done at the salon, but I consider that money well spent because it is so important for my self-image and my confidence. But even now, every time I make a big purchase, I have to steel myself to do it. And then, I come home and have a lie-down to recover from the shock of how much I have spent. 

 

I guess it’s right what they say. The habits of your childhood die hard. And when you’ve had a middle-class childhood like mine, those habits are hardwired into you for as long as you live. 

 

Table for one

Eating out alone has its pleasures – but it’s not the only activity you can enjoy on your own

I’ve lost count of the number of people who look at my pityingly when I say that I often head out to lunch – and sometimes even dinner (shock! horror!) alone. Don’t you have any friends, you sad little loser, their eyes seem to say. Does your husband not love you enough to have a meal with you? Why can’t you manage to rustle up even one lunch companion from among the dozens of people you know? 

Of course, they don’t say any of this aloud. Instead their ‘concern’ is expressed in any one of the following ways. Don’t I feel embarrassed and exposed eating a meal on my own? How can it be any fun going out to eat without having someone to share the experience with you? Don’t you miss having someone to talk to you while you are eating? And so on and on and on.

Well, the truth is while I enjoy eating out with my husband (and do so all the time) and have great fun doing my ‘ladies who lunch’ thing with my girlfriends, I also really, really enjoy taking myself out for a meal ever so often. Sometimes, I take along a book that I am currently immersed in, and bury my nose in it as I make my way through starter, main course and coffee. Sometimes I spend my time surfing on the Internet. And then, there are times when I don’t put any barriers between me and the world and simply indulge in one of my favourite pastimes: people-watching.

In fact, I love people-watching while eating so much that I even have my own phrase for it. I call it ‘catching the cabaret’, and as a speculative exercise there is no beating it. Is the teenage couple seated to the left of me breaking up or is it just another regular fight in a volatile relationship? That middle-aged couple seated next to the window? Are they eating in companionable silence because they have been married so long that they have nothing left to say to one another? That group of loud young men having a largely liquid lunch? How many of them will leave the table sober? And why is it that the decibel level of a kitty party group is always higher than that of any other?

But while eating out on my own is a fun thing to do, so too are a whole host of other activities.

Shopping, for one. Most of my friends enjoy going out shopping in a group so that they can have the benefit of other people’s opinions on the things they try one. And they have a point: you can’t really ask a shop attendant, “does my bum look big in this,” and expect an honest answer. But frankly, if you feel impelled to ask that question, then take it from me, your bum does look big in it. As far as I am concerned, my eye is the only one that matters when I go shopping.

I am also one of those people who find browsing in shops and window-shopping a complete waste of time. My modus operandi when I go shopping is to make a list of what I want, make a beeline for it, make my choice, pay up and head home. Spending hours looking at merchandise I am never going to buy – which is what inevitably happens while shopping with a group – is my idea of hell. So, solo shopping trips are what work best for me.

The same goes with exercise, whether it is a yoga or Pilates session or a walk in the park. With both yoga and Pilates I prefer to set my own pace, rather than try to slow down or speed up to keep up with a group of people. And when I am out for a walk, I like the idea of spending some time in contemplative silence or just listening to my own thoughts rather than chattering away with a friend or two.

I also find solitude restorative when I am in the kitchen so cooking, for me, is always a solo activity. After spending the whole day with people, there is something therapeutic about finding yourself alone in front of the stove at the end of the day. There is a certain meditative quality to mindlessly chopping vegetables, stirring a curry or a risotto, or even getting ingredients together to bung into the oven. Turn on some music, pour yourself a glass of wine, and suddenly cooking seems like fun rather than just another chore to get through.

The one thing I haven’t tried my hand at yet is watching a movie alone, though those who do so swear by it. There is no distracting chat from those accompanying you, and nobody steals your popcorn after refusing to order their own. But somehow I don’t think this would work for me. For one thing, a cinema hall is always full of people, even if you have ventured out alone. And for another, these people are always doing annoying things like taking phone calls, or texting or even chatting to one another. So watching a movie in a hall can never truly be a solitary activity.

Which perhaps explains why I have become such a fan of streaming services like Netflix and Amazon Prime Video, which give you the movie experience in the privacy of your home and the comfort of your sofa, where you can binge away to your heart’s content. And where the popcorn is far, far cheaper.

  

Dishing it out

What I hate about eating in fancy restaurants

There are many things to love about eating in big, fancy restaurants. There are the crisp white tablecloths, gleaming with the promise of a good meal. There is the smartly-uniformed wait staff, with nary a soiled shirtfront or stained trouser in sight. There is the soft whisper of muted conversation, the discreet tinkle of wine glasses, the occasional clunk of the silverware, all of it adding up to an atmosphere of temple-like calm – all the better for you to enjoy an outstanding meal served up by the presiding deity in the kitchen.

What’s not to love, right?

Right.

But even at the risk of sounding like a churlish grump, I have to confess that there are many, many things I absolutely loath about dining experiences like the one detailed above. 

First off, is the overbearing attention. From the time you enter to the moment you depart, there isn’t a single moment when you feel truly alone, enjoying a lovely meal or a special occasion with your loved ones. There is always someone infringing into your personal space or lurking within earshot to listen in to your conversation. And it is impossible to go 10 minutes without someone asking if your dish was okay, if you’re having a good time, if you’d like something else. The much-touted concept of the dining ‘bubble’, the sacrosanct space within which no server should intrude, is something that very few fancy restaurants seem to understand or respect.

So, if anyone who runs or works in such an establishment is reading this, here’s a handy list of the many things I hate about eating out in fancy restaurants. 

• Waiters who rush up the moment you are seated, unfurl the napkin lying in front of you and place it, with a flourish, on your lap. There are so many things wrong with this scenario is that I don’t quite know where to begin. There’s the assumption that you can’t perform a simple task like unfurling your own napkin. There’s the intrusion into your personal space, when your server’s hand are perilously close to your bosom/stomach/groin area. And there’s the aspect of hygiene: why would I want that pristine cloth that is about to be placed on my lap to be touched by someone else? (The last one is probably just me and my OCD speaking.)

• The first question you are asked when you have been seated and ‘napkin-ed’ invariably is: “Still or sparkling?” Or, if the establishment is even more pretentious than most, the question comes coached in terms of “Evian or Perrier?” I have yet to visit an expensive restaurant that offers you tap water as an alternative. If you want tap water – which is perfectly safe in such establishments – you have to ask for it. And they are depending on the fact that you will be too embarrassed to ask (for fear of being seen as a cheapskate) to make a profit on every sip you take. Which is why I make it a point to do so.

• Food served in shallow bowls or plates with a rim. As far as I am concerned, the only thing that should come in a bowl is soup, or at a pinch, a risotto. Anything that requires cutting with a knife and fork should come in a plate; because there is nothing quite as awkward as trying to cut a piece of meat or fish in a shallow bowl which wobbles precariously with each attempt. And no plates with a raised rim please. When I place my fork and knife on the plate between bites, I have a reasonable expectation that they will stay in place, not clatter off and fall on the floor. It’s embarrassing for me, and more work for the wait staff if they do. So, just stick to simple, old-style plates, and we’ll do just fine.

• Upselling everything, from the aperitif to the wine to the overpriced lobster. This is especially galling when you see your host being press-ganged into ordering pink champagne as a pre-dinner drink, or an expensive bottle of red/white, even though he was looking for a bargain. And waiters/managers who push your guests towards the Beluga caviar when asked to recommend something deserve a special place in dining hell.

• When I visit a restaurant what I want is a good meal without a side-order of freezing-to-death. But no matter what the season, you can be sure that the temperature in a fancy restaurant will be Arctic in nature. If you complain, three members of staff will come and offer you a shawl (“We have pashminas in every shade for our lady guests”). Surely it would be simpler to just turn up the temperature on the AC controls. But no, that seems a step too fair. It’s the pashmina or perishing in the cold. Take your pick.

• Sometimes when I come out to lunch or dinner with a book, I really am looking forward to reading that book. But to the wait staff at a restaurant, I just look like a sad, lonely soul, who has been reduced to eating out alone. So, they gamely – and I am sure, with the best of intentions – try and sit in for my missing friends, making small talk as I eat my meal. And no matter how monosyllabic my replies or how discouraging my body language, they persist with their conversational gambits. But guys, I really am okay being on my own. And I really would like to read my book. In peace. With no interruptions. Though another glass of that pink champagne would be just great.

Unkindest cut

Now that it’s time to tighten our belts a little, which luxuries are you willing to give up?

It’s that time of the year again. When the office grapevine begins to buzz with how the raise scenario will play itself out this year. If you are one of God’s chosen creatures, you will probably end up scoring a decent raise. But if you’re not – and given the state of the economy, I’m guessing this is far more likely – you will be fobbed off by a token increase that is risible given the rate of inflation.

And if the Fates truly have it in for you, then you will be sent a sad little form letter from the HR department telling you this is the time for all good men and women to come to the aid of the company by sacrificing their salary hikes at the altar of corporate profitability.

In that case, like millions of other hapless souls, you will be forced to live on a wage that buys much less than it did and doesn’t, in fact, go very far. And that means those dreaded words that strike terror in every middle-class heart: budget cuts.

Cuts. How cruel it sounds! Cuts: as in something that hurts, causes you pain, injures you and leaves you less than whole. But however traumatic we find it, cuts are something that all of us will have to make as our salaries fail to keep up with our expenses. And the first thing to go will be the little luxuries that make life a bit more fun.

But when it comes right down to it, what luxuries would you be willing to forgo? And which of them would you find impossible to live without? In other words, which of your luxuries do you need rather than just want? Which of them are just luxuries; and which of them have become that dangerous thing called Luxecessities – luxuries that have turned into necessities as you try to cope with your daily grind.

Speaking for myself, there are some things that I simply refuse to forgo, no matter how frivolous they may seem to the rest of the world. And on top of that list is hair-styling: highlighting, trimming, conditioning, blow-drying. The rituals just add up every year – as indeed, does the expense. But I don’t grudge a rupee that I drop at my friendly neighbourhood hair salon because it is simply the best pick-me-up in the world. Fine, go ahead and judge me (as I am sure you are!) but I consider the money spent here the best investment ever. It makes me feel good about myself, and there’s no substitute for that in an increasingly gloomy world.

To make up for this profligate spending I have given up on my coffee habit – well, after a fashion anyway. I no longer drop by Barista for an early morning cappuccino or two; I don’t send out for a couple of double espresso shots in the late afternoon; I don’t buy a tall glass of creamy cold coffee when I’m feeling a bit peckish. Instead, I’ve invested in a coffee-maker which is considerably less complicated to operate than it looks and spews forth coffee that would do any Italian restaurant proud. It makes espresso, it serves Americanos and froths up a mean cappuccino. (Word to the wise: use south Indian roasted beans; they’re a fraction of the price of Illy and Co and just as good.)

Another luxecessity I find hard to give up is book-buying. There is something so supremely addictive about the high that I get from browsing through book-shops that I find it hard to go cold turkey. I love the smell of freshly-bound books, the clutter on the shelves, the colourful covers, the juxtaposition of the sublime with the ridiculous. I love the inevitable dithering between two equalling compelling volumes and then heading home, warm with the anticipation of spending the evening curled up with my latest purchase.

To fund this addiction, I’ve given up on magazines. I’ve always been a bit of a mag hag, devouring everything from shaming gossip rags to elevated publications that lecture me about the state of the world. But of late, I’ve begun to feel that the expense is simply not worth it. There’s nothing here that I can’t get for free on the Internet. And if there’s some really compelling content then it’s easier and cheaper to download the app on my Ipad anyway.

Don’t ask me if any of my cuts have made the slightest difference to my household budget. I haven’t the foggiest. But just the thought that I’m trying to cut down on frivolous expenses does make me a little better.

If you’re looking to make a few economies of your own, here are some ideas.

• Cut down on eating out; restaurant bills have a way of piling up. And if you’re paying by credit card you may not even notice until it’s too late. Instead, tap into your inner Domestic Goddess (or whatever the male equivalent is) and turn cooking into a fun, family activity.
• Rid yourself of the multiplex habit. The expensive tickets, the popcorn and soda combo offers begin to add up after a while. Discover the joys of ordering movies on Showcase or the delights of DVD box sets.
• Forget about exploring exotic, foreign locales on your vacations. Revive those old-style home-stays you enjoyed as a child when you spent holidays in the houses of family and friends. Who knows, you may just end up gaining much more than the money saved.

Table manners

Going to restaurants would be a much better experience if we all acquired some

I’ve always said that if you want to know how well (or ill) behaved people really are, you only have to observe them in a restaurant setting. I don’t know what it is, but there is something about eating and drinking in a public place that makes people reveal their essential selves. And going purely by my own experience, in eight cases out of ten, this is not a terribly edifying spectacle.

Among the many lovely qualities that you see on display are boastfulness, pride, self-aggrandization, rudeness, bullying, arrogance, belligerence, with a little lying and cheating thrown in for good measure.

There will be people who arrive without a booking but expect a table on the strength of their last names, their daddy’s balance sheet, their place in the Union Cabinet or simply because they are best friends with the owner (take your pick). There will be those who take particular pride in being rude and obnoxious to the wait staff and then refuse to leave a tip on the grounds that the service simply did not cut it. And that’s not counting those who will eat their way through a large three-course meal and then summon the manager to complain about the quality in the hope that they won’t be obliged to stump up for it.

On the basis of my largely unscientific research (not to mention empirical observations) I have come up with a guide of what to do and what not to do in a restaurant. Do feel free to pass it on to all those who appear to be in dire need of such a primer!

• Don’t arrive at a restaurant at peak hours without a reservation and expect to be seated immediately on the strength of that time-tested refrain: “Don’t you know who I am?” (To which the only acceptable answer is: “Why? Have you forgotten?”) If you haven’t reserved a table then get in queue like the rest of us.

• If you make a reservation then make sure that you keep it. That means turning up at the restaurant at the appointed time. If you arrive half an hour late and discover that your table has been given away, don’t kick up a fuss. The management has a perfect right to do that especially if you haven’t had the courtesy of calling up and telling them that you will be late.

• If you have made a reservation for four, then don’t turn up with six guests. No restaurant can miraculously whistle up two extra covers at a minute’s notice. And no, it is not possible to add two extra chairs to a table of four. The laws of physics – not to mention restaurant aesthetics – mandate against it.

• Please don’t eat out when you are clearly suffering from the flu. All that sneezing and coughing is enough to put everyone else off their food. Not to mention the very real fear of infection, given how close tables are set these days.

• If you want to bring along your children for lunch or dinner then look after them yourselves. If that’s too much of a strain and you must bring the nanny along, sit her down at your table and treat her like any other member of your party. Don’t make her stand behind your child’s high chair, napkin at the ready to wipe off drool and assorted food stains.

• If there is something wrong with the dish you ordered or you simply don’t like it, return it immediately. Don’t eat your way through three-quarters and then demand a replacement.

• If you want French fries, order your own. Don’t steal them off someone else’s plate while pretending to be an oh-so-abstemious salad-eater.

• Don’t order soufflé for dessert and then complain about how long it is taking. The waiter explained when you ordered it that minimum cooking time was 25 minutes. He wasn’t kidding. It isn’t his fault that you didn’t take him seriously.

• Don’t dawdle over your tea or coffee at peak times when other people are waiting to be seated for their meal. You may be well within your rights to do so, but good manners demand that you relinquish your place to those still waiting to be fed.

• Your waiter is a person, not a sub-human species. So, don’t whistle or cock a finger to attract his attention. If you can’t catch his eye, a loud “Excuse me” usually does the trick. But if he is wearing a name tag then do him the courtesy of addressing him by his name. (Needless to say, the same applies to waitresses.)

• If your favourite coffee place is full, it is not cool to go and stand behind a table that looks as if it may be the first to get vacated in the hope that you can grab it before anyone else. And it is downright rude to ask those seated just how long they are going to take over that cappuccino.

• It doesn’t matter if a 10 per cent service charge is included in your bill. It is still a nice gesture to leave a little something behind for your waiter. For one thing, it will get you better service the next time around. But more than that, it is the right thing to do.