Eating out? Hell no!

Restaurants are getting louder, dimmer, and much less fun; frankly, I'd rather eat in 

 

As someone who eats out reasonably often, I have to confess that the ‘restaurant experience’ is leaving me completely cold of late. Given a choice I would much rather cook for myself and eat at home or – if I am feeling lazy – just order in and serve it up on my dining table. Why, you ask? Well, let me count the ways…

 

First off, the thing that annoys me the most about restaurants these days: loud music pounding away relentlessly so that any conversation with your dinner companions is impossible. I have to keep asking my dinner guests to repeat what they say; and that can get really annoying (for both parties) after a while. And worse, I have to keep shouting at the top of my voice to be heard above the music. Result: my throat is a goner midway through the evening. 

 

I don’t know why more people don’t complain about this. Or maybe I do. Every time I have asked the manager of a restaurant to turn the music down, he has shut down my request by saying, “But madam, everybody else is enjoying the music!” Are they? Let’s just say I have my doubts. 

 

Then there’s the question of lighting; or should I say, the lack thereof. Most restaurants are trying so hard to be glamorous and night-clubby that they keep the lighting at the bare minimum to seem mysterious and alluring. The result is that you cannot even see what you are eating let alone the faces of those dining with you. 

 

I had the strangest ‘lighting experience’ at a Mumbai restaurant (which shall remain unnamed – but you know who you are) a few weeks ago. When we entered (a party of four) the restaurant was so brightly lit that my spirits rose at the sight. Then, just as we had finished our starters and were waiting for our mains, the lights dipped precipitously. We called the manager to ask what was going on. He said the lights are on an automatic dimmer. Okay, we said, as we tucked into our mains. 

 

Then, just as he presented the dessert menu, the lights dipped further. Now it was not even possible to read the menu. We called the manager again and asked if the lights could be increased. No, he said, they were on an automatic dimmer. “Nobody can touch the dimmer,” he said proudly, “not even me.” The only response to that was to ask for the bill and leave to have dessert elsewhere – which is what we duly did.

 

My other pet peeve about restaurants these days is the constant upselling. The moment you sit down, a waiter will materialize to ask if you want still or sparkling water; the unspoken assumption being that you are a cheapskate if you ask for tap. They will try and push you to order the most overpriced thing on the menu. And if you ask for a wine recommendation, you can be sure that they will try and steer you to the most expensive choice.

 

Is it any wonder then that I turn down most invitations to eat out these days? And that my dining table has become my favourite restaurant – where I call the shots, not some snotty/greedy restaurant manager/chef.

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.