Though I can be a terror in my kitchen, in the dining room of other restaurants I'm a pussycat. I am scrupulously polite and effusive in my praise. And I always tip twenty percent (at least). I'm also, I am told, not the most attentive of dinner companions. I can't help but be attuned—almost painfully at times—to every nuance around me: the ebb and flow of waiters and busboys, hosts and sommeliers, bartenders and cooks. After twenty-seven years in the restaurant business, the choreography of dining room service, any dining room's service, has become hard-wired into my nervous system. I know that there are a number of simple, avoidable things that can throw off the rhythms of even the best-run places. When that happens, a memorable evening can be remembered for all the wrong reasons. I've learned plenty about what makes a wonderful dining experience from eating at great restaurants, but not nearly as much as I've learned from working in them. What have all my hours of standing before a stove taught me about sitting at a table?
