Augieland

Jean Georges: 784 masterfulillian stars

There is a shortcut to becoming a regular at a place, a “regular pass” if you will, and that is being friends with a chef or owner outside their roles in restaurants. One of Pichon’s very good friends is Deputy, and Deputy is a Jean-Georges Vongerichten chef. Jean Georges has always been one of those it-will-be-there restaurants I knew I’d get to but felt no rush. I knew it would always be there (it has very recently had its fourth star reaffirmed by the Times), and the couple of times I had made forays into JGV restaurants I had not had my socks knocked off, so it was on my hit list but not at the top. Then, over a glass of wine Deputy said, “Pichon, Helmut, Ringwald and you should come in for dinner” (do you hear beautiful music when you read it? I did as I typed).

So the other night Helmut and I saddled up to the bar at Jean Georges for ginger margaritas while the staff helpfully sought out a stylish blue blazer for him to wear. The night was already complete for me as I snacked on olive rosemary popcorn enjoying my margarita, while Helmut denounced his drink as too gingery (though I suspect it was just the first time he had dressed off the rack in a while, and not the drink, which may have bittered him a little). Once joined by Pichon and Ringwald, we were led to our table in the dining room. After we were sat we had a visit from a waiter to check on our water requirements and establish any allergies. The next visit was from Hristo, the sommelier, wondering as to our drink needs. We established with both the servers that it was their restaurant, that between them and Deputy we imagined they had a plan for us to follow, and that we were more than willing to give ourselves over entirely to it. So we did; regulars by proxy due to our association with Pichon, our amuse was brought in from the kitchen by four servers and placed in front of us simultaneously.

Jean Georges
Summer Tasting Menu
July 20, 2006

Amuse Bouche
Strawberry Mint Soup: a shot of strawberry soup with a crystallized mint sugared rim; a bite of mint followed by a cool strawberry sweetness.
Fluke, Yuzu Chili: a piece of fluke sashimi dusted with powdered yuzu and chili; quite spicy dots of powder on a chill bit of fish.
Cucumber Noodle Salad, Tomato Sesame: cucumber threads spun into a nest with a light sambal spice dressing it.

Japanese Snapper Sashimi, Muscat Grapes, Spring Herbs and Buttermilk: Three thin slices of snapper piled and topped with slices of Muscat grape and spring herbs, drizzled tableside with buttermilk. The buttermilk’s lactic acid played well to brighten the herbal notes in the salad, small bits of tarragon, and dill, while its sour notes made the grape and fish come together. There is a point in every four-star meal where you see something you do in your house done precisely, not better than you do, but done exactly as it should be done; done so well you are not sure you could do it even though in language it is just slicing a grape. The three sections of grape were just that. This grape was sliced with ninja skill, perfectly.

Sea Trout Sashimi Draped in Trout Eggs, Lemon, Dill, Horseradish: a dramatic green dill slide runs down the bowl’s side terminating in a frothy pool of lemon foam with a strong lemon essence bite. Riding the top of the foam is sliced raw sea trout awash in corpuscular balls of roe, dressed in ribbons of fried skin so light I would call them confetti. The light oily fry on the skin tempers the salty/bitter eggs and the ascorbic touch of the lemon cream.

Bluefin Tuna Ribbons, Avocado, Spicy Radish, Ginger Marinade: if you want to cut tuna in order to maximize tenderness you cut across the grain, the grain being the opaque lines separating the muscle striations. However, if you take the time and have the knife skills you can separate a single muscle fiber by slicing the meat out from between these silver skin divisions. What remains is a thin piece of tuna not unlike a scaloppini. Deputy slices this into noodles similar in gauge to udon, which by nature of running the muscles’ length have a chew not unlike a doughy noodle, of course tasting of bluefin tuna. These noodles are then spun into little nests interspersed with summer radishes, creamed avocado, and some wasabi, all dressed in ginger.

Toasted Egg Yolk, Caviar and Dill: eggs which have been slowly cooked till set have had their soft warm supple yolks separated from the albumin. The yolks and fresh dill are secured between micro thin slices of dark buttery brioche toast. Laid down the center of the top of the resulting sandwich is a quenelle of caviar. I never caught the type but have my suspicions based on the clarity of its green-steel grey color, its briny flavor, and the individuality of its bead. Whatever it was, this is the kind of food everyone would eat all the time if the world was perfect.

Tri-Star Strawberry and Feta Salad, Wasabi Ice and Micro Basil: the components of this dish were exemplary – the wasabi ice hot, cold and cleansing, the strawberries gorgeous and beautifully pared, the feta fresh, creamy and salty, the baby basil tops perfect. All together, though, the saltiness of the feta held too center a position, blowing out the wasabi’s heat and the strawberries’ sweetness; perfect with the basil though.

Corn, Jalapeno, Lime Gnocchi and Cilantro: a salad, if you will, of fresh corn kernels, micro cilantro, roasted grape tomatoes, lime gnocchi, and sweet corn sféricos, dressed in jalapeno oil. The jalapeno was prevalent and ballsy, making each of the individual components a study in cooling contrast to the oil’s heat; the sweet/sour light lime gnocchi, the sweet pop of the corn orbs, the sweeter pop of the corn kernels, and the deepened sweet/tartness of the cherry tomatoes.

Red Snapper, Lily Bulb-Radish Salad, White Sesame and Lavender: seared red snapper in a pool of sweet iodiney white sesame sauce, topped with crunchy braised lily bulbs, summer radishes, sea beans, and lavender leaves. A spiced, perfumed, nutty, seawater mélange dressing a sweet fish with a snap.

Sautéed Maine Lobster, Artichoke Hearts and Citrus-Chili Emulsion: under a pile of impressively chiffonaded basil leaves lay shelled lobster studded with artichoke meat. A rich frothy yellow sauce with a lemony lightness and capsicin heat was spooned over the top tableside.

Caramelized Foie Gras, Fresh Lychee, Nicoise Olive and Passion Fruit: evenly browned on all six sides, this piece of foie had a just perceptible crunch containing a velvety smooth interior. Lychees combined with passion fruit seeds to play sweetness and tang off the unctuous foie, while salty earthy olives played the other end of the contrast spectrum.

Caramelized Beef Tenderloin, Young Garlic, Charred Favas and Parmesan: slices of seared beef tenderloin rested on top of favas, toasted garlic chips, and fine diced Parmigiano Reggiano. The contrasting textures of the sticky-when-chewed garlic chips, the soft favas, and the chewy cheese helped maximize the simple layers of flavor in this hash that drew sanguine richness from the simply prepared steak.

Cheese Plate: Constant Bliss, Epoisses, Forme d’Ambert, with toasted walnuts, currants, a gooseberry, and a red berry compote.

The press regarding restaurant Jean Georges often speaks of tableside service, and Chef Vongerichten’s desire to bring it back. In my dining experience, I have often been served tableside and seldom saw huge value in it – being presented a chop whole, then again sliced has never wowed me much except when a disparate amount of food was served than shown (the amount of rib-chop left behind in the interest of only serving the best section can be quite wasteful). Up until this point in the meal, the most tableside service we had had was the saucing of the beef and the lobster, and I was happy for it (both presentations were far more impressive pre-sauce). Then we were served a pineapple and a bottle of Port that will forever change my tune on tableside service, while probably making me more critical. No one better ever pat themselves on the back for making a Caesar for me again.

The pineapple started simply enough. A man in a suit wheeled out a tableside cart with a pineapple and four plates on it. He then set about shaving the rind off the fruit. His shaving work was so shallow and precise that the cuts did not seem to flatten the round fruit’s surface in any way. Once he had finished shaving, the fruit was about 80% yellow, blemished only by the dimples in the skin where the needles are. Next, the bottom was lopped off and two dinner forks inserted in the woody core of the pineapple to act as a handle. Holding the forks’ handles, he set about carving the dimples out with a paring knife by channeling v-shaped sections from the top to bottom in concentric circles. Once this had been done five or six times, the divots and the needles they held were removed and the woody center was cored. The remaining clean fruit was then sliced, set on a plate with a cherry in the hole where the core had been, and dressed with some kirsch and a lavender sea salt, all in about eight minutes. The fact that someone with this level of knife skills is working on the floor in a suit speaks volumes about the restaurant.

The other over-the-top tableside “you sure they can only give four stars?” moment was the service of our Port. We had chosen a ’48 Taylor which was presented on a wheeled cart standing on its bottom, next to a decanter with a filtered funnel in its neck. Then from the kitchen appeared Hristo with what looked like part of an andiron set with narrow pincers made for grabbing thin kindling, glowing bright orange. He set about clamping the red hot circle around the neck of the bottle, about one inch below the bottom of the cork, and talked to us for about a minute as if absolutely nothing unique was happening. Once the iron had faded to black again, he set the pincers aside and rubbed the ring where they had just been with an ice cube. Finally, he simply pulled the top away leaving a perfectly flat break with no worry of the cork or the sugars that attach to it in mature Port befouling our wine.

In general, I may be short tableside service because even in the great restaurants of Europe it feels like people going through the motions of what has been done before because it is expected and for little other reason, much like most four-star food experiences to be had. Here, in both cases what was being done were engaging, exciting, things that took expertise, by confident gentlemen who seemed content simply to be doing what they were doing. There was no “this is your duck and now I will carve; look over here” feeling. You had the sense they would have been just as happy if you went about your conversation and ignored them, as long as you were having a good time, and as a result these moments added greatly to the overall experience.

Dessert Tastings

Chocolate
Jean-Georges’ Chocolate Cake, Vanilla Bean Ice Cream
Granite, Gelée, Coffee-Cardamom Meringue
Milk Chocolate-Peanut Cake, Salted Caramel Ice Cream
White Chocolate, Yuzu, Mint, Pink Peppered Sablé

Cherry
Bitter Chocolate, Sour Cherry Sorbet, Brandy
Arugula, Jicama and Cherry Salad
Cherry Sponge, Lavender Ice Cream, Chicory
Local Market Berry Soup, Lime Foam

Rhubarb
Yogurt Pancake, Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote
Rhubarb and Lemongrass Sorbet, Almond Meringue
Alsatian Rhubarb Tart, Elderflower Gelée
Rhubarb Soup, Kaffir Lime and Coconut Floating Island

Strawberry
Carbonated Chocolate Mousse, Freeze Dried Strawberries
Local Market Strawberry Sorbet
Strawberry Shortcake, Crème Chantilly, Verjus
Strawberry Consommé, Litchi Gelée, Anise Hyssop Granite

I have heard of people not enjoying the “variations on a theme” approach to dessert, but for me it was perfect. As much as I don’t care for dessert in general, I do love to taste, and in this format I got to taste sixteen things, appreciate them and move on.

Wines

Taittinger Blanc de Blanc Comtes de Champagne 1996, Reims
FX Pichler Grüner Veltliner Smaragd M 2004, Wachau
Jean-Louis Chave 2002, Hermitage Blanc
Vincent Girardin 1er Cru Le Cailleret 2004, Puligny-Montrachet
Trimbach Gewurztraminer Vendages Tardives 1999, Alsace
Mommessin Grand Cru 2002, Charmes-Chambertin
Taylor 1948, Vintage Port

People go to these restaurants expecting a certain type of food a certain way which is why I tend to shy away from them. I expect that the restaurants meeting the expectations of diners in general will run a little standardized for my liking, which I guess is both pompous and prejudiced. If you are ever going to be shown the errors of pompousness and prejudice I hope you are as lucky as I was in this case. My love for the new and creative and inspired made me see limited potential in the possibilities of a classic restaurant. What I experienced at Jean Georges was creative adaptation of current trends in cuisine, fine service, a beautiful room, but above all dish after dish, component after component, striving to be the absolute pinnacle of excellence, thanks to friends and friends of friends.

In response to Keith

I've noticed that you tend to hit different vendors in the greenmarket for different items, this one for tomatoes that one for meat etc… Besides the obvious that the guys with meat usually don't sell vegetables how do you know which farmer has the best tomatoes or mushrooms vs. the 5 or 10 others who sell similar items or which butcher to buy your steak or bacon from?

I don’t play favorites. I believe the tendency toward routine breeds apathy. Just like with restaurants, I do my best to immediately try the new guy, compare him to the existing guys, and categorize him compared to the competition. In my experience, people settle once they are established so sometimes the new guy has a welcome refreshing, enthusiastic approach, and sometimes he just gets it wrong, meaning sometimes the old standbys rest easy and sometimes they are rocked and left behind.

There are some guys with obvious specialties – Tim Stark for tomatoes, Keith Stewart for garlic, and so on. But I have a theory that since the chefs of NYC use these guys the best stuff goes to them, and we may find better by turning our back on fame. That being said, when I planned an heirloom tomato salad for the first course at my wedding I introduced a Jersey caterer to Tim so I would know I had the best (or very close to it) on the table, and no fall goes by without Keith’s garlic in our house.

So where does that leave us? We are left milling about the market touching produce; make a habit of touching produce and you will know all you need to know about who has the best what. The best indicator of freshness and ripeness for most all fruits and vegetables is water. Water will tell you all. Pick up the worst tomato at the Greenmarket and the best at Whole Foods, and for the same size the one at the market will be far heavier. Heavier because picked ripe it is juicier, and shorter travel means less time for that moisture to evaporate.

Sure, tomatoes (my whole reason for supporting a Greenmarket system in general, if there is a bigger disparity in the food world than that between the glory of farm stand/home grown tomatoes and the patheticness of every other version (be it organic or not) I have not come across it my general searching) are an easy one to pick. If the fruit is heavy, the skin is tight, the flesh is resilient when you press it with the pad of your thumb, and if the stem pulls or twists away pretty easily, you have a good candidate for purchasing. So now just walk around, see who has the best price and meets these requirements.

For other fruit I will simply say traditional farming breeds much more unique-looking specimens than the industrial monoculture people for some reason call conventional today. I find it reassuring to embrace odd-shaped fruit – the tomato that looks like it grew around a rock or the apple that looks like 1/8 of it was not exposed to the sun and as a result is shorter. When I find parts where animals have been at them I like to take a glass half full approach: cut the parts out, and be thankful that something else found my food appealing enough to eat.

For lettuces, corn, herbs and the like, look at the cut end. Is it moist? If so, it has recently been cut (soon after cutting the moisture will retract into the heart of the vegetable, and no spraying with water will fake this). Then break it. Great produce is so full of moisture even lettuce leaves will snap at the rib rather than bend. Don’t be afraid to tear a leaf from a head of lettuce and taste it, if they don’t have some out for tasting. Just do it because you want to buy, not eat.

Nothing is sillier than habits like peeling back the husk on corn. Unless you hit the exact quadrant that happens to have a worm, you won’t have learned that, so now all you’ve done is make sure there is corn inside, and since the habit for shopping means you must observe at least two ears, the farmer is left with one that has been passed on by someone who knows so little about quality that they thought they could learn something in this manner in the first place.

As far as Union Square goes, there is also the benefit of competition/knowledge of consumer to help cover your bases. Some serious chefs, as well as some people that seriously care about land stewardship, shop at that market, so if a stand isn’t good, it won’t last there. But get there early, for some reason these attentive choosers are also early risers.

So now that we know what to look for and that even if we miss the best possible offering we are pretty safe, what else can we do? Talk to the farmers, talk to each egg person, I once bought a dozen eggs because a little girl helping her parents told me the names of the chickens that laid them. I am sure it was just fun and tales being told, but I like to encourage closeness, with my farmers and by a strange urban extension my food.

I can’t stress price enough. Being at a farmers market is not a license to steal. Food should be fairly priced, and when asked any small farmer will give you a story that in the long run has him about ten thousand dollars a year in the red once he pays his organic dues. Look around the market, see what people are charging for ramps, and buy from the guy with cheaper ones. But know Organic certification does cost more, and promises more at this point.

Which of the neighborhood wine shops do you recommend? I like astor for the huge selection and great prices for everyday bottles but cant pass up stopping in Union Square Wines for those new tasting machines on my way home from work.

Wine is fun; I often wander into wine stores, ask a guy to recommend some juice, get him to tell me all he can about it, take it home and drink it. It is great if I love it. If I don’t, I must consider if it is what he said it would be, and if it is I am still positive on the shop and will just steer things better to my preference next time I’m in. In this way, I find I get the most exposure to what’s going on in the wine world.

Once I have taken someone’s suggestion and decided if they are operating at a good level of information (the web and Oxford Guide to Wine are good tools), taste, and unique approach (a test both Astor and USQ pass), I look at price. In today’s age this is as easy as putting the name and vintage into winezap.com or winesearcher.com and seeing how they stack up (Union Square only beats Sokolin and Park Ave in this game, their prices are pretty lousy, cool kegerator or not).

I am quickly becoming a fan of Bottlerocket, west of Fifth Avenue on 19th Street. They have a unique approach, an intimate feel, a good selection, they seem to see the value in developing regulars, and are always in the fair range when I double-check them on price, plus who doesn’t love a wine shop with a bottle of Ripple at the register?

So I guess in most choices I am happy to pay up for quality, authenticity and uniqueness, but only to a fair price, and the way to know where this is to be found is to spend your afternoons meeting purveyors and sampling their wares. Often when I do it leaves me with a very good feeling of appreciation for my neighborhood, and that is always nice.

I hope you find this helpful, never forget Lucy’s Greenmarket Report, an effort all of us in the vicinity of The USQ Green Market should be grateful for.

Know how to price a glass of wine

Order yourself a glass of wine. Good criteria for a place you would like to become regular at is how fairly you feel it treats its customers. One of the theoretical models I like to plug variables into is the glass of wine model. Most places offer some wines by the glass and you can learn a lot about their wine program by knowing some basics.

It all begins with knowing the price of a bottle of wine. Unless you can lay your hands on one of the books most states publish that shows the wholesale price of all liquor, you have to kind of guesstimate what it costs. The accepted standard at the moment is a 200% mark-up for retail and a 300% markup at restaurants. 

With no other guidelines, if a good liquor store sells a bottle of wine for $20 a restaurant will sell it for $30.  If you pick a guideline wine, look at the price of it at a couple of shops and a couple of restaurants. If it costs between $18 and $23 at the stores it should be priced $27-$35 at restaurants, all things being equal. A store charging $28 for it is way out of line, but a restaurant is quite a deal for the same price.

The reason most states publish a price book is it is an industry standard because distributors offer quantity discounts. So if wine is $10 dollars a bottle wholesale and you buy 3 cases it may be $9, or $8 if you had bought 5. The implications of this are that places with more storage can often offer better prices. They don’t always, so if the biggest restaurant you know has 100 wines on the list as does your favorite little place but they both get $30 for our theoretical bottle of wine, you may assume the little place has a better deal for you than for themselves.

Another thing to consider is how long the place has been open. Places that have existed longer have had more opportunity to develop depth in vintages. If a new place has great older vintage wine they probably bought from a distributor’s reserves or procured them at auction so classics skew a little. If there is a value on a great old wine, it will probably be at the great old place that has been lazy/generous about marking their inventory to market.

As far as glass wine goes, the accepted standard guideline is that there are four glasses in a bottle and one glass should buy the bottle for the house So the house should start profiting on the second glass sold.  The reason to charge a premium on glasses is a bottle of wine starts decaying the minute it is opened. Even with argon gas or a vacuvin system you are just delaying the inevitable. With this price structure, at least if they throw the rest of the bottle out with zero profit realized they have not lost money by offering the smaller portion.

For example, at our standard place lets say they bought 3 cases paying $9 a bottle. It would be fair for them to earn $18 (their 300% markup) on a bottle sale by charging  $27, and to earn $27 by selling 4 glasses for $36 total dollars.

This is considered standard. There are all sorts of variations depending on the place. But whether they serve mini carafes, have the most knowledgeable wine staff in the world, use Reidel crystal or jelly jars, what should change is the quality and original cost of the bottle, not the pricing structure At the greatest restaurant in the world a glass of wine may cost 100 bucks, but that is only fair if the best price you can get it for in a store that day is $200. 

Some tools I like to use for assessing regional bottle prices of wine are winezap.com and winesearcher.com.

Use Your Name

My friends have told me that if I have a special ability with food and wine, it is not a gifted palate nor an especially deft hand in the kitchen; rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants despite the fact I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good looking or well connected. Essentially, I receive the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and that is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money.)   This is a series about the behaviors I see as natural that some do not.

Use your name, and theirs. Every time I call a restaurant, I say, "hi [whatever they just said their name was], it's Augie. I was hoping we could arrange a table for..." I don’t do this trying to trick them into thinking I am someone they know (in today's world of computer reservation tracking it would never work). The familiarity I am trying to establish serves two purposes: one, if I have been to the restaurant before they immediately search me in the database, and, two, if I haven't it shows a familiarity with the process that reservationists appreciate. Plus it's just polite and friendly, and who doesn't want those qualities attributed to their interactions?

Once at the place, assuming there is a conversational tone in the room, introduce yourself to your bartenders and servers at the beginning of service, and use their names when addressing them. It will take many visits to actually become familiar, but if the place is good enough to draw you back multiple times you have already started the work that would otherwise begin around visit five. If not, you have at least created a congenial atmosphere that will add to the experience.

The benefits of this practice are boundless. In a crowded room, you are familiar enough with the staff to garner attention by using their names. On quiet nights, things become far more conversational and you will never eat alone if you have friends at a good place. Best of all, as the staff changes and people move on to new ventures, which inevitably happens, you will know people at different places. New York restaurant staff seem to work rounds at restaurants at similar approaches, if a bartender goes missing from a Batali place look at a Collichio place, so if you like John at place A and he moves to place B it is likely you will enjoy place B as much because it is the similarity that made him attractive to place B and place B attractive to him.

Don't get hung up on what you think a dish should be

My friends have told me that if I have a special ability with food and wine, it is not a gifted palate nor an especially deft hand in the kitchen; rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants despite the fact I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good looking or well connected. Essentially, I receive the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and that is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money.)  This is a series about the behaviors I see as natural that some do not.

Don't get hung up on what you think a dish should be. When you go to a new place and order something called by a name you have used before, you have the unique opportunity to judge how this chef's vision jibes with your taste. If his version makes you happy, go back to his restaurant. If it doesn't, go back to the other place where you had the dish with the same name that you liked. Your only mistake can be believing one guy did it wrong.

There is no Tuscan Chicken in Tuscany. No matter how many ads The Olive Garden buys during the Super Bowl talking about some silly finishing school for microwavers they send their staff to in the greater Florence metropolitan area, the food they serve is not actually Italian. I would contend that their food is also not Italian-American just because it is the most soulless food I have ever seen (to be fair I have never been inside an Olive Garden, I only know what I have seen styled for TV commercials). So, while going into another place and ordering Tuscan Chicken is fine, expecting it to be what you saw in the Olive Garden commercial is insane and shows poor taste on your part.

There are no rules in food. No two dishes by the same chef will ever taste exactly the same. Heck, food tastes different at the end of service than it did at the beginning, let alone as the produce that makes it varies from month to month. As a result, names of food mean nothing. A cassoulet is a cassoulet whether it is duck or goose or partridge. Insisting it should be as you have had it before limits your exposure to new things. Either a chef has come up with his variation on someone else's dish and calls it what they call it, or he has named it something that means something to him or that he thinks will cause it to sell. There once was a guy in Sea Bright, NJ in the early nineties who sold a trio of grilled meats he called a Tribeca Grillé his hope being to invoke thoughts of the then-famous new restaurant in NY, and thought he was safe because tri was in one of the words and the dish had three components. I greatly enjoyed explaining to him at the end of his shift one night that the Tri in Tribeca is actually short for triangle (the Be being Below and the Ca being Canal).

The point is, names of food mean very little, so don't walk into a new place, order something with a name you are familiar with, and get upset that it is not what you expected. Celebrate the variation and appreciate each chef's different choice as he applies his touch to the dish.  Appreciating a chef's handling of a dish is an opening to developing a regular dialogue with the chef and his place. When you have his attention, discuss the choices you see him making or not making, and explore his process. You will learn, and he will be flattered. This is the win-win situation of being a regular.

Say Please

My friends have told me that if I have a special ability with food and wine, it is not a gifted palate nor an especially deft hand in the kitchen; rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants despite the fact I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good looking or well connected. Essentially, I receive the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and that is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money.)  This is a series about the behaviors I see as natural that some do not.

Say Please. I have done some time behind a bar; I believe everyone should. The one thing that makes me crazy, even today on the patrons' side of the bar, is the absence of the word please. I like to believe this is only a Northeast of America, greater metropolitan New York area, trait but no matter what, it is stupid and offensive. Orders preceded solely with a "let me get a..." and "yea give me a..." have become the norm, even in the nicest of establishments. 

Setting aside the fact that the proper way to order a drink in English is "may I please have a...," any sentence that starts "let me..." or "give me..." must at very least be followed by a "please." No matter what you tip, if you don't say it, even if you say thanks, you are a dick and that is what the bartenders think. And dicks never become regulars.

If you can't be bothered to go the "may I please" route, it is actually better to just declare a drink i.e. "Vodka Soda," or "Sapphire Gibson." In a crowded bar this is efficient and, if done deliberately, with eye contact and an appropriate tip ($1 dollar per one drink made and/or $2 for every three drinks beyond, the exception being wine which should be tipped as food, 20% rounded up) will be very much appreciated. The bartender will seek your eyes out in the crowd next time you are looking. I have no idea how we devolved into a culture where one person will turn his back to a bartender and pass orders over his shoulder, one at a time, from his friends with nothing more then a "yea, I'lllll ahhhhhh have a....... annnnd aaaahhh...annnnd aaaaaaa..." but it is rude, it is inefficient for the rest of us, and it makes you look like a jerk. So cut it out... please.

Don't be a tourist

My friends have told me that if I have a special ability with food and wine, it is not a gifted palate nor an especially deft hand in the kitchen; rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants despite the fact I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good looking or well connected. Essentially, I receive the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and that is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money.)  This is a series about the behaviors I see as natural that some do not.

Don’t be a tourist. By this I mean be savvy. Know the fundamentals of how a restaurant works. Restaurant people, like folks in any other profession, have their own language and their own systems. Knowing and being interested in their basic paradigms shows them a certain respect. Respect leads to better conversation; it won’t get you invited to the Wednesday night staff orgy, but it will help the staff consider you a good guest. Here are a couple of quick tips for behavior that will help them see you, as you want to be seen:

1. Never order filet mignon in a steak house. Nothing screams "I have zero understanding of process" like ordering filet in a steak house. The more a muscle works, the more tough it will be, but it will also get more blood. More blood equals more flavor. Indeed, no part of a cow is more tender than the loin, however it also has the least flavor. No one has ever gone through the efforts to open a place specializing in steaks because they believe they can make filet taste great. Filet belongs in a normal restaurant, with sauce. When you arrive at a steak house, ask what the place’s special is, and get that. Rib Chop at Strip House, Porterhouse at Luger’s, Mutton at Keen’s and guess what at Delmonico’s? If the place doesn’t have a specialty, it is not a steak house and not worth the money.

2. By the time you have bought the cookbook of a chef or seen his TV show he is a brand, not a chef. Don’t walk into some celebrity’s restaurant and ask if he is there. If he is, you will know -- he will be the guy that keeps walking out of the kitchen because it's too hot. If he is there, feel free to walk right up and say hi. For a chef to get famous, he had to try very hard. It’s not like he was an actor or something. If he doesn’t embrace his fame, make him uncomfortable for getting what he wished for.

3. There is no such thing as an eight o’clock reservation. There are before eights and after eights. When trying to get a difficult reservation (say Thursday, in this town) ask for the ½ of the night you want and be flexible. Places make money on table turns and each table needs to seat twice. Holding a table open for an eight o' clock kills that chance. That being said, 5:30 is a crap offer unless you are 65+ years old. If it's all they've got, move on and figure a way to ingratiate yourself for next time.

4. Don’t ask for a recommendation unless you want one. When you are asking a server for recommendations you are basically asking a question that a good server will answer in one of two ways: he will either tell you his favorite thing or he will chose the thing the chef likes most from his repertoire. If you don’t intend to get anything he suggests on the menu, and you have said “what do you recommend?” you have asked the wrong question. If you are just trying to narrow a field, say something like, “I was looking at x and y which do you prefer?” When you ask a waiter for a recommendation you are establishing that you have respect for him in his position. If you then reject his advice because, “duck nuts are just too skeevy,” you have established yourself as a nit and your relationship with this place will follow on those lines.

5. When you have purchased a good bottle of wine, offer to share a taste to your server (rather then cooing about it to him). The sommelier has probably already had it, but the server may not have. Either way, you are sharing an experience. If he has tasted it, your gesture will probably be declined, although appreciated. If he hasn’t, you will be adding a quill to his quiver of talents and he will appreciate it. For what will cost you about one of the ounces in your bottle, you'll open a dialogue that will allow you to benefit from his experiences. Discussion may then ensue on your common likes and dislikes, which will greatly help you value his recommendations which will be good to know once you are a regular.

Respect your server

My friends have told me that if I have a special ability for food and wine, it is not some gifted palate nor is it a deft hand in the kitchen, rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants in spite of the fact that I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good looking or well connected. The best I can sum up the treatment they refer to is the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and it is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money.)  This is a series of the behaviors I see as natural that some do not.

Respect the knowledge and skill of your server. Professional servers in fine restaurants are not out-of-work actors. Although restaurant work is fantastic transient labor for people in more freelance fields, at this level of service it is an actual vocation and people are well compensated for it. As a result, most of your servers want to be right where they are. They have probably tasted better wine than you ever will and have been exposed to far more chefs' philosophies and food than you have from watching the Food Channel and reading the intro to Mario's Holiday Cookbook. Take advantage of this; seek out their views on what is not to be missed during your experience at this place. Opening a dialogue with your servers will educate you and make them far more likely to look out for your good time.

If you make this attempt and you find that you have a nitwit suggesting things only at the high end of the menu, or the servers don't seem to have an approach receptive to yours, just accept that this isn't necessarily the place for you. Take control, make the most of your dinner, leave 18% (assuming you got everything and it was hot or cold as it should be) and move on. There are a lot of great fish in this sea.

Tipping

My friends have told me that, if I have a special ability with food and wine, it is not a gifted palate, nor an especially deft hand in the kitchen, rather it is the treatment I receive in restaurants despite the fact I am basically destitute financially and not particularly good-looking or well-connected. Essentially, I receive the treatment restaurants give their regular customers, and that is achievable from your first visit to any good restaurant (a good place being one with a vision and a mission beyond making money).  This is a series about the behaviors I see as natural, that I guess some do not.

Tipping. I love tipping, and so many people seem to get it wrong: over-doing it, under-doing it, or not doing it. There are some pretty simple guidelines to follow if you want to be the kind of customer restaurant staff will go out of their way for. The best part is, once you internalize these things and they make sense to you, even on your first time in a place, good staff will sense you are cool, and treat you accordingly, because it is more a matter of understanding process then giving money.

In general: Unless it is your first time in a restaurant, and it has impressed you so little that you never intend to return, tip 20%. Not 20% of foods before tax. Not 20% of food, and some other percent on beverages. Leave 20% of the total of the check you were presented, and round up to the next dollar.

It is simpler and cheaper then you think: The difference between 15% and 20% to you is five dollars for every hundred, yet to those involved in serving you it is a crucial difference between a good customer and a bad customer. There is no gray, middle area in the eyes of your server.  Although you cannot change the fact that you have been an ass all through dinner by over-tipping, you can ruin the fact that you had a great experience and will be back next week by only doubling the tax (a stupid NYC guideline for cheap people).

Booze: There is no dumber argument in the tipping discussion than “you only have to tip X on drinks.” The fact is there is exactly as much work involved in a server getting a drink as getting a plate. Add to this that wine is often opened and poured by the server and that seldom do entire groups order cocktails together, like they do food, and the reality is there is often more work for the server in handling drinks than food. Water doesn’t even change the check total, in spite of it often being a major factor in a diner’s perception of the service he or she has received.

If you can’t afford a $100 tip on a $500 bottle of wine, then you simply can’t afford a $500 bottle of wine. Sorry, but it’s true. Get a $40 bottle and tip $8, instead. Places employ wine servers at the level of the wine they keep. If you are being served fine wine, you should expect fine wine service from a knowledgeable professional. Once you have gotten it, pay for it.

The night got away from us. Time is also a factor in deciding how much to ramp up your tip. Let’s say in the normal course of service every thing went very smoothly, all was well, and you and your companions have had such a good time that you linger over your coffee and desserts for an hour or so.  You have definitely offset your server’s earnings for the night. Basically, you owe him rent on that table. The fact is, your check is not going up and his earnings are going down. The people who should have sat down after you have not even started a check, and all hope is ruined for your sever getting in a third seating, should the opportunity arise. Even at Per Se, where they expect 4+ hours of service per seating, each table is calculated to turn once. Your good time can cost the staff 50% of their expected earnings for that table, that night. If you want the same delightful service that led to such a good time this time, you should value the server’s time accordingly and add it to the tip.

It’s on the house. Suppose you are a regular, or say it is your birthday, or for any other reason someone in the restaurant sends you something with the compliments of the house: tip on it. The server has done the same work he or she would have if your freebie were instead a factor in the bill’s total. The fact is, in most cases you would not have gotten this extra treat without the server. How do you think the house figured out it was your birthday or knew you were a regular?

If giving customers free things costs the servers money, they won’t do it.  When I was a bartender, I had a very regular customer I liked a lot that tipped exactly 20% on the bill. When I would buy him back a drink or two it would, in effect, be lowering my tip, so I stopped giving him free drinks. My tips went up, as did his cost of going out. This wouldn’t have happened had he realized the free ten-dollar cocktail he would have tipped two bucks on was probably worth spending five to save seven. I was allowed a certain amount of buy-backs a night and put them where I thought they would benefit the bar’s mood and my wallet the most.

Even if you would have gotten your gratis round without any help from the server, say you are the owner’s wife or a friend of the barista, drop a couple extra bucks. Your friends will have a more successful place if the point person on their staff is not disgruntled by getting stiffed by a friend, for the same work they do for the average Joe, probably more, in fact, because you are a friend of the place. 

Over tipping. An exorbitant tip, 35% plus, just makes you look like an insecure tourist, out for a unique big time. Your money will be appreciated, but if you set that precedent it better be something you plan to do every time, they will remember.

Bad service. You won’t want to be a regular at a place with bad service, so it should not be rewarded, but that is not what we are discussing. We are talking about good service in a good place where you want to be treated specially, often. For you, that may be the back of your local pizza joint, or, god forbid, Fridays. The reason these are all percentages and not numbers is that it is a calculation of proportion: the rules apply no matter where you eat out.

So you are saying, “look, I am not looking to get the maximum out of every dining experience. I simply want to tell someone to get me something and have them do it. The truth is, if I could cook I wouldn’t be out anyway.” Fine, I was never talking to you anyway, but don’t then ask me “hey Augie why do they send out experimental dishes for you to taste?” or “how come you get free glasses of $100 dessert wine? No one ever does that for me?”  The answer is they know I am very serious about the dining experience, and their first clue was when I tipped $17.31 on $82.69

Tipping for drinks only, in a bar, has separate guidelines. They are: $1 a drink under $10 up to three, $5 for a round up to seven and $10 for everything past that. If you are drinking a beverage that costs more than $12, wine or something probably mislabeled as a Martini, tip 20%.