I worked at NYC's famous (infamous) Dallas BBQ from 1993-1998 as both a server and a bartender. These stories are true. I hope to make this a column much like the New York Times' Metropolitan Diary
. Bon Appetit.----------------------------
While working a near-closing shift in Section 7 (the center section of the main dining room), I was called over to a table. Seated there was a couple in there mid-thirties. The gentleman pulled me aside and pointed to a line item on the guest check, which was a 15% gratuity that was automatically added onto the bill after 9:30 PM.
"Excuse Me", said the gentleman. "I've been out of Society for awhile. Is this 15% the last remnant of the
Cuomo administration?"
"Huzzah!" I replied.
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On a sweltering Saturday night, I found my self at the pleasure of a family of 8 seated at the elliptical table 205. The matron of tremendous girth beckoned, and
tout suit began to rattle off her list of lucky commestables for the evening.
"I'll have the Shrimps, the Onion Loaf, a Texas-Sized Pina Colada with a floater, The Full Rack of Baby-back Ribs . . ."
I pause here for dramatic effect.
". . . and could you tell me, do you have any dietetic barbeque sauce?"
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Overheard later at table 205:
"Excuse me sir, but is your corn-on-the-cob from a can?"
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A balmy Sunday at the bar. A gentleman of refinement posits this query:
"How much is the wine if I don't want to buy the glass?"
"What?" I reply.
"It says here that wine is four dollars by-the-glass. I don't want the glass so how much is just the wine".
Quickly gathering my wits I reply that the price is indeed, the same four dollars.
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Ah the birthday party! How they gather at the BBQ to celebrate another year, and like the best restaurants, the servers always relish the chance to show our appreciation for the big-wigs and dilletantes that play our counterparts in the gastronomic world.
This particular party took place at the sublime table 80. A family had gathered 'round and had brought their own cake for their young daughter. This itself was quite impressive, because most of the clientele opt for the BBQ special birthday cake consisting of a 35 cent piece of cornbread with a candle spiked lovingly through the top. But I digress.
The patriarch expressed a desire for the waitstaff to come and sing for his daughter, I suppose to supplement the voices of the six others at the table. Never one to shy away from a good sing-a-long, I gathered my workmates together and started a rousing rendition of the traditional "Happy Birthday to You".
Tension struck at the penultimate lyric, when my comrades and I realized we didn't know the celebrant's name! Thinking quickly, as this is not the first time this has happened, we leaned in closely to read the name inscribed boldly on the cake. It read thusly:
Happy Birthday
Clitoris!
What's in a name?
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More to come!
