“Are you English? Do you prefer English?”
“No, but what I meant was—do you prefer an English menu?”
“Do you mind that we don’t have meat? We get a lot of complaints about this, and we don’t serve it.”
The ultimate Q&A, and I haven’t even sat down yet!
It was a frosty welcome to Mourayio. I replied, “Well, it’s not my menu, and it’s your restaurant. And, of course, not serving meat is perfectly fine by me.”
The ball was thrown straight back at me with, “It is not my restaurant,” the waiter declared.
Was I in the middle of an argumentative conversation, or was I here to be served as a customer? I had just walked in the door, and I’m not sure why I was met with an attitude problem. It put me on edge instantly, and it was embarrassing for my guests.
I walked past this place last week, had a chat, and gave them my card to introduce myself, yet tonight they seemed to have forgotten all of that—and the light conversation we had outside their restaurant. I found the service arrogant, even if they didn’t realise, they were coming across that way.
When my guest asked about the type of fish they were serving, we were met with yet another question:
“What do you think it is?”
How about you just do your job and tell us? I didn’t sign up for quiz night.
The games didn’t stop there. Somehow, I found myself guessing what ingredients were in the pasta sauce. I came here to eat, not to take part in a MasterChef taste test.
The public don’t go to a restaurant only for the food. They also go for great service—an experience. One they want to repeat again and again. Do you see how I haven’t even mentioned the food yet? It has been overshadowed.
The menu was a size I’m comfortable with: a couple of starters, salads, pasta, and two fish main courses. So far, this is the only place in the area that seems to have a proper chef (he came to our table to ask how the food was). It’s more elevated than most—more restaurant level, not a basic taverna.
Because I have trained in cookery, I must outline a few details.
Never serve your guests delicious pasta in a stone-cold bowl; it brought the temperature down instantly. We were also given cold bowls—four of them—to divide the pasta between us. I also found that one of my prawns hadn’t been cleaned, so I had to use my knife and fork to remove the residue. Slightly off-putting. Invest in a plate warmer or find a way to serve dishes warm.
And there was no bread in sight.
“How can I, as a Frenchman, have a meal without good bread?” my guest asked—his expression suggesting the world might be about to end.
Dessert came next, accompanied by one small spoon. A fork would have been useful, unless the expectation was that we eat like cavemen with our hands. Most bizarre.
Perhaps, once I get over my annoyance, I could return and give Mourayio another chance. But as I write this, my irritated mood is still too fresh and hasn’t dissipated. Once you reach this point, it’s hard to come back.
Lesson 1 in service: Don’t get on your customers nerves.
