I was given the evil eye in one of my favourite Dublin restaurants recently. I had dared to complain about something.
Okay, fair cop, I had dared to complain about quite a few things: the fact that a duck dish costing nearly €20, which I'd been told was a starter, turned out to be a main-course sized meal; the fact that the rice that came with my salmon was crusty on the top and had clearly been blasted in the microwave; the fact that my brother's burger had been incinerated and flung onto the plate with so many chips they spilled onto the table; the fact that the batter on my tempura of vegetables was not cooked properly to the point of being cold inside. The whole thing was a mess. But as they sometimes do, things got even messier when we complained.
Waiter Number One took me to task about my contention that the duck was a main course portion, insisting that it was a starter and snapping at me as though I was a bold child. She then picked a fight with me when I complained about the hard rice, saying she was positive it hadn't been put in the microwave. When I poked the rice to show her what I meant she eventually conceded, through gritted teeth, that maybe I was right.
Waiter Number Two, who seemed to be in charge, didn't want to know about the tempura or the burger. I had explained in what I hoped was a reasonable tone that I was a bit of a regular and that the food was not up to the usual standards. Had the chef changed recently? We didn't get a straight answer because Waiter Number Two was more interested in glaring at us angrily and repeating his mantra: your complaint will be reported. "To who?" asked my brother. "Well if you come here all the time you will know to who," he sneered. My brother, not a regular and never likely to be, was bemused. We left €100 lighter, with indigestion. That's just the way it goes.
In a newish Dublin restaurant that critics have been raving about, it took a friend 45 minutes to be served a bottle of sparkling water. We booked a table for 9.30pm but were not seated until an hour later, which meant we were eating our main courses after 11pm. The food, when it finally arrived, was fine, but not worth the chance-your-arm prices they were charging. I won't bother mentioning the restaurant here but e-mail me if you want to know which of the many over-priced, trendy Dublin eateries to avoid.
I'm interested in good service. I return to places - whether greasy or gourmet spoons - because I know I'll be treated well. Unfortunately, I've noticed a glut of new restaurants where the attitude to customers seems to be: pack them in, charge them through the nose and get rid of them as soon as possible. We go to America and laugh at their over-the-top friendliness, but give me that grinning efficiency over the hostile indifference that can sometimes pass for service in this country any day.
Years ago when I worked in a family restaurant in London, it took me about two seconds to work out that even if the food wasn't spectacular people would come back if you treated them well. This aspect was emphasised by management. I watched the way Naseem, the Kurdish manager, fussed over even the most awkward of customers and it made perfect sense.
After I'd mastered the basics, I realised that I was quite a good waiter. I didn't congratulate myself too much because I also realised that being a good waiter is not rocket science. It's easy. You just remember that the paying customers, even the really annoying ones, are always right. You accept this the way you accept the tips that will come as a result of you accepting this.
Of course there are some really great waiters in this town. You know who you are. You have the knack of making us feel welcome so that we want to return as soon as possible. Most of the staff at the Trocadero fit the bill, and Raquel is like that too. For the past 18 months, Raquel, a young, always-smiling Spanish woman, has worked in the fish restaurant, Mackerel, on Grafton Street. She e-mailed out of the blue to ask whether I would put a message in this space to say goodbye to all her regular customers because she has built up a relationship with them and, she tells me, "I want to say bye, bye".
No problem, Raquel: "Thank you to everybody for the good time I had working in Mackerel restaurant and especially thank you to the chefs who were very patient with me, to Trudy, Dani, Neil and Viktor, who showed me how to deal with people, to all the staff and to every single customer because I really enjoyed working for them and anyone who knows me, knows I really mean it."
I've had the pleasure of being served by Raquel. I can confirm that she really means it. And that she will be missed.