Par Avion: Epicurean Eviction

Despite a well-deserved reputation as a polite, and civilised dining companion and a bit of a bon vivant, a distinction bestowed upon me by none other than myself, I recently found this illustrious illusion under profound threat. And from a most unlikely quarter.

Over my many years of indulgence as an amateur, a self-appointed semi professional and as a plus-one at extremely high-end events, in lavish hotel fine diners, various Relais et Chateaux baronial dining halls, on the footpath at the local pub, in my favourite Hungarian run by a proprietor who prided himself on his egalitarian approach to insult, through to thatched fares on island beaches to lobsters on the sand in Bali and fresh tuna caught that day by my partner served any way we wanted on a private island in Fiji – I have never been abusive to the wait staff or a proprietor and never been ejected from the premises!

There have been buffets on boats, home catered parties, meals on rooftops with views of the Parthenon, long and leisurely lunches under grape vine-draped pergolas in Tuscany, nine-course degustations created by nanotechnicians, Heston Blumenthal’s kitchen chemistry, afternoon tea at Claridge’s, marinated octopus at harbour-side Greek tavernas, empanadas from Chilean clay ovens, greasy soup at Machu Picchu, pommes frites in Paris, a tiffin at Raffles, coffee under the colonnade at the San Domenico before the arrival of the White Lotus luvvies and, a pie from my local cake shop. And still never less than the perfect patron.

You get the idea … I’ve done a fair bit of eating out over the years, and continue to do so albeit at a reduced pace.

In addition to clipping my own ticket, I’ve reviewed and written about food, hospitality and travel as a columnist and writer across any number of publications, over the time I’ve disgorged a couple of hundred thousand words of pithy observations (again, a self assessment – some may disagree) to the delight of my audience of possibly … hundreds?

In all that time I have treated those who have cooked for me and waited on me with civility and courtesy, if I have decided in my post-prandial wisdom that the meal might not have been quite up to scratch then my subtle revenge was to simply not turn up again. I have on occasion made a ‘light-hearted aside’

when the level of pretention exceeded my endurance or a polite suggestion that the service might improve but never any profanity or belittlling of the staff..

So I was slightly surprised recently when dining at a regional NSW casual restaurant, I and my three companions were suddenly confronted by a slightly hysterical chap in little more than an apron and bad black trainers

who announced that our meal was gratis but I was to leave immediately. It seems he believed that I had been rude to his staff when in fact I had only been ‘rude’ to him, inasmuch as I complained about the degree of difficulty in getting a glass of wine delivered. This was because in spite of a waitperson depositing a bottle of wine in an ice bucket at our table, when I asked for a glass of Sangiovese I was directed to somewhere behind me, which I assumed was the bar. After waiting at the bar while a clutch cocktails were under construction I was redirected to the cash register at the entrance to the restaurant.

After dutifully queueing for several minutes I rather impatiently asked the man in the apron if I was finally complying with protocol. This was met with “I’m not interested in attitude”. I attempted to explain that it was more by way of a complaint rather than a display of “attitude” which could equally be positive or negative. I may have suggested that this was a slightly clunky means of ordering a glass of wine to which he said that I could order using an app at the table. He then passed on my order to his typist who entred it into the computer, all a little bureaucratic in the circumstances.

For the next glass I thought I might go digital and use the app which came in the form of a QR code glued to the other end of the table. I dutifully scanned, connected to someone claiming to be Mr Yum (a ‘powerful ordering app’) and scrolled through the entire menu before finding the drinks page, I finally located the Sangiovese, clicked, but instead of my order being whisked three metres through the ether to the man in the apron I was instead asked if I’d like to leave a review. I then asked for assistance from a helpful waiter to whom I suggested, again, that this system seemed a bit clunky, she then returned my phone screen to the wine-by-the-glass page and soon after the algorithm finally had my drink delivered. Then, the demand that I leave because my manners weren’t acceptable and I was declared a f…wit. I suggested that I wasn’t about to have my IQ estimated by this bloke nor take a lesson in manners. So I did as asked and left after which he informed the others that I had sworn at the staff and threatened to leave a bad review. Neither accusation was correct. Indeed the first instance of profanity came from the restaurant’s resident affronted snowflake with a return of serve.