Site search
sponsored by
News
ENLARGE
THEN AND NOW
Edna Van Leuven
For a great many years – back in the dark ages — I worked as a waitress, starting at the counter in a drug store, and eventually upgrading into one of the finest restaurants in Pennsylvania. Then, in California, I continued waiting tables to help raise my family.
It isn't an easy occupation, but I learned my lessons well, and so did my son Doug. He started as a dishwasher at the tender age of 12 or 13, and worked as a waiter some years later.
So don't tell either of us that we don't know what we're talking about; we most certainly do. And it is with this in mind that I tell you about some of the things, good and bad, that have happened here in Fallon and a few in other places close by.
First of all, Mr. John Wannamaker, the founder of one of Philadelphia's finest department stores, always said, “The customer is always right.” That statement always stayed with me as I walked through any restaurant carrying a tray. Good service, I learned early, means good tips, and tips are what make your day, not your often too small salary. Here goes with some of my varied complaints.
Years and years ago somebody opened an Italian restaurant here in town. Doug and I were there the very first night, and when the waitress came to our table, the first thing she did was ask what we wanted to eat. Not “would you like something from the bar?” Anybody knows that's what you do. So I asked that she bring us a half carafe of Chianti wine. “What's that?” she asked. So I explained it was an Italian wine and the container. She came back, after going somewhere into outer space, and said they didn't have “either of them things.”
Then Doug asked her, “How's the veal?” I looked at him askance. Are you kidding? Like she would know. To this she didn't know; she would never eat veal because of how they treated the animals. The bar showed carafes of Chianti. She and the restaurant were both gone in months.
Now we come to a really fancy place where I one evening had a delicious shrimp dish covered with hollandaise. It was delicious, but the second time I ordered it — some weeks later — it had been left under those delivery light things — and had curdled. It was all but inedible.
Now we come to one of our newer local lunch restaurants where I asked for what I ALWAYS order, a HALF SANDWICH. When the waitress delivered a WHOLE sandwich, I very nice — believe me, I'm always polite — I said that I was sorry, but I had ordered a half. Her answer, loud and clear, was “No you didn't!” My son told her that I had, indeed, ordered a half sandwich. The manger was out, but next time I'm there — for it's a really fine place — I'll look for her ... she won't be waiting on me.
Now I've written about how I wrote to the steak-type restaurant about the terrible steak I was served that you couldn't cut with a hatchet, and the time — when they used to serve breakfast — being served a huge pancake that was three quarters as black as coal — and the waitress saying she was sorry, but that was the way it came off the grill.
Lady, you don't EVER serve anything you are ashamed of but shame on you.
I've learned as a consumer to never ever, ever eat at a restaurant that serves two specialties. Chinese/American, or Italian/ Mexican — not this lady. I tried that here in town once and if that was spaghetti and meatballs, God help us all!
Doug and I see physicians in Fernley, so we've gotten used to eating there, especially at two places where we get a great breakfast for — including coffee — for $4 or $5. At one of these establishments on Christmas day some years ago when all of Fallon's restaurants were closed, we had the best prime rib dinner we had ever had right down to the vegetables.
Not too long ago, we went back to a local, well established restaurant where we hadn't been for a long time. It was morning, and I ordered a senior breakfast. One thing I would like to know is how can anybody serve pancakes that small, and where in the world did they find those sausage links? I didn't know they made them that tiny.
Edna Van Leuven is a Churchill County writer.
It isn't an easy occupation, but I learned my lessons well, and so did my son Doug. He started as a dishwasher at the tender age of 12 or 13, and worked as a waiter some years later.
So don't tell either of us that we don't know what we're talking about; we most certainly do. And it is with this in mind that I tell you about some of the things, good and bad, that have happened here in Fallon and a few in other places close by.
First of all, Mr. John Wannamaker, the founder of one of Philadelphia's finest department stores, always said, “The customer is always right.” That statement always stayed with me as I walked through any restaurant carrying a tray. Good service, I learned early, means good tips, and tips are what make your day, not your often too small salary. Here goes with some of my varied complaints.
Years and years ago somebody opened an Italian restaurant here in town. Doug and I were there the very first night, and when the waitress came to our table, the first thing she did was ask what we wanted to eat. Not “would you like something from the bar?” Anybody knows that's what you do. So I asked that she bring us a half carafe of Chianti wine. “What's that?” she asked. So I explained it was an Italian wine and the container. She came back, after going somewhere into outer space, and said they didn't have “either of them things.”
Then Doug asked her, “How's the veal?” I looked at him askance. Are you kidding? Like she would know. To this she didn't know; she would never eat veal because of how they treated the animals. The bar showed carafes of Chianti. She and the restaurant were both gone in months.
Now we come to a really fancy place where I one evening had a delicious shrimp dish covered with hollandaise. It was delicious, but the second time I ordered it — some weeks later — it had been left under those delivery light things — and had curdled. It was all but inedible.
Now we come to one of our newer local lunch restaurants where I asked for what I ALWAYS order, a HALF SANDWICH. When the waitress delivered a WHOLE sandwich, I very nice — believe me, I'm always polite — I said that I was sorry, but I had ordered a half. Her answer, loud and clear, was “No you didn't!” My son told her that I had, indeed, ordered a half sandwich. The manger was out, but next time I'm there — for it's a really fine place — I'll look for her ... she won't be waiting on me.
Now I've written about how I wrote to the steak-type restaurant about the terrible steak I was served that you couldn't cut with a hatchet, and the time — when they used to serve breakfast — being served a huge pancake that was three quarters as black as coal — and the waitress saying she was sorry, but that was the way it came off the grill.
Lady, you don't EVER serve anything you are ashamed of but shame on you.
I've learned as a consumer to never ever, ever eat at a restaurant that serves two specialties. Chinese/American, or Italian/ Mexican — not this lady. I tried that here in town once and if that was spaghetti and meatballs, God help us all!
Doug and I see physicians in Fernley, so we've gotten used to eating there, especially at two places where we get a great breakfast for — including coffee — for $4 or $5. At one of these establishments on Christmas day some years ago when all of Fallon's restaurants were closed, we had the best prime rib dinner we had ever had right down to the vegetables.
Not too long ago, we went back to a local, well established restaurant where we hadn't been for a long time. It was morning, and I ordered a senior breakfast. One thing I would like to know is how can anybody serve pancakes that small, and where in the world did they find those sausage links? I didn't know they made them that tiny.
Edna Van Leuven is a Churchill County writer.
