I add my voice to the wondering chorus for Miguel's marvelous post, the kind that makes you want to call all your friends and say "stop what you're doing and read this". I also thank Lucy for the question which titles this thread, and which I'd answer thus: the French FD service ritual is relaxing provided one is comfortable playing the role it assigns. Which for the most part I am. I do feel, though, that the aim of good service should be to fulfill the reasonable wishes of civilized diners (not to be confused with catering to every whim of the cloddish baboso...), and if this entails a certain flexibility to alter the steps in the dance, that's all to the good. I like waiters; they work hard and swallow a lot of pride, and I want my bearing to convey "I arrived happy and have every intention of remaining that way under your skillful care". I'm the furthest thing from a sauce-on-the-sider. But the minute service starts feeling like "well you know, rules are rules" then I feel less served than instructed, and I came to eat a meal, not to learn a lesson. Ultimately the most valuable "ritual" of great service is to provide for the well-being of the reasonable guest, not obsequiously but with care and competence. On a related note, on our final evening of vacation a week ago we dined at Nicolas le Bec in Lyon (and had an exciting meal which recalled L'Astrance), but, arriving on the early side (7:45) we were seated at the death-table right by the swinging door to the kitchen. My wife (a restaurateur herself) was pretty steamed, but I understood: we were strangers from afar, and the best tables go to regulars. She wanted to let her feelings be known, but I wanted to win the place over. Since it was our last night, we wanted to splurge, and we ordered Important Wine - 88 Krug, and 1970 Haut Brion. Having established we were (at least for that evening!) Big Spenders, we were accorded a degree of deference we wouldn't otherwise have received. And I turned on the charm (at least to the extent my truculent misanthropic nature permits...) and by evening's end we were being comped courses and invited to go back into the kitchen and meet the very young-looking Chef le Bec and offer heartfelt compliments. BUT, here was an instance when, if I hadn't made a point of asking for our red wine to be poured as soon as the fish-course was cleared, it wouldn't have been. And we both wanted and deserved a few minutes alone with our Haut Brion, don't you think? I'd never make any kind of scene on the spot, but I would and did return with a few pointed questions about WHO'S being served here, the actual flesh-and-blood diner, or the sacred Tradition.
