Andrew Morrison

I checked out the website of the place in Paris and they say "total darkness". Does DV8 do the same thing? Is there a stated purpose if it's not about food? It sounds great if it's just "hey, let's turn the lights off for fun". The place in Paris, if I read the site correctly, is staffed by blind "guides". At DV8, (and I'm not being 100% facetious) do they use NVG or something? Miner's helmut lamps? Black lights?

Or the womb... Despite the logic of Ling's comment about the sense of sight being denied, the concept smells like teen spirit to me -- just a gimmick to put bums in seats. Does DV8 really have the kind of culinary cred to suggest that concentrating only on taste and smell will make a stunning difference? I like the place...but c'mon! What about naked nymphs dancing your plates to your table to the whimsical liltings of Metallica? Turn the lights on baby, turn the lights on...

I'm at a loss. What's the attraction?

Perhaps Shelora meant "in the dark" as a euphemism. If so, this town has more than a few restaurants that can claim this status. Power outages suck. If you lose the lights, that's fine (unless you're a garde manger in the back de-boning fish), but if you lose the computer system, the FOH just reverts back to neanderthalic grunting and panic as if the sky has fallen. Nothing is more amusing than to watch an arithmetically challenged waiter try to add up liqour taxes and GST without the aid of a POS. On the other hand, customers generally enjoy themselves when the lights go out and the tips (inexplicably) are huge.

Waitersight is 20/20. Good tip, though.

On the night previous, we fed a packed house. I had a section of 5 four tops and a deuce, so I was spared much of the romance. However, my deuce finally got sat at around 9pm. A young couple. They order two martinis and pre-order an app to share, keeping their menus. I run through the specials and they tell me they're in no hurry. They get their drinks and a sharing plate. I take their menus away with a promise to return them later. I basically leave them alone. Love is in the air. A half hour passes and they've hardly touched the plate or sipped their marts. "Is everything as it should be?" I ask, doing a follow-up quality check. Seriously, two bites are gone. "Everything is just fine." she says. Her boyfriend chimes in. "I hope we aren't keeping you..." "Oh, not at all. Please, take your time." I say and walk away with a smile. An hour passes. Most of my tables have filtered out. I'm out back with the sous chefs having a smoke and chewing the fat of the evening's progress and their prospects for tomorrow. My busser joins us. "I just cleared the app from 16." she says. "Seriously?" I ask, incredulous. I go inside, wash my hands, eat a mint, and make my way to 16. Their martinis are gone, too. "So, any thoughts to a main course?" I start. They order a salmon and a beef tenderloin and the young man starts flipping through the wine list. I recommend a cheap Burgundy. Things are kickstarted. As i'm typing in their order on the Micros the guy taps me on the shoulder, a crazed look in his eye. He's younger than I thought. Maybe 24. He's all dressed up in his Sunday best. "Hey, listen" he says. "I'm gonna propose to my girlfriend tonight, after dinner." "That's wonderful!" I respond, taking a break from spelling "well done" as a modifier for his steak. "When we're finished our dinner can you please bring us two glasses of champagne. That's when I'm gonna ask her." He's clearly nervous. "Perhaps a bottle would be a better idea, sir. We have some 1990 Dom Perignon that would truly make the evening a most memorable affair. " I counter. I'm just kidding, folks. I might be the first to upsell, but I pick my fights more prudently than that. "Certainly, sir. It'll be an honour." I say sincerely, despite myself. So, the main courses come and go. By now the entire staff knows what's about to go down at table 16. With no ceremony at all, I set down two glasses of Blue Mountain brut on their table and calmly walk away. All the girls I work with are just staring from the various staff stations around the restaurant. The guy pulls out a box. She looks surprised. She opens it and what she sees makes her smile. Her body exhales. There are tears welling up in her eyes. The entire staff are holding their breath. She closes the box. The collective gasp is almost audible over the dinner din. Speculation runs rife. Even the dishpig has a theory. He asks for the bill. Almost in tears for the guy, I fetch it for him. They pay and walk arm in arm to the door. I collect their coats for them. There is an air of ethereal disquiet about them. They are in a dream-like state with eyes glossed over. I can't help it. I ask... "How'd it go?" "She said yes." "But she closed the box! Congratulations! I was so worried!" I admit. "Earrings, dude. I got her diamond earrings. I'm letting her choose the ring." After I wipe my brow with relief and say my goodbyes, I think to myself: Shit! Some people have way too much money at 24.

Twas my birthday and I have a nasty cold so I took the night off to spend it with my wife and son. We enjoyed Chinese take-out, unpacking boxes (still ), and reading Robinson Crusoe to a sleepyhead. I did, however, go for a late night stroll past my restaurant. Packed to the gills. There is an odd pleasure in watching your colleagues wade through the weeds from afar. Back to the grind this evening. On nights like New Years Eve and Valentines Day waiters, managers, chefs and hostesses tend to over-prepare for the worst, so if the roof doesn't cave in and the four horsemen of the apocalypse don't show up asking for a 4top in smoking without a reso then it's a little anti-climactic. Happy ides of Feb.

Did a little follow-up and Fung's menus have returned the Beach Side to the West Coast. Enjoy yourself, Eric. If you were looking for good Italian in the neighbourhood, there's Marcelo's (where they make tasty veal -- saltimbocca, parmigiana, marsala, etc.) just up the street.

oops, supposed to be a pm...

Mark Potovsky was last seen as the exec in Oregon's Trianon.

Gianni was a talent at the Beach Side (formerly at Il Giardino tutoring a younger Hawksworth and his own Gianni's). The position is now filled by the competent Ray Fung (formerly of Allegro Cafe & The Crime Lab). I've got no idea where Mr. Picchi is heading. I also don't know if the Beach Side is sticking to Gianni's Italianised menus, but I'll swing by soon and check unless someone else knows the score.

To be perfectly egalitarian, I don't think management, waiters, and sous chefs should be excluded from this great idea of a thread. Yet if I know my brethren at all, some might not want to be found... I'll start with Josiane. Anyone know where this excellent bartender who opened and managed Chambar before Andre from Lumiere stepped in ended up? (extra points for run-on sentence)

Note to Travis: Don't be fooled by Ling's diminutive frame. This girl can eat. Seriously. Quali dolci avete, Gianfranco?

It has been proven by a handful of restaurants that achieving both is possible. Note to management and ownership: this is your job. If you can't do both, why even bother?

I sure as hell can understand that. Somebody whose eloquence eclipses mine should tackle the catch-22's facing those restaurants who participate in DOV and share them (in the DOV thread).

attagirl ling.

that's what I did. I went. I ate. I posted. go ahead and eat.

Not any more. When you enter you are staring at a two man open kitchen bar (complete with Blue Water ex Travis Williams on the grills of steel) and either of two brothers, Gianfranco or Luciano (or his wife Carol). Putting Feng Shui aside for a moment (though layout is extremely important!), it's the food that will be the big draw here. Vitello Tonnato....

That's easy to say when you get to wear white all the time, Neil.

I respect your opinion Mr. Maw, but methinks we digress. Not a lot of people are reading this. I see we are the only ones right now, with Neil doing a bit of post-shift lurking (i see you ). So as a consequece I think we should re-focus this thread and concentrate not on what we should wear, but rather what the folks at Bacchus should wear. We're equally appreciative of the importance in dressing the part. Maybe somebody can chime in here, but I'm thinking the last time I was at Bacchus the staff were svelt All-Black types and various lovelies, with the odd grey vet with the thousand yard stare for character. You can't depend just on a swank fireplace, peanuts, and dishy cocktails. You've got to give it backbone. You've got to walk and stand like a footman in the Court of St. James. Nose in the air, never looking down (the scents of success can be oppressing). Languid eyes. Evident ability. Confidence. My first thought? Anne Klein. Second thoughts? Lots of pockets for pens. Keeping the corkscrew in the button hole of some her Fall 2004 tweed suit-jackets makes it (as you mentioned) that much more a timeless fabric.

Though I must say how flattering it is that you (and presumably Lars, whose penchant for Longshoremen has me staring at my closet at a loss ) think I could fit into these, I should also point out how difficult it would be to work the floor in your suggested get-up. I certainly wouldn't wish those garments on the most inept of my colleagues. They just hang. That being said, I think management should give them a try...especially the red two-piece which says, in the lingua franca of pret-a-porter bikinis, "take me seriously. I mean business". Still, I'm very flattered, and a bit disconcerted (though not a little charmed) that you are so engaged in the matter. We aim to please by definition, so all suggestions for staff uniforms are welcome. I can't wait to see how the Bacchus girls work their runway.

In my line of work, you really want to start with a corset and work up from there, Jamie. Stella's a great suggestion, but the ebb and flow of some of her dresses could bar access to my crank and that's a big no no. A bit pricy, too...especially during the slowest time of the year (besides, her summer line defines the milieu so I can wait ) Her winter fabrics are killer on the thighs. The swish swish swish of wool crepe can chafe like rutting rhinos, as I found out to my dismay during DOV. The smarter fine dining fashion houses lean more towards breathables and better still, stretchy fabrics. Lycra, linen, some cottons. Aquamarine? Jamie, darling...how 2002 of you. This year we're seeing more greys of all shades, some lighter blues and especially soft-hued browns the tint of Artigiano froth. For me, it's black, no matter what Yves (that bitch) says.

awesome

Waiterblog starts updating his resume.... I understand Conoir to be very slimming. I can squeeze into just about anything. I hope to be there, Arne.

February 14th happens to be my birthday. When my wife and I were married, there was a special contract stamped by a notary and blessed by a priest, a rabbi, and a minister that decreed Valentines Day would thitherto cease to exist for her. Good girl she be. Every year I book it off from work to avoid the throngs who deign to celebrate anything but my mothers labours. I am, otherwise, a lord of romance.