TDG: HOCAS-NOCAS

[jhlurie]

Daily Gullet contributor Ingrid Tischer has a few things to say about the "magic" which drives the best restaurants. In her opinion, it's not so much a matter of where you are, but how you are treated . . .

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Be sure to check The Daily Gullet home page daily for new articles (most every weekday), hot topics, site announcements, and more.

[TrishCT]

Great story, Ingrid, gave me several good laughs!

One HOCAS/NOCAS experience I had happened while I was on a car trip to Montreal in the dead of winter. My college friends and I stopped into an empty deli to grab some hot chocolate and warm up. While we were there, the man and woman running the place (who appeared to be husband and wife) struck up a friendly conversation with us. They were very accomodating --couldn't be nicer, so we lingered for awhile and even ordered some sandwiches to go. As we were leaving, one of my friends noticed the rack of Canadian candy bars, which were different from American ones. At that point, the husband and wife raged into a very loud argument between themselves, in a language none of us understood. The husband looked at us with nostrils flaring and said loudly, "Good bye ladies!" Hocas and Nocas in the same visit.

Edited May 5, 2004 by TrishCT (log)

[mags]

Ingrid, what an elegant writer you are. A pleasure.

[ingridsf]

Trishct and Mags: Thank you! Wish I could figure out a more *creative* way to express gratitude for compliments. A slightly embarrassed smiley face will have to suffice.

Love to hear more about the highs and lows -- maybe we can export a few comments from the Rocco thread....!

Ingrid

[chefdg]

I think that a lot of it has to do with your expetations of a particular place. Of coarse, at a five star restaurant, you will expect to have your every request fullfilled. But, a mom and pop place will blow you away if they get your order correct.

[chickenlady]

Ingrid, that was truly a lovely article. Thanks for making me smile this morning!

I think you've really put your finger on what really makes a restaurant experience. While good food is important, it goes well beyond that to how you feel while consuming the food.

I think my number one HOCAS experience was in Spain. My husband was at conferences all day long so I spent most of my days eating alone at cafes. One day, I decided I wanted a more upscale experience and decided to have lunch at the most elegant-looking restaurant I could find. Although it was filled with large tables of families (there was a festival going on), the staff seated at me at a table with the best view and paid special attention to me. Throughout the meal, they brought out special items and wines for me to try, took time to explain preparations and customs, and generally made me feel that I was the only one in the restaurant. Even though the restaurant was crowded and busy, they never made me feel like I wasn't worth their bother, something I sometimes experience when dining alone in the US.

Of course, on the walk back to the hotel I was robbed by gypsies, but that's another story...

[bleudauvergne]

I would like to pipe in with thanks for that wonderful article!

[Jake]

Ingrid, what a fabulous article. You sum up perfectly that special feeling one gets in a HOCUS establishment. It reminded me of why my favourite regular restaurant is my favourite. The food is excellent, but it is the way we are made to feel when we're there that makes all the difference. Thank you. I hope to see more articles from your magic pen.

[hathor]

Excellent article, HOCAS-NOCAS, indeed!

You are so right...it's easier to come up with a lot more HOCAS than NOCAS memories. Maybe because the preparing and serving of food is essentially a giving experience, if you care about what you prepare, you care that the receiver will enjoy it.

Once upon along time ago, my husband and our son who was about 10, were driving around in Italy, and we wandered into this roadside restaurant for some lunch. We wandered into one of all time great meals! The owner, who quickly figured out that we were not locals, told us to relax, don't bother about ordering, he would just bring us some lunch, 6 courses later, we were smiling from ear to ear. Then he offered our young son, a little sweet wine for dessert, explaining it was good for him, it was just a 'soft' wine. All 3 of us have very fond memories of this lovely place...unfortunately, as we were driving around deliberately looking for backroads, we never could find the place again. A meal that dreams are made of.

NOCAS? A very upscale downtown NYC Italian restaurant. It was truly someones' birthday in our party, at dessert time, the waiters ran over, threw a slice of cake down on the table, in front of the wrong person, sang a speed version of Happy Birthday, and before we could comment, snatched the cake away and served it to another table. A true story. P.S. The waiters should not assume that no one understands Italian...

[Squeat Mungry]

I PMed Ingrid to thank her for her wonderful article and to make a guess at the establishment where she had her NOCAS experience. Nailed it!

Had a very NOCAS experience myself once at the same place. In fact, we got such bad vibes just walking into the dining room, we nixed our dinner plans and just grabbed a few drinks at the bar. Even the bartender was surly!

Many more HOCAS experiences stand out in memory, as others have observed. Several of them at one particular place: the dining room at the Hotel El Drisco here in San Francisco in the mid to late eighties (when it was still open to the public), where the kitchen staff and the wait staff conspired each evening to create a roomful of enchanted diners.

Thanks for the piece, Ingrid!

Cheers,

Squeat

[ingridsf]

I got an email from a friend last night who’d read the article and said it made her remember the spectacular meal we’d had at Chez Panisse last fall. (My friend ran the writing circle I was in for 8 years, so any praise I get here for writing ability by rights should be forwarded to her.) (Oh, and as for what makes a good writer of any kind, food or anything else: Write. Read. Repeat. For as long as it takes. Writing improves with practice. Doesn’t matter how you get it done or why – some things help, like talent, a private income and emotional support, but don’t limit yourself by falling for imaginary rules about process or life-style. Care about your subject, must share your vision with the world, really need some popcorn money for the movies? Whatever makes you get the writing done is what makes a good writer.)

Back to Chez Panisse, a very close second to La Folie. We were in the downstairs restaurant not the café. I’ve never gone to the café because for one thing, it’s more climbing and climbing is not my thing, and I like the no-choices set up in the restaurant. It’s exciting – I may eat something I wouldn’t have ordinarily – and relaxing. Mind you, I like control as much as anyone. But basically it’s about letting go and knowing The Professionals are going to take care of everything.

The reservations process at CP is, uh, not exactly personal, but does have the salutary quality of a brisk walk taken without a quite heavy-enough jacket. It requires a credit card. As a fundraiser, I can understand the value of a uniting a phone call and credit card. They’re polite though and as they get overwhelming demand for tiny supply, I get the need for a stringent process. And the first time I went, we were 30 minutes late (the Bridge, grrr) and they couldn’t have been nicer. We had a pumpkin risotto that evening, with a touch of quince, and teeny scallops with pancetta in a Meyer lemon vinaigrette. This meal was a number of years ago, mind you.

I’m digressing hither and yon. The meal last fall reunited me and my friend with the same server we had the year before. (The meal’s a birthday celebration.) Pls. note I had not been back during the elapsed time. We liked him before so it was a pleasure to see him. Salivations ensue as we scan the evening menu (I have to write fast so will only mention the poached chicken with root veg and horseradish cream – essence of bird on a soup plate. Also, I’m eating some roast pork with cabbage and rice from a 3rd St. Chinese/soul food joint that is distracting me with its glorious sultry patois. Writing about food as I eat – well, it’s progress, since I mostly read about food/watch FN while I eat. Did I mention that I weigh 14.4 fluid oz.? Every meal counts.)

We ordered the wine paired with the food and I had a New Zealand sauvignon blanc I loved – damn memory can’t retrieve its well-known name. We were well into the meal when our server appears holding a bottle of red, displaying it and apologizing for something I didn’t quite get. Seems a good friend of my dining companion, the Birthday Girl, who is a wine importer and (I think) former CP wine supplier, had brought a bottle by for our dinner that day. Seems the Wine Guygod got wind of our plans (omniscience has its advantages), checked out the evening’s menu and selected a delightful Vouvray.

We were stunned, and hugely appreciative. Our server though did explain CP’s mess-up in not bringing it out at the right time. They comped our other wine and apologized all over the place. Call me a push-over but it didn’t bother us much because CP admitted error and tried to put it right.

Okay, gotta go. Thanks for reading vol. 2.

Ingrid

[mommydearest]

I want to publicly express my admiration for Ingridsf's wonderful article. I would like to take some genetic credit for both her taste in food and her writing since I am her mother. However, she and I both know that it has taken at least three generations to go from well done roast beef and teetotaling to our near-obscene appreciation for good food and wine, done at home or in a restaurant.

For all the young parents reading this, Ingrid's desire for good food goes back to her early childhood. ( I will omit the embarrassing restaurant experience when

her love of food exceeded her capacity.) She was also the only kid in her fifth grade class who recognized all the cooking utensils the teacher flashed. My point is that the pleasure of food begins with parents letting their children enjoy a variety of it at home and out.

I'm happy to read so many compliments on her writing. I am an English teacher, but her style is purely her own.

Oh, and I must own the fact that I am a restaurant coward, a fact that Ingrid witnessed when I made no complaint when my lasagna at an Italian restaurant had no cheese! I think it was the presence of the two severe black suits on either side of the doorway. Or perhaps the piano player singing "New York, New York". It was kind of her not to mention it.

Keep it up, Ingrid!

[hathor]

Hello mommydearest!! You sound a lot like my mom!

Happy Mothers day to you!

[dumplin]

Ingrid, I loved your article. You're right, good and bad restaurants come in all price ranges. Now I have a new vocabulary for my experiences...which hopefully will be mostly HOCAS.

Edited May 8, 2004 by dumplin (log)

[ingridsf]

When it comes to parents letting their kids appreciate a wide variety of food, mommiedearest (we're going to have to talk about that name, heh) speaks the truth. This woman allowed me to order duck a l'orange when I was six and we went to a nice restaurant, a true rarity at the time in our family. I ended up leaving a lot of it on the plate, as she no doubt expected would happen, but she let me try something new.

That's my mom -- a woman who summed up SF very nicely once when she said, "I like it here, restaurants put such interesting sauces on everything."

Happy Mother's Day! Eat something good!

PS Mommiedearest is not a restaurant coward. She simply exercises her right to remain silent more frequently than her daughter.

Edited May 8, 2004 by ingridsf (log)

[KatieLoeb]

Ingrid:

That article absolutely sums it up. Your insight and prose are both brilliant. Thank you for taking the time to express so eloquently that which we fussy foodie types know instinctively, but couldn't possibly even begin to explain.

Mommydearest definitely gets some credit for all this. Her influence is obvious in both your writing style (having an English teacher for a mom can be tough but will absolutely make a better writer out of you!) and in your adventurous spirit and passion when it comes to food.

Congratulations Ingrid, on an excellent summation of the thoughts that most of us can't even articulate, no less do so as eloquently as you have.

Mommydearest - a happy Mother's Day to you! You done good!

[ingridsf]

Thank you so much, Katie. Our special bond of adoring Hugh Jackman makes your praise all the sweeter.

I was glad though that you read the article in that you represent folks I particularly wanted to reach, people who spend their professional lives (and "free time" I expect) creating the environment I wrote about. The good environment, that is. First, I wanted a person in your position to know your efforts are often successful, and why. And to remind you how utterly different the effects of your labor can be from what you are seeing. The staff no-shows, the laundry bill, the missing items from the produce orders -- you see all that stuff, up close in its grimy reality, and it must be hard at times to hold on to the picture of what it's supposed to add up to for the customer.

Fortunately in life as in literature, the perfectly executed detail makes the story, or in this case, the happy memory. The owner who stops by the table for a friendly word, the chef who sends out a special taste of something -- I can't stress it strongly enough, these details matter to me far more than height on a plate or the size of the floral arrangement, or whether it's a famous place. (Good wine glasses, though, those I notice.) It's not that the food is anything less than critical. It's just that it takes more than good cooking to make an excellent restaurant.

There's a restaurant called Rocco's I believe that demonstrates my point. Perhaps some of you have heard of it?

Ingrid

[shopsink]

Nice article. Do you think restaurants rate their customers (especially new ones) with similar standards? Is it possible to induce hocasness? Ken.

[Chad]

Ingrid, lovely article. Thank you.

My HOCAS experience: I used to hang out at a wonderful restaurant in Greenville, SC, called Tahoe South. The kitchen was run by chef Deron Little -- a truly visionary and talented cook. I loved him dearly. I ate too few meals and spent too much time at the bar, I now realize. But I developed a friendship with the whole kitchen and wait staff. Beautifull messes, each and every one, from Gretchen the hostess, on whom I had a wholly inappropriate crush, to Randy the waiter, who had a wholly inappropriate crush on me . I spent many, many nights closing down after-hours bars and in general debauchery with all of them.

I was out with potential clients one early afternoon, trying to woo them with my suave style and sophisticated business sense, when one of them suggested that we consumate the deal over lunch and asked what I'd recommend. Without thinking I blurted out Tahoe South. It was only after a moment's consideration that I realized what I had done. This was a place where the bartender had not one but two glasses of wine waiting for me at the bar come 6:00 every day -- the first swilled quickly to clear my head of corporate goo -- to be followed by many more. They greeted me like Norm at Cheers, and I generally had to fend off a couple of bizarre and ear-reddening advances from the gay waiters before I was able to sit down.

I began to sweat.

When we arrived, Gretchen, the hostess, took one look at me in my suit and tie (actually tied for the first time in her experience) and said, "Ah, Mr. Ward, so good to see you again. Your usual table?" They proceeded to treat me like a serious VIP. Deron, the chef, sent out amuses and later stopped by the table to check on our meal. The staff was so courteous and attentive that you would have thought that the future of the restaurant depended on my slightest nod of approval. It was, in short, the most astounding restaurant experience that I've ever had. The food was spectacular, and the service was something you'd only ever experience in three-star places that require a Swiss bank account number before taking a reservation. My clients, needless to say, were seriously impressed. The deal has long come and gone, but I will always remember the way a group of the most twisted misfits -- my friends -- sized up the situation in an instant and made me feel like (and look like) the most important person on earth. I will always love them for that.

Chad

[ingridsf]

Don't know how to induce hocasness, Ken, nor how to ward off nocasness. They probably both involve duct tape, as duct tape makes everything else happen. And I'm afraid to start thinking about restaurant staff sizing up the customers, namely, me.

Chad, oh my god, LOL at your story. Nothing like having your worlds collide. Vive la Wholly Inappropriate Crushes! Just remember that even suave and sophisticated people can accidently order "Assorted Pies" off the dessert menu. And hey! those 2 glasses of wine were a "mini flight"!

Ingrid

[tanabutler]

Thank you so much, Katie.  Our special bond of adoring Hugh Jackman makes your praise all the sweeter.

Hey, I want in on that pig-pile!

Ingrid, what a fabulously written piece. I loved every word, and will link to it over at the CASCC website forums, so we can chat it up here in Santa Cruz county. (Lots of HOCAS focus here in my crowd of chefs and cooks!)

My HOCAS, no, POCAS, is second-hand but worth sharing here. I have an online friend at my other digs (Readerville.com) whose mother was an Empress in New Orleans. Not literally, obviously, but Dorothy was one of those women everyone wanted to know. She was a martinet in the best sense: impeccable taste, impeccable manners, impeccable graciousness. She lived broadly and fully. When I sent some of my favorite condiments that she couldn't get in NOLA (New Orleans, Louisiana, that is: not Nadir of Loathsome Areas), Dorothy reciprocated with a boxful of fixings (including Zatarain's--everything but the fresh meat and veg), and a personal recipe.

I still have her handwritten note:

Tana -

Merçi beaucoup! Your favorite things are greatly appreciated. Here are some of mine plus my favorite recipe for old-timey Chicken & Andouille Filé Gumbo. (The sausage freezes well so don't feel compelled to rush to the kitchen.)

The Ziplock bag contains the seasoning mix from Commander's Palace restaurant (our "neighborhood place"). I use it in a lot of dishes, including the gumbo. This is a fresh mixture that came out of the restaurant's back door a few minutes ago.

The Jezz sauce [her daughter's concoction, splendid fruit/mustard/horseradish glaze that is utterly fabulous) is a bit hotter than the usual mix but it's all I have. My daughter says the horseradish in N.O. is hotter than that in Colorado. (Can you imagine that?)

Thanks again and I hope you enjoy these things.

Dorothy B. (The Lurker)

Well, in late 2001, Dorothy was diagnosed with lung cancer, and she lasted only a few months. The HOCAS I want to post here was when her daughter posted this:

Last night I called my mom at the hospital. She was eating dinner - gumbo followed by crème brulée from Commander's Palace! Only my mom would have a five star restaurant dinner hand delivered by the proprieters. Feel the love.

Pretty damn classy, if you ask me.

My own award for HOCAS would go to the Stanhope Hotel in NYC in 1997. Alas, I will not link to the website, as it's been taken over by Hyatt and it's ghoulishly corporate.

My daughter and I stayed there for several days; at age seven, she was still a Picky Eater. ("I can't eat it! It has 'things' in it!") We ate at the restaurant on our first evening there. Nothing on the menu suited her tastes, and I asked if the chef could just make a simple pasta dish. He sent out a perfect dish, sort of a customized mac and cheese, with a few tomatoes and herbs thrown in, much as I would have made at home. Then he came out to meet my girlina, and was completely charming. Every evening, he'd make her whatever she wanted, and come to the table to see how she liked it. What a wonderful, sweet man. (Chef Jean Bayley, I think his name was. I wish I remembered.)

When it was time to leave, we ordered a box lunch to go, to have something good for the airplane. I just asked him to surprise us. When we opened the bag, we found not only the most wonderful sandwiches and salads and desserts, but white linen napkins and the fancy forks they used in the dining room. I still have those forks: they're bigger than any I own, but I cherish them and the memory of the staff at the Stanhope. HOCAS to the nth.

[KatieLoeb]

Thank you so much, Katie.  Our special bond of adoring Hugh Jackman makes your praise all the sweeter.

Hey, I want in on that pig-pile!

Ingrid and Tana:

I suspect we can all share Himself Mr. Jackman. There's plenty of him to go around, at least in our vivid fantasy lives

Tana what an awesome Hocas story! Everyone I think, has an "Empress" or an Auntie Mame in their life, or should. The memories of that person never dim, much like their bright personalities and presence never dimmed whilst they were around. My Empress was my dear Aunt Cecelia. Always dressed to the nines, matching shoes and pocketbook, tickets to the theater or the opera every week, couldn't walk down the street without bumping into a hundred people she knew, etc. Always active and the social butterfly. My personal role model for a proper lady.