Okay. Now that we strive for political correctness, there are only “waitpersons.” Farewell to “waiters” and “waitresses.” On the not-so-politically-correct side, HG has noticed that “waitpersons” in all cheap but delicious Chinese restaurants are unsmiling and peremptory. On the other hand, Latino “waitpersons” in New Mexico, whether serving in a white tablecloth restaurant or a rough hewn roadside truck, are gracious, smiling and efficient. Joyous welcoming shouts and farewells are traditional in Japanese businesses, restaurants included. Paris “waitpersons” are models of professionalism. They are not your pals. They do not announce: “Hello, I am Pierre, your waitperson for tonight.” They simply do their job and do it wonderfully — Of course they usually warm up to HG because HG expresses intense interest in every aspect of the carte and carte des vins. Waitpersons in Italy are the best. They enfold the diner, whether tourist or native, in family warmth. (Venice is an exception. Following a centuries old tradition, tourists are there for the fleecing. Tourists pay expanded prices. Venetians get a discount). Restaurateur Daughter Victoria F. makes sure service is a model of friendly efficiency at her three New York restaurants — Cookshop, Vic’s and Hundred Acres. (No, HG/BSK are not treated differently than any other diners). The old New York Jewish (must call them “waiters”) were the stuff of comedy legend. They staffed delicatessens, “dairy” restaurants and traditional kosher and non-kosher Eastern European eateries. They never smiled. Their feet hurt. They hated their customers. Even when in a nostalgic mood, HG doesn’t miss them.
