“I never eat dessert.”

“I would have preferred the house wine.”

Oh, shut up!

Only kidding. Not really.

Brave Astronaut, who has a fun blog about food and other interesting stuff, addresses an appetite-suppressing issue we all dread when dining out with a crowd–how to properly split the check:

I am going off to a conference, and I will likely head out to dinner with a large group of colleagues, as I do when at conferences. I always lean on the side of splitting the check by however many diners there are. It makes my head fly off my shoulders when people start nickel and diming the check apart. “Well, I just had a salad and he had four drinks…” There has never been a time when I haven’t come up short when the check has been divided by people figuring out their own amount.

Been there, Brave one. When I was in college, one kid always had the same line when the check came: “All I have is this hundred dollar bill. The bar won’t make change. But I’ll pay you back later.” Now, this was back in the day when a hundred dollar bill seemed like a thousand dollars and likely was unbreakable at a college-town bar. And this kid never paid a dime, let alone anyone “back.”

Personally, I am with you. Establish a grand total, including the tip. (You would be surprised how a group is all too happy to have someone be the designated bookkeeper at times like this–might at well be you.) Split the check by the number of people. Couples pay the two-fer rate, singles pay the single rate. Easy. Except when seven credit cards get tossed at the server. “Put $50 on this Amex, $22.50 on the two Visas,” and so on. Such a pain.

Real problems arise when the “I only had…” crap starts up. I find I don’t go out with those types of people anymore. Ever.

Go out with real friends when you want to split a check. Bring a ton of cash and never show your plastic when you are dining out with strangers, co-workers and conventioneers.

Lesson learned, okay? No need for your head to fly off into space by itself.

That’s right, you called in, and received, carryout food. Food to go from nameless, faceless folks who would never dream to call themselves “servers,” even though they just served up your next meal on your doorstep or your desk.

Asks Ishmael, perplexed about the rules of tipping for carryout food:

Just have to say love your blog. I have a restaurant type question though that no one I know can answer. When ordering take out say from a standard restaurant like Chili’s or whatever. Is it customary to leave a tip? I’ve never been sure…. I thought that since you weren’t actually being served or something there was no need, but I’ve never been sure and I always get different answers. Can you fill me in?

Ishmael,

You really don’t have to ask, right?

You know how easy it is not to tip the maids in a hotel? You never see them, yet your room is just magically made up. But how would they know if you didn’t tip them after a day or two of swabbing your sink and toilet? They might figure it figures when you don’t tip, but they truly appreciate the gesture when you do.

So, you wonder, can I tip the guy who delivers my pizza a buck or two? You could. But how about you try tipping 20 percent? He/she just drove like a maniac to get your pie delivered in record time. Thank him as you would any server.

Yeah, you point out, but I just ordered take-out from the bartender, and he barely spoke to me while I waited. I still have to tip? Okay, here’s what I do: order take out, then order a glass of wine, a beer, a soda–something–while waiting for the order at the bar. And I tip on the whole bill because the bartender has now taken time to deal with me, deal with the kitchen, and deal with me again.

Is it customary to leave a tip to your carryout server/delivery person? Of course it is. How much more than a dollar, maybe three? I have no idea. I just know what I do. And I have a healthy respect for tipping karma, especially for tipping those who don’t have the glamourous “inside” restaurant job.

In the restaurants I’ve worked, even a hint of an allergy issue from a patron–”It’s not an allergy, but could you leave the lettuce off the sandwich? It upsets my stomach.”–constitutes a red alert conveyed from the host stand to the server to the chef.

Other times, when the allergy list goes on and on–”I am vegan AND I can’t eat corn or soy or wheat or oats or strawberries …”–I have been known to interrupt the patron and ask, “Why don’t you just tell me what you can eat, and I’ll work it out with the chef.”

Honestly, sometimes I wonder how people get through life when all they seem to be able to eat are carrots and potatoes.

So, be they vegan, vegetarian, gluten sensitive, lactose intolerant, allergic to nuts and shellfish, or if they just detest a specific food–how does a restaurant charge such patrons for the special orders that may ensue?

Nicholle wrote Ask the Gal to share a recent experience:

“The other night, we went out to eat at a hamburger joint. I am a vegetarian. I know it’s a pain to modify the menu, but there were not very many items on the menu that I could have. I ordered a BLTT and asked for cheese instead of the bacon and turkey. When I got the bill, I had been charged for the piece of cheese. I accept that I have to pay for a sandwich even when the most expensive item is removed, but I thought it was a little ridiculous to have to pay for a substitution of cheese. I didn’t fight it or talk to the manager, but do you think that’s fair?”

Nicholle, I hear you, and frankly, I think the charge was unnecessary. Maybe someone had the attitude, “If she’s a freakin’ vegetarian, then why did she come to a burger joint?” Voila, $1.50 for a slice of cheese. On the other hand, plenty of restaurants charge extra for cheese and other sides on a sandwich, so maybe that’s what happened. On the other hand of that, you didn’t have the meat that usually comes in that sandwich, so, yeah, kind of crazy.

If I ever own a restaurant (which I will NOT), I would make sure to have at least a couple of veggie items on the menu, or allow for obvious substitutions at no extra charge. If I had to make up a special dish to accommodate dietary needs or restrictions, I would tell the patron the price of the item beforehand. And if I charged extra for cheese, I’d say so up front, too, in person or spelled out on the menu.

Of course, there are also those pesky guests who want to rewrite the menu and substitute half the items in one entree for something else entirely. How do you draw the line on that? And if you don’t draw that line, how do you charge for it?

Chefs? Owners? Managers? Chime in, please.

Meanwhile, could I have that salad with chicken instead of steak, with just a sprinkle of cheese–it’s goat cheese not feta, right? Oh, and extra sunflower seeds, no onions–unless they are red onions, which is fine, I like those. And just a few croutons–not too many. Can I also have it with the dressing you serve for the salad listed above this one, but only use half what you normally use and then can you pre-toss it really well so the dressing doesn’t sit in the bottom of the bowl? Thanks!

Anastasia recently wrote “Ask The Gal” to inquire about the best way to judge which patrons deserve a comped meal. She felt her manager had improperly snubbed a group of guests who demanded a comp, when he later told her he was tired of being taken advantage of and wasn’t giving in to scammers anymore.

What a no-win game this is. Even when you know you are being had, if you call a scammer a scammer, you risk a barrage of harsh words and actions for all to hear and see–not the kind of atmosphere you want in your dining room at 8:30 on a Saturday evening. And, as far as I can tell, most people aren’t real-life scammers; they’re just unreasonable types with unreasonable demands and borderline egos.

Consider the following scenarios:

“I know I had a reservation for this evening. I made it myself. You obviously lost it,” complains the leader of a party of four at 8 p.m. when the house is packed and “real” reservations are running a half hour behind. If you are lucky, you find her name in the computer system that shows she’s a day early or a week late. If she’s not in the system, you punt, which usually means putting her near the top of the wait list and hoping she doesn’t get over-the-top angry.

Is she a scammer, or just an arrogant ass who is trying to save face with her pals because she forgot to make a reservation?

“This fish is overcooked and has no flavor!” declares one of eight guests in a party. That he has eaten three-quarters of it before making the server aware of this, is, well, a little suspicious. But the server, an old-school pro, whisks the offending plate away and offers to buy the gentleman’s meal and bring out another order at no charge. “I don’t want any more of your food,” the guest blusters. “And you better buy everyone’s meal at this table! I’ve never been so embarrassed.”

Is he a scammer or just an over-entitled, high-blood-pressure-about-to-blow type of guy?

“You do allow patrons to bring in their own wine, don’t you?” asked the guest over the phone as she made her reservation. I said, yes, but a corkage fee would be applied. She readily accepted this policy. Unfortunately, the wine turned out to be a cheap bottle of liqueur, and she wanted us to tell her guests it was a far more expensive brand. She also claimed we “ruined” her coat by spilling on it (which we did not, but we successfully removed the stain right then), and felt we’d overcharged her for several items. Yeah, she was that bad.

Scammer or just someone who can’t go through life without telling “white” lies every other minute?

The point is, it doesn’t matter. The problem is at hand, and it must be dealt with–now.

I don’t think a manager or owner must comp an entire meal, simply because one order of beef is too rare or someone’s wine has sediment in it. Sometimes restaurants screw up, and the good ones have good managers who know how to appropriately handle those situations–they fire a new entree and pour another glass of wine.

Sure, some patrons are pains in the ass, liars, or worse. I imagine that those same good managers would rather comp an entree, offer something toward a future meal, send apps or dessert to the table on the house to avoid an otherwise sure-to-unfold battle scene starring real or imagined indignity.

I detest liars, and I’d love to send them all packing AFTER I have charged them for every morsel they’ve eaten and every drop they’ve drunk. Sometimes, though, you gotta give a little to get them the hell out.

Then code them big-time in your reservation system.

”

Here’s how that scenario usually plays out: The restaurant is slammed, the back-pocket table I try to have–just in case–is still a ten-minute wait away. One customer says to another, blatantly loud enough so I can hear, “Maybe she’d have a table if you gave her ten bucks.” Then we all laugh when I turn to them and say, “If only I had that ten-dollar table for you. I am so sorry you have to wait.” Then I go back to grinding my teeth as I hand out pagers and the aforementioned customers lurk at my elbow.

Now and then, however, a customer truly appreciates a host’s efforts to do right by them.

Hostess Jo asks:

Thanks RG!

Hostess Jo, if you are actually waiting on the table for most of the customer’s meal, that server owes you at least a portion of the tip. If the customer tips you separately for stepping in and providing much of the service, accepting it is not cheating the server at all. Now, if all you did was pour water and put bread on the table (something I routinely do every day for my weeds-laden servers), that’s helpful and wonderful, but I would never expect the server to tip out to me for that.

When a customer wants to tip you for being a good host, I think it feels more awkward, because tipping hosts is not a standard part of our country’s tipping culture. I weigh the situation. If I sense the customer sincerely wants to thank me after the fact, but is fumbling with a dollar or such, I always say thank you and add, “That’s not necessary, but I appreciate the thought.” The customer is usually relieved.

But on occasion, I have experienced the smooth handshake exchange of a 20. I have also received a tip a day later from a tourist getting ready to leave town. You can just sense that accepting that tip is the right thing to do, with a genuine thank you.

Happy hostessing!

It’s true, customer complaints are acted on fast at my restaurant. However, in a place as busy as ours, the biggest surprise to me is the relatively low number of complaints we actually receive during any given shift.

On the flip side, Anders wants to know if a customer is really heard when he/she asks to share a positive experience. (Anders, you will always be at the top of my wait list and never need a pager!):

When a customer asks a waiter to compliment the chef, does the waiter generally do so?
With thanks for a splendid and educational blog.

You are welcome, Anders.

Yes, at my restaurant, the chef not only hears the compliments, he asks the servers every day for feedback on various dishes. Now, I am not sure a server would pull Chef off the line during the peak lunch crunch to mention that the guests at table 332 love the vegetarian pasta option. But, that server will most likely let Chef know later that afternoon or during the next menu class that the vegetarian pasta is popular.

Customers also seem to want to tell me their hopes and dreams as they leave the restaurant: “Everything was great, execpt…” “Could you let the owner know…” “Those crab cakes are the best!” I always share what I hear with Chef and various managers.

But how to really be sure you are heard when all goes well? Email, snail mail, or leave a note on the way out for the restaurant manager about a nice host (The Gal really took care of our walk-in party of 15!), a terrific server (he was so funny and knew so much about the local area, too!), or an awesome entree (I will always come back for that pork chop!). You are now on record and the compliment becomes a part of the employee’s file, too.

Happy dining, Anders!

Phil, who has an incredible site, by the way, asks the question I am asked most:

What is your standard tip when you go out? Do you consider it above what is customary? I think I’m a good tipper, and never leave less than 20%. The waiter would have to be purposefully rude to garner less. What do other waiters tip?

Phil, I don’t know what waiters usually tip other waiters, but my standard tip is 30%. Why? Because I figure the server is only getting about 60 percent of that, after tip-outs to the bussers and back waits.

If the service is fantastic and/or the waiter (or bartender) comps me something, I tip 40 percent. I know, I know, I am insane.

And if the service and food sucks, I tip 15 percent, regardless, unless the server is so pathetic, I figure he/she needs five or ten bucks far more than I do.

I hope most folks tip 20 percent for a good experience. If you think the service is a cut-above, tip more. When in doubt, ask yourself: “Would it kill me or my budget to leave just a few dollars more?”

And there you have it. The Gal’s standard, which likely has nothing to do with anyone else’s standard.

Bon appetit.

Heidi wants to know:

Is it really so bad to hold up two fingers while you are politely chirping, “Two, please.” I was a waitress and bartender for years, and like to think I treat waiters and bartenders well because of that. But now you’ve got me questioning my first steps into each evening’s chosen reprieve spot.

Heidi, I am certain you treat your former brethren very well. And my apologies for misleading you on this matter! Even The Gal holds up two or three fingers now and then to confirm a number in a party when the din in the foyer is deafening.

BUT–and this is the key–I also SPEAK to the customers, just as you politely “chirp” when addressing the host.

The rudeness factor kicks in when you wave fingers in a host’s face and say nothing. The rudeness factor squares by 4 when you are on a cell phone and wave fingers at a host and don’t speak directly to him or her. The rudeness factor becomes impossible to compute when you do the quote-sign thing.

Bottom line: Use your voice to talk to the host, and appropriate hand signals are always welcome! However, I reserve the right to laugh later about the contortions some perform in order to give those “polite” hand signals.

Got a question for The Gal? Email me at restaurantgal@gmail.com.

Periodically, I will publish readers’ questions or comments, followed by my incredibly insightful responses. (I reserve the right to edit all questions, however, as well as ignore any question that is, um, questionable.)

Anna from NY ponders the sticky issue of dining with children:

My son is 2-yrs old. When out-of-town friends come to NY to visit, they like to see him, and for us to eat out with them. They pick very nice eating establishments (not child-friendly). I always feel bad because my son doesn’t always want to just sit. I never get to eat, really. I usually take him outside for a walk to distract him. But at some of the places we’ve been to, the people who work there give me that “look”… totally hating us for being there with a child.

Anna, first of all, I love kids. In my opinion, kids can go to a “grown-up” restaurant, if you, as a parent, accept the reality of a key phrase you wrote in your comment: “I never get to eat, really.” If you’re not able to eat, it means you’re tending to your child. Simple!

NOTE: To all would-be customers who think their children’s adorableness excuses them from annoying other patrons when they are cranky or crazed. It doesn’t.

Little Lulu is restless? Take her for a walk. Monster-boy Matthew is starting to hurl silverware? Time for a tour of the foyer. Hungry Hannah is done with her Cherrios and is now sprinkling them all over the floor? Clean up after her, and follow Little Lulu outside.

And maybe you can suggest an eatery that isn’t on the cutting edge of trendy adult dining. These are your friends, right? They’ll get it.

Got a question for The Gal? Email me at restaurantgal@gmail.com