Pumpkin for Christmas: who knew? My Midwestern pals, that's who. Putting together two back-to-back holiday parties for my best friend, who cherishes her Minnesotan roots, I was surprised that she put pumpkin cake, made in a Bundt pan, of course, on the top of her list of must-have treats for the table. She was right: big smiles lit up the faces of the guests who hailed from Chicago and Minneapolis when they spied the cinnamon-brown Bundt. "Pumpkin cake for Christmas! I was just thinking about that," said one. "With whipped cream, of course," agreed another.

It makes sense, though: such a cake is dense and spicy, redolent of all the fragrant holiday spices that perfume everything from gingersnaps to mulled cider and hot wine this time of year. It's easy to throw together, since a couple cans of pumpkin are probably already in the cabinet, souvenirs of Thanksgiving's pie-minded supermarket stock-up. (A recent report found that 20% of Americans always have canned pumpkin on hand in their pantries. Having poked around in a lot of home kitchens, though, I would guess that most of that pumpkin was bought in 1993, forgotten, and never moved or dusted since.) If not, there's a plethora of gorgeous fresh winter squash out there, ready to be roasted and mashed.

(The nomenclature of pumpkin bread aside, I've found that butternut squash gives the most consistently full-flavored results, and cranking your freshly roasted squash through a food mill turns any stringy chunks into a velvety puree.)

The pumpkin cake I made for last week's holiday party was a basic buttery-cinnamony recipe originally published in Gourmet. It was light and moist, thanks to the pumpkin and buttermilk. I added powdered ginger, fresh nutmeg, and a pinch of cloves to the mix; having just cinnamon and allspice is like the Brady Brunch without Cindy, Jan, or Alice.

Turns out I wasn't the only one thinking about pumpkin at this time of year. Talking to my old pal Jennifer Joseph, poet, founder and publisher of the excellent Manic D Press, and Bernal baker par excellence, I got the inside scoop on the pumpkin cake she made last week, which was devoured, down to the crumbs in less than two days by her husband and daughter. Made with whole-wheat pastry flour, fresh cranberries, walnuts, chocolate chips, and pumpkin, it was, she said, "secretly good for you," and we all know chocolate is a health food, right?

It also looks particularly bright and festive, which meant it wasn't too much of a jump to take it from afternoon cake to morning bread. I've cut back the sugar a little, subbing in apple juice (or cider) for the water in Jen's original recipe so as to add a little more natural sweetness and flavor. Served warm, this bread is lovely on its own, or spread with a little whipped cream cheese.

Happy holidays!

Secretly Good for You Pumpkin Breakfast Bread
Fresh cranberries add a nice tanginess to this sweet bread. Stock up on cranberries when you find them in late autumn; they freeze beautifully and don't need to be thawed before using. In a pinch, you can use dried cranberries, but since they're already sweetened, they won't add as much contrast to the finished loaf.

Yield: 1 loaf
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 50-60 minues
Total Time: 1 hour, 10-20 minutes

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice (see note, below)
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup canola oil, melted butter, or melted coconut oil
1/4 cup apple juice
2 tbsp molasses
1/2 cup chopped fresh cranberries
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup dark or white chocolate chips, optional

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a loaf pan or metal or Pyrex ring mold.

2. In a large bowl, sift together flour, spices, baking soda, and salt.

3. In a medium bowl, beat eggs, sugar, pumpkin, oil, apple juice, and molasses together.

4. Stir pumpkin mixture into flour mixture, stopping when just mixed. Gently stir in cranberries, walnuts, and chocolate chips, if using. Spoon into prepared pan.

5. Bake 50-60 minutes for a loaf pan, ring mold 40-50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Note: Pumpkin pie spice, sometimes called apple pie spice, is a blend of commonly used baking spices, usually including cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and/or cloves. For this recipe, you can substitute 3/4 tsp cinnamon, 1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg, 1/4 tsp ginger, and 1/4 tsp ground cloves or allspice.

Have you seen this contraption? It's a 7 inch tall interactive, touchscreen restaurant menu tablet from E La Carte.

And it might very well be part of your dining future.

My feelings toward it are mixed, at best.

I am historically resistant to technological change. I quietly mourned the compact disc's triumph over the long playing record; I didn't see the necessity of a laptop computer when my desktop one worked perfectly fine; I was forcibly enrolled in Twitter by a friend; and the only reason I purchased a cell phone was because I would not be able to find my boyfriend in a crowd of 20,000 people 500 miles from home without one.

And yet I have come to embrace all of these technologies. In fact, I am physically embracing my computer as I type this on top of my lap. With my phone in my pocket. Playing downloaded music. The Twitter feed, however, is turned off. I have my limits.

I have the feeling that ordering from a touchscreen menu is one of those limits.

It isn't as though I haven't done it before. Anyone who has taken a Virgin Airlines flight has seen these screens. We pull up the food menu, place our index fingers to the screen to make our choices, then swipe our credit cards along the bottom of the tablet. Shortly thereafter, a flight attendant appears with what we have ordered. It isn't exactly magic, but it is certainly efficient.

However, I do to miss being asked the question "Chicken or fish?" I may get my cold falafel sandwich quickly, but I never feel very good about it. There's a subtle but important difference between being handed a tray of food and being served it.

The people at E La Carte state that their menu tablet isn't meant to replace those who serve. Rather, it is "meant to make the hospitality experience more convenient, social, and fun for the guests and more profitable for the restaurant operator."

With the tablet, guests can "order, pay, play games, and give feedback straight from their seats."

According to the product's makers, there are three main benefits for the restaurant:

1. Boost average check size by up to 10% through up-selling, pictures, and impulse orders.

2. Improving customer retention with easy-to-use loyalty and survey interactions.

3. Improve service by quick payment, retaining customer order history, and games at the table.

How on earth can a computer up-sell better than a human being? I think I need this explained to me.

When my friend Roy alerted me to this new piece of technology, my first reaction as both a career server at a fine dining establishment and someone resistant to new technology was to view the E La Carte tablet as vilely impersonal and a threat to my profession. Over the last 24 hours, however, I have calmed myself as I weigh what I imagine the cons-- and the pros-- are of this particular piece of equipment.

There are three important components a good restaurant must supply in order to provide its guests with a great dining experience (just pick up a Zagat guide and look at their rating criteria if you don't believe me):

1. Great food

2. Congenial décor

3. Excellent service

Though the menu tablet aims to provide photos of all the menu items, I am wondering if its creators have taken into account the fact that someone is going to have to style, photograph, photo edit, and upload a photo every time a new dish is created.

Substitutions? E La Carte states that guests can make alterations to their chosen menu item through this product. Simple enough when a guest might prefer mashed potatoes to french fries with their Porterhouse, but what about more complex-- or outrageous-- requests? Is it time then for a server to appear at the table with the bad news?

Computer says no.

As for décor, I get irritated when the people I eat with leave their smart phones on the table. I don't want a 7 inch piece of electronics shining at me as I dine. A candle on the table and the smiles of my companions are all the glow I need, thank you very much.

And what about the human component of the dining experience that this gadget swears it is not intended to replace? As a server, one of the most important parts of my job is to form a personal connection with my guest. Argue all you like, but there is a certain amount of server/guest bonding that happens within the first few moments of interaction. When I say hello and ask someone if they'd like a drink or if they just want to settle in a moment and catch their breath, I'm not just offering to go fetch them something-- I'm giving them the sense that they are going to be well taken care of.

The nuances of human vs. computer interaction are too many to get into in this post.

I understand that both restaurant owners and restaurant guests can benefit from such a menu in cases where one is looking merely to satisfy one's hunger quickly and efficiently, like at a corporate chain restaurant such as Applebee's (which is rumored to be adopting the tablets). Such venues already have standardized menu items that are photographically illustrated.

Touchscreen menus might also be a terrific boon for people who, for varying reasons, are unable to communicate well with spoken words. I've seen what an iPad can do for kids with autism. Could such interactive menus also help them gain confidence in ordering dinner? It's an idea that intrigues me.

They may also be helpful to those unfamiliar with a particular cuisine and/or language (ever been to a Vietnamese restaurant and felt entirely helpless?). The idea of a computer with a built-in glossary of terms and ingredients (or a translator) is an intriguing one.

And just think about how it could transform a wine list. 86'ed items could be immediately removed from the menu. Can't remember what grapes are in that Grüner Veltliner? (hint: it's Grüner Veltliner, but you would be spared the humiliation of asking such a question if you could simply click over to a glossary or related link.) Of course, the drawback is that one could get so lost in so much information, that one might never be able to choose. Or put the damned menu down.

I think a tool such as the E La Carta has some excellent possibilities, but not in the way it's being marketed. In addition to the ideas previously mentioned, I think that such a product used as a menu would cut down on the need for paper menus that must be thrown away or otherwise recycled every time they are either dirtied or in need of updating.

But then you should give your order to a human being and remove the electronic device from the dinner table. Talk to him. Ask for her opinion. Just interact. Technology can be a wonderful thing, but not at the expense of interpersonal exchange. It has its time and its place.

The other day I was riding to work on the bus. When I had taken my seat, I reflexively pulled out my iPhone to play a game of cribbage or stare at Facebook updates or do something-- anything-- to shut out my surroundings. Then something wonderful happened:

My battery died.

I was alarmed by how helpless I felt and my immediate thought was "Now what am I supposed to do?" And then I felt like a fool. I looked at my fellow passengers on the bus. Every person on it my age or younger was using their smart phone. None of them were smiling. It was just the old Chinese ladies at the front who were chatting and laughing away. I had no idea what they were saying, but they seemed to be doing perfectly fine without a touchscreen at arm's length.

It struck me then that this is precisely what we're all doing when we can't manage to pull our eyes away from our gadgets-- we are keeping people at arm's length. And that personal computers aren't, well, personable.

We spend so much of our time in front of computers-- I know I do. Working as a waiter is a marvelous antidote to technology because every night I am forced to talk to people I've never met before. I ask them questions like "How are you?" and "Where are you from?" Granted, I get paid to do so, but it's something I actually look forward to. It pulls me out of myself and, for a few hours every evening, my focus is on the welfare of other people.

And I look for the same thing when I am the one who is dining. I want to feel welcomed as a guest, not merely a customer. However much of a fantasy that might be at times, I want to believe it. I want to thank the person who placed that martini in front of me. I want to talk to a human being, not press buttons (unless they happen to the the emotional buttons of my dining partner). I want to feel as though I am being taken care of.

I just don't happen to think that's possible with a computer.

What are your thoughts? Like the idea? Hate it?

Danny Meyer (left) and Roger Sherman (right)

You know it's going to be a good day when it starts with a Shack Stack.

Shack Stack (Shake Shack, NYC)

With plans later that evening to attend a screening of the Danny Meyer documentary, The Restaurateur, followed by dinner at The Modern…well, it was shaping up to be a full-fledged Danny Meyer Day. And I could not have been happier about it.

Grilled Diver Scallops with roasted beets, swiss chard, and hazelnuts (The Modern, NYC)

I've been a big fan of Meyer and his bevy of top notch restaurants for awhile now. As a fresh grad on the bottom of the corporate totem pole, while other pretty young things were shoe shopping, I added to my slush fund for dinner at Eleven Madison Park. When I discovered that my then-boyfriend-now-husband lived a few convenient blocks away from Blue Smoke and their killer mac & cheese, I knew it was a good omen. When I left New York for SF, I requested my friends bid me farewell at Shake Shack (still one of my ultimate happy places in life), with burgers and frozen custard shakes under the warm summer city night sky in Madison Square Park.

Later on, as my career has taken a turn into the food world, I've found renewed respect and admiration for the hospitality empire Danny Meyer has built. His book, Setting the Table, is probably the closest thing to a business book I'll ever read. It delves into Meyer's business philosophy of "enlightened hospitality" and how it is the corner stone of every decision made, from staffing and training to building up the community surrounding a restaurant. Here's one of my favorite passages that has stuck with me:

"People duck as a natural reflex when something is hurled at them. Similarly, the excellence reflex is a natural reaction to fix something that isn't right, or to improve something that could be better. The excellence reflex is rooted in instinct and upbringing, and then constantly honed through awareness, caring, and practice. The overarching concern to do the right thing well is something we can't train for. Either it's there or it isn't. So we need to train how to hire for it."

-- Danny Meyer, Setting the Table (pg. 142)

Setting the Table was written after Meyer had reached great success with eleven New York establishments under his belt. Filmed thirteen years ago, The Restaurateur follows Meyer through a more uncertain time, documenting the whirlwind of simultaneously opening Eleven Madison Park and Tabla in 1998. The film is a blast from the past, seeing a Meyer as a young entrepreneur taking his first steps into the scary territory of expansion. The stress is palpable as deadlines fly by and the paint is literally still drying two hours before opening. The anticipation and little joys are captured moments like chef Kerry Heffernan meticulously measuring the height of the pots hanging over his burners (can't risk getting a concussion during service), or chef Floyd Cardoz creating what would later become a signature dish at Tabla. It's also a trip to see Tom Colicchio (then executive chef of Gramercy Tavern) with hair.

Much has changed since the movie was made. Meyer has seen his first restaurant closing with Tabla shuttering in December 2010. Peruvian restaurateur Gastón Acurio, who opened La Mar Cebicheria on the Embarcadero, has plans to open a cevicheria in the space by August. Chef Floyd Cardoz will be keeping busy though as the chef of North End Grill, Meyer's new restaurant in Battery Park City set to open towards the end of the year. You can also catch Cardoz on the next season of Top Chef Masters. Eleven Madison Park still stands proudly with its four stars from The New York Times under the leadership of chef Daniel Humm.

Meanwhile, Danny Meyer's Union Square Hospitality Group continues to grow as we speak. Untitled recently opened at the Whitney, and the Shake Shack empire expands to DC (coming soon, Spring 2011), Westport, CT (Summer 2011), even the Middle East (Dubai just opened; Kuwait City coming in Summer 2011). There was a time when Meyer would only consider opening a new restaurant within walking distance of his existing restaurants. That rule has given away to one which allows him to continue promoting from within, creating growth opportunities for valued talent to keep rising within the company. Enlightened hospitality at its core. And great burgers for all.

The Restaurateur is available on DVD and soon to be released on Netflix.

The RESTAURATEUR trailer from Roger Sherman, Florentine Films.

When you think of artisan cheese, fine wine, and a diverse, sustainable menu, most people don't think of Pleasant Hill, a small city nestled between Concord and Walnut Creek. Pleasant Hill isn't known for its exotic food culture, so the few gems that are hidden within the town's borders are not only rare, but well hidden. Locals know the game, though. They know about Nibblers Eatery.

While the name doesn't exactly evoke visions of decadent cheese plates, locally grown produce, or handcrafted chocolate desserts, that's what you'll find on the menu at Nibblers. With a constantly changing cast of dishes, the offerings at Nibblers are not your run-of-the-mill Contra Costa County fare. Guests will be tempted by the large selection of small plates -- indeed they make up the entire menu -- all developed by owner and Chef de Cuisine Daniel Clayton. Clayton's background is diverse, with stints at Culinary Institute of America's Graystone campus and Lark Creek restaurant in Walnut Creek. Passionate about fresh, seasonal foods, he brought those values home when he opened Nibblers with his life partner (and Nibblers pâtissier) Trace Leighton.

With a creative small-plate menu that rotates monthly, Daniel and Trace keep diners on their toes with a host of new things to try. Here's a sampling of their January dinner plates:

• Crispy duck confit & fuyu persimmon salad -- baby lettuces, Indonesian long pepper, sundried cherry vinaigrette
• Butternut squash risotto cake -- romaine chiffonade, sweet pepper aïoli
• Pan fried Iacopi brussels sprouts -- roasted shallots, sunchokes, farm egg, aged sherry vinegar
• Prosciutto wrapped Knoll kadota figss -- Shaft blue cheese, pedro ximenez glaze
• Skillet fried Peruvian Lantern scallops -- Buddha's hand julienne, baby fennel, maitake mushrooms, citron emulsion
• Frog Hollow warren pear flat bread -- Sonoma goat cheese, pignoli, Buddha’s hand zest

Besides the dinner offerings, Nibblers' cheese selection is enough of a reason to make the trek out to Pleasant Hill. Just a few of my favorites off their recent cheese menu:

• Achadinha capricious, portuguese style olive oil rubbed goat cheese
• Azienda tetilla, galician semi-soft cheese with sweet milk flavors
• Cypress Grove truffle tremor, triple créme goat with flecks of truffle
• Matias torta la serena, buttery sheeps milk cheese with complex nutty flavor
• Synnøve gudbrandsdalsost, norwegian caramelized goat's whey cheese

For those inclined to imbibe, I recommend taking a close look at the Nibblers beer and wine list. As one of the premier wine bars in the far East Bay, Daniel and Trace are known for stocking notable yet short-run vintages that will intrigue, possibly even educate, the most learned San Francisco wine snob.

Overall, Nibblers is a gem in the otherwise drab culinary culture of the deep East Bay. There are only a handful of fine restaurants east of the Caldecott, and Nibblers is definitely one of them. Perhaps, though, the Nibblers can best be described by their mission statement:

Why small plates?

Small circles of friends & family.  Small communities in big cities. Small family owned farms.  Small artisan dairies & bakeries. Small neighborhoods. Small, intimate restaurants. And many, many small plates of irresistible food.

Creamy Red Kuri Squash Shooters from Nibblers Eatery & Wine Bar
Recipe provided by Daniel Clayton and Tracy Leighton

Ingredients:
1 medium red kuri squash, rinsed, quartered, seeded
2 T butter
1/2 medium onion, diced fine
1 carrot, peeled and diced fine
2 celery stalks, diced fine
1 bay leaf
1 cup whole milk
1/2 cup cream
1/2 tsp nutmeg, freshly grated
Pinch white pepper

Method:
1. Fill a 5 quart pot halfway with cool water. Heat to simmer.

2. Add quartered squash and cook on medium high heat for 5 minutes to blanch. Remove squash to cool and reserve blanching liquid.

3. In medium pot, melt butter and add onion, carrot, celery, and bay leaf. Cook until onion is translucent, stirring occasionally.

4. Meanwhile, scoop or cut squash out of skin.

5. When vegetables are soft, remove bay leaf, add squash and stir. Add 1/2 cup blanching liquid to squash and stir until moisture is evaporated. Repeat this several times, until squash is mostly melted.

6. Add another 1 1/2 cups blanching liquid and stir in completely. Add milk and cream and mix. Add nutmeg and white pepper. Bring to a boil and then remove from heat. Puree mixture with immersion blender or run 2 cups at a time through food processor. Press through a fine strainer, return to pot, adjust seasoning, and heat to serve in tall, warm shot glasses.

At the Hospitalitarianism panel, the tablehopper's Marcia Gagliardi chatted with Umberto Gibin (Perbacco, barbacco), Annie Stoll (Delfina), Giancarlo Paterlini (Acquerello), Nick Peyton (Cyrus) and Tim Stannard (Pizzeria Antica, Spruce, Cafe Des Amis). Stannard fielded one of the toughest questions, when Gagliardi asked him how he knows who will make it, who won’t, and how do you let people know.

The takeaway messages included these tasty nuggets: Yelp can be painful for restaurateurs, but is a source of information. Tim Stannard reads a thick stack of Yelp reviews along with any and every blog post or other review each Monday. Social media geeks, these pros wish you would stop "Twittering at the table," (Stannard) and taking pictures of food before eating it.

Some San Francisco spots have adopted their own service style, which may mean ditching the serving tray (looking at you, Delfina). Annie Stoll worked at a spot that required delivery of drinks via tray, and there was always a shortage of trays. She had guests seated by the bar, and was frustrated by not being able to get them their drinks via hand delivery. "So no trays at Delfina," she said.

Flour + Water did the right thing by having Steve Jobs wait in line like everyone else. Also, the restaurateurs felt Jobs behaved well by playing along as the rest of the general public.

Hospitality is in one’s blood, and some industry veterans felt drawn to restaurants at a young age.

Good people make a restaurant a success; and aggressively hiring the friends of stellar staff is one way to build a team.

Peterlini admitted he was born a maitre’d, and has kept the same team of nine or ten waiters for the last twenty years. “They know the drill,” Peterlini said, adding “I don’t like people to talk a lot (to guests). Use a lot of eye contact.” Stoll reflected on her first fancy meal at a restaurant at age 12; she used her first credit card to dine out as much as possible. As much as she loves the industry, she wouldn’t necessarily have her young daughter go into the same profession.

Stannard, who just opened Café Des Amis, has a high retention rate of staff and joked that he opens new restaurant locations as a way to keep folks engaged in a career with his group. “They’re going to grow somewhere, and I’d rather it be with us,” he said. The panel agreed that feeling welcomed by staff at a restaurant is always a goal, and that they want to walk out of a place that doesn’t do that. Technical service is one thing, a warm and eager environment can almost over ride a misplaced fork.

A week or so ago, I had dinner with an old friend and her family at a very, very tony restaurant here in San Francisco. The layout of the space was beautiful-- everything was styled to the teeth: the flowers, the décor, the enormous boards of cheese which sat near the bar, offering a come on to the men in the general vicinity that was nearly as pungent and gooey as those from the perfume-soaked women who jockeyed for prime barstools. Even the service staff looked as if it had been culled from the pages of a Brooks Brothers catalogue-- they were clean cut, attractive, and wearing dark, conservative suits.

Everything looked perfect.

When we sat down at our table, we discovered a delightful surprise-- the large, hard bound menus revealed a personal message: "Happy Birthday Jill" on the inside. She was touched. I think. Anyway, she was pleased.

We were excited about the menu's offerings. There in small black print were things I'd never had, but had always wanted to try, but lacked either the energy or knowhow to actually hunt down and cook for myself. Things like rampion and fiddlehead ferns.

The sommelier was spot on, too. I told him what part of the world we felt like drinking from, what we were willing to spend, and what sort of basic qualities we wanted. He returned promptly with exactly what I was looking for.

The meal itself was delightful. The flavors and textures and plating were gorgeous, if a little on the meagre side, but that was to be expected in such a place. We were having a grand old time. Unfortunately, there was one element that completely fell flat on its face, as far as I was concerned:

The service.

The waiter was polite. Almost too much so. He was deferential to the point of seeming afraid to approach the table as we talked. When we asked his opinion on specific dishes, he didn't seem to have any, yet when someone at the table asked what his favorite items were, he told us something to the effect that everything was delicious.

And when asking us if we had made our decisions, he made the fatal (with me) error of saying something akin to "Have we decided on our dinner?"

Funny, I never thought to ask if he was hungry. I thought of asking another waiter if he could pull up an extra chair so that we could make it dinner for five.

What on earth was he so afraid of? Three lovely Texas woman? Me? Is that what made him shy away from the table so much that he couldn't manage to fill our wine glasses when they were going on empty? Was he simply less interested in us because we were more than likely not spending as much money as his other tables?

Sitting there in my plush banquette, I wondered to myself this question:

What the hell does it take to get a great waiter in this town? I have had so few. The only answer I could come up with is this:

Luck. Pure, unholy luck.

It doesn't seem to matter much what type of venue you are patronizing. High end restaurants are no guarantee of great service, though one's expectations are higher when there. Boulevard? I've had both great service and totally lack-luster service. Masa's? I was lucky enough to have someone I knew take care of me. We were the only people in the place that seemed to be having a good time. The French Laundry? Don't get me started. One of the best servers I have ever encountered in this city was at a little breakfast place in the Haight. I wanted to kiss her and give her all of my money. At least I had enough courage to do the latter.

Of course, I am a professional waiter by trade, so I tend to notice everything happening around me when dining out. It's an occupational hazard. I do not, however, think my standards are sky high. Nor do I think they are universal. My ideas of great service might differ from yours. Here are my particular needs and idiosyncrasies:

My ideal server...

• Is confident in his knowledge of the food and wine he serves.

• Has opinions.

• Is not afraid to either approach my table nor make menu suggestions.

• Is friendly and warm, but not over-sharing.

• Does not say "How are we this evening?" or "Have we decided yet?" He uses the plural "you."

• Does not tell me her name when she walks up to the table for the first time. If she is wonderful and engaging, I will ask for her name as well as give her my own.

• Does not try to sell me something right off the bat. Rather, he says "Hello."

• Lets me know if she feels I am ordering too much food.

• Asks me if the temperature of my wine is good and if I would prefer my white wine on the table or on ice.

• Keeps my wine glass filled, but does not over-pour.

• Is as kind to the table next to me as she is to me.

• Does not look disheartened when I order a bottle of wine that costs less than $100.

• Claims an undramatic responsibility for any mishaps. Mistakes happen. They don't bother me.

• Acts as if he cares about what he's doing.

• Makes me feel welcome.

• Makes me feel as if I am being taken care of.

Frankly, it's that last bullet point that I want the most. When I dine out, I just want to be taken care of. Not coddled. Not ass-kissed. Just taken care of.

I mean, this is the hospitality industry I'm talking about, isn't it?

What do you expect from your servers? I'd really like to know. Of course, if you are one of those people who feels that a server should be seen and not heard, you may feel free to refrain from comment.

Ramekins Cooking School and Inn in Sonoma

We pulled up to the quaint Ramekins Cooking School and Inn in Sonoma, and knew I'd like this place as soon as I laid eyes on the spork and spoon handles on the front door.

I was invited by Ramekins to check out one of their many cooking classes and stay at their 6-room bed and breakfast. Cooking classes include both demonstration and hands-on classes, and are geared toward food enthusiasts and home cooks. Well, I'm always saying how I really need to make it up to wine country more often than I do, and this sounded like the perfect excuse!

Joyce Goldstein

Plus, I saw that the esteemed Joyce Goldstein would be teaching a Regional Tour of Italy: The Veneto with this mouth-watering menu:

• Warm Scallop and Mushroom Salad
• Crab and Fennel Risotto with Meyer Lemon Gremolata
• Pork with Chestnuts served with Pumpkin Polenta
• Blood Orange Marmalade Tart

Yeah, let's recap.

1) Weekend getaway in Sonoma. (Check)
2) Adorable B&B. (Check)
3) Cooking class with a culinary legend. (Check)

Right. Sign me up.

Cooking class at Ramekins with Joyce Goldstein

Since this was a demonstration class, there was no actual hands-on cooking by us students, however, there was plenty of Q&A, discussion, and of course, tasting.

Warm Scallop and Mushroom Salad

Joyce was full of knowledge about Italian cuisine, tips and tricks when preparing the dishes on our own, and stories. As we nibbled on succulent seared scallops and gorgeous chanterelle mushrooms, she lectured us on proper and humane tomato care ("once you refrigerate a tomato, you commit murder"), gave us tips on how to select a good salad dressing-quality balsamic vinegar ("if the first ingredient is 'caramel' or 'vinegar', put it down; look for 'grape must' as a primary ingredient"), and warned us against overcooking the scallops ("they should be quivering in the middle").

Crab and Fennel Risotto with Meyer Lemon Gremolata

As we tucked into the brightly flavored risotto made with sweet crab meat, fennel, and a gremolata of meyer lemon zest, parsley and garlic, we learned that the Venetians actually prefer their risotto on the soupy side.

Speaking of Venetians, I asked Joyce, why the Veneto? She replied that while this meal actually borrows from various regions of Italy, she originally wanted to highlight Venice because of its interesting culinary history born from its unique location. One of the first cities in the spice trade, the food of the Veneto was influenced by goods traded by merchants traveling in and out of the port (like Marco Polo, Venice's most famous traveler). The food and drink of the Veneto includes an abundance of seafood, game meat (an influence of Yugoslavia), artichokes, radicchio, rice (rather than pasta), lighter wines, and grappa.

Pork Stew with Chestnuts

All this edification got me hungry. Good thing the pork stew was ready.

Originally prepared with wild boar, Joyce first had this dish at a farro farm in Abruzzo. Farro was the earliest wheat that was cultivated in Europe. It tastes like barley, is sweet and hazelnutty, and puffs up when it is cooked.

With a few adaptations made, our stew featured pork shoulder rather than boar, and a delicious pumpkin polenta rather than farro. The pork stew was rich and hearty, slow simmered with red wine (Pinot Noir and Valpolicella), aromatics, sage, and warm spices (juniper berries, cloves, and cinnamon). It also contained chestnuts, which added a superb sweetness and richness to the stew. They were delicious, and I don't usually even like chestnuts!

We used vacuum-packed cooked chestnuts, but if you're shelling fresh ones, Joyce let us in on a little secret she discovered to save your hands, and time. Cut an "X" on the flat side of the chestnuts, cutting through to the brown skin, then microwave them for a bit. The hard outer shell and bitter inner skin should easily come off afterward.

Pork with Chestnuts served with Pumpkin Polenta

Oh, and let's not forget the polenta. The pumpkin polenta was heavenly. Granted, I may be biased, since as you may already know, I am a pumpkin/butternut squash/sweet potato freak.

But really, what is there not to love about this savory-sweet, rich combination of pumpkin, cornmeal, and parmesan cheese? Other than being utterly delicious, polenta is also pretty forgiving. Unlike risotto, which needs to hit the table as soon as it's ready, "Polenta, you can baby," as Joyce puts it. (Brands recommended for polenta: Giusto's and Gold Pheasant.)

Also, a great trick we learned to avoid lumps in it was to start with the polenta in cold water rather than streaming it into boiling water like most recipes call for. Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that before?

Joyce Goldstein, laying lattice

Now for my favorite part…the course that clinched it when I signed up for this class -- the Blood Orange Marmalade Tart, which needless to say, did not disappoint. It was fragrant, perfumed by the gorgeous blood oranges and Grand Marnier (two of my favorite ingredients of all time), and had a perfectly buttery, flaky crust.

As Joyce so aptly describes, a blood orange tastes different from other oranges, it is really floral, “like an orange mixed with a rose.”

This tart is adapted from a recipe served at the Vineria Cozzi in Bergamo Alta. It is called Crostata di Marmellata delle Suore Trappiste, a tart filled with jam made by the Trappist nuns. The recipe takes a homemade orange marmalade and binds it with eggs and cornstarch. Fitting. It tastes divine.

Blood Orange Marmalade Tart

A few tricks of the trade when making this:
• Use a sharp vegetable peeler to remove all the zest from the oranges. It is the quickest way I've ever seen zest removed. After you have all the peel, chop it finely.
• Remember to discard the bitter pith.
• Blood oranges are small so you don't need to really segment them, especially since it is all being cooked down anyway for the marmalade. Just chop them up into 1 inch pieces.

Other than this tart -- which I've been thinking about ever since -- what struck me was a comment that someone made towards the end of the class. She was a woman who was an old fan of Joyce's restaurant, Square One, before it closed in 1996. She was not alone, as it seemed that the class was filled with devout fans. The woman used to come in from Central Valley for a night out at Square One, and wrote in once after being particularly taken by a certain apple tart. Joyce wrote her back (she answered every letter that came in), and said they make it en masse, so the translation may not be perfect, but nonetheless, here was the recipe. It worked beautifully, and this was the first chance the woman had to thank Joyce personally. The room burst into applause.

Ramekins Inn, apple art

This story got me thinking about food and how our best memories of particular dishes or meals are inextricably tied to the people who made them special. It is not only about the food, but about the stories and the shared experience. Maybe that is why places like Ramekins make me so happy. Places that get it. They get the love of food (it's written on the apple-adorned walls and asparagus-lined railing), and they get that people are looking to share that experience.

Ramekins Inn, asparagus railing

Blood Orange Marmalade Tart (Crostata di marmellata all’arancia)

Recipe and notes courtesy of Joyce Goldstein, from Perfect Pairings.

"Jam filled lattice-topped tarts are popular all over Italy. In Rome they prefer cherry jam. Some tarts are prepared with apricot or berry preserves. At the Vineria Cozzi in Bergamo Alta they serve a crostata di marmellata delle Suore Trappiste, filled with jam made by the Trappist nuns. This recipe takes a home made orange marmalade and binds it with eggs and cornstarch. Blood oranges, now available at our markets, would add their special perfume and color, to the tart."

Serves: 8

INGREDIENTS:

Pasta Frolla for two crusts:
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
pinch salt
4 to 6 tablespoons sugar
12 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter
3 to 5 tablespoons ice water, as needed

Filling:
3 large navel oranges or 5 to 6 blood oranges
1 1/3 cups sugar
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup water
3 tablespoons cornstarch
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
3 eggs
3 tablespoons Grand Marnier or other orange liqueur

PREPARATION:

For the Crust:
1. Put the flour and salt and sugar in the container of a food processor or mixing bowl. Cut in the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles cornmeal. Gradually beat in the ice water. Turn dough out onto work surface and form into 2 flattened discs, one slightly larger than the other. Wrap in plastic and chill for at least an hour.
2. Roll out the large disc between very lightly floured sheets of baker’s parchment until you have a circle that is 13 inches in diameter. Carefully ease it into a 9 inch pie plate or 10 inch tart tin with a removable bottom. Chill the crust.

For the Filling:
1. Wash and dry the oranges. With a sharp peeler carefully remove all of the zest from all 3 oranges and chop finely. Separate the oranges into segments and put them in a medium saucepan along with the chopped zest, 1/3 cup sugar, the lemon juice and the water. Bring to a boil and simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring form time to time. Let the mixture cool to room temperature. The filling can be made a day ahead of time and left at room temperature.
2. Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.
3. Place remaining sugar in a mixing bowl with the cornstarch and mix with a fork. Add the butter and beat until smooth and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. Fold in the cooled marmalade and the Grand Marnier.
4. Pour the filling into the pie crust. Roll out the remaining pastry between lightly floured sheets of baker's parchment into a rectangle about 9 by 12 inches. Remove the top piece of parchment and cut into strips with a pastry wheel. Moisten the edge of the crust with a bit of water and then arrange the strips like a lattice on top of the filling.
5. Bake 10 minutes then reduce the oven temperature to 350 degrees F and continue to bake the tart for 30 to 40 minutes or until filling is set and crust is slightly colored.
6. Cool and serve with whipped cream.

More Recipes Courtesy of Joyce Goldstein:
Warm Scallop and Mushroom Salad, from Antipasti: Fabulous Appetizers and Small Plates
Crab and Fennel Risotto with Meyer Lemon Gremolata, adapted from Back to Square One
Pork with Chestnuts served with Pumpkin Polenta, from Italian Slow and Savory

Upcoming classes at Ramekins that caught my eye:

03/25/10, An Evening of Food and Wine Pairing (Demo, $85) with Joyce and her son, Evan Goldstein, a James Beard Award-winning master sommelier and career wine educator. Way to keep it in the family.

04/03/10, Top Five Desserts (Hands-on, $85) with Joy Wilson, author of Joy the Baker. Small world, I ran into Joy as we were leaving Ramekins…thought I had smelled something good baking downstairs! She's returning to teach another class in April.

04/29/10, Perbacco Restaurant (Demo, $75) with Staffan Terje, chef/owner of Perbacco. Chef Terje will be showcasing fresh seasonal ingredients and cooking techniques that are the basis of haute cuisine. Which means, you can expect a haute Italian dinner from one of SF’s finest.

Ramekins
450 West Spain Street
Sonoma, CA 95476
Map
(707) 933-0452

Disclosure: Cooking class and accommodations provided by Ramekins.

For more Joyce, check out Check, Please! Bay Area: Season 3: Joyce Goldstein Special, where she profiles three Bay Area restaurants: Medjool, B44, and Da Flora.

2009 was a rough year for restaurants in San Francisco and (if January is any indicator) 2010 isn't going to be a bed of truffles and lollipops either. As a 20-year veteran of the restaurant industry, I cringe.

Have you taken a look at the list of restaurants that closed their doors in the past year? It isn't pretty. Browsing through SF Weekly's SFoodie blog and looking at all of the fallen eateries the other day, I felt like Scarlett O'Hara listening to a long roster of Civil War dead, hoping that none of the old soldiers I truly loved in this city were among the dead or wounded.

Some of the casualties were no big surprise. For example, my reaction to finding out that The Carnelian Room (sorry, Dad) atop the Bank of America tower had closed was like hearing that Abe Vigoda was really, really dead this time. My only surprise was that it had held on for so long.

I am, however, wearing my widow's weeds for some of the other, smaller restaurants that have left us, like Old Krakow, The Palace Steakhouse , and Clementine, just to name a few.

Many restaurants that have survived the 21st century economy thus far have resorted to luring guests into their dining rooms with 2-for-1 specials, happy hours, and (sigh) coupons. Even the once-mighty Aqua and The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton are offering 1,000 Open Table points if you would just pretty-please come for a visit. That's pretty much the online equivalent of begging.

In terms of restaurant workers, I'm one of the lucky ones. I work in a place that is still (author makes a hurried sigh of the cross) going strong. And there are fortunately several other venues in this city which are doing the same. That doesn't mean, however, that my fellow waiters and I are not feeling the pinch like everybody else. Like maybe you, for example.

These days, a lot of diners are cutting corners where they can. Some of those who do come into our places of business are either coming less often than they used to or are simply spending less. Often, I see couples either sharing one main course or foregoing them altogether and sticking to appetizers. If wine enters the picture, people are drinking more wines-by-the-glass than they are bottles. On the weekends, I see almost as many guests bring in their own wine as order from our wine list. And, of course, those wines aren't usually the ones listed on the reserve menu. As a result, our sales our down. Just like everyone else's, with the possible exception of pharmaceutical companies, undertakers, and bank executives.

Yesterday, for example, I overheard a very well-dressed business woman who works for a high-profile company mention to her lunch partners, "I don't go out much anymore. I've started brown-bagging it at work. I even stopped getting my Starbucks every morning, for God's sake, so today's a real treat!" It's a sensible, Depression Era mindset and I can't say that I blame her one bit.

What I do blame her for is leaving me a 12% tip. And I blame the business guy sitting ten feet away from her discussing how his children don't appreciate how expensive their ski weekend in Aspen really was who gave me even less. And, no, I wasn't having an off day. I was clean, neat, welcoming, informative, prompt, and all the dozen-or-so other good things I have to be to each and every table I take care of. I happen to see it as a trend-- and an ugly one at that.

Don't worry, you won't be hearing violins and I promise not to go all Sally Struthers on you today (though we do share the same birthday, Sally and I). But it is a bit of a rant.

I've said it before and I will say it again, if you leave a (expletive) tip to a server, there had better be a good reason for it. If she is rude or hostile, don't leave one at all. If he screws up your order and blames everyone else, then disappears for a cigarette when you need to pay the check so you can get to the airport like you said you needed to at the beginning of the meal... stiff him-- he deserves it.

But leaving $20 on a $500 bill to a waiter who has orchestrated your meal, told you when you are ordering too much, selected a wine for you that you absolutely rave about, and who makes you look good because your guests are all raving about their experience is an outrage. All the more so because that waiter can't say or do anything about it without losing his job. There is a special dining circle in hell reserved for just this kind of diner.

Not that I feel very strongly about it one way or the other, of course.

Nearly a year ago, I explained in detail exactly what happens in such an extreme case of (undeserved) bad tipping. I mention it again because I've just witnessed another co-worker be treated in the same manner on a similarly-sized check.

Granted, the above is an extreme case, but people are leaving $3 less here, $5 less there. It's alarming to those of us who earn our living depending upon the unreliable tipping habits of strangers. $3 might not sound like very much, but it is. If a server waits upon ten tables in a night and they all sought to save a little money by leaving $3 less, that's $30 out of a server's take home pay per shift. If a server works five shifts per week, that's $150 less. Per month? Around $600. Per year? I think you get the picture. I'm being conservative in my estimates. And remember, sales are typically down all over town, so a server's losses are frequently more when you consider that tips are based on sales.

If you do need to cut down your dining expenses, don't take it out on the good servers. Of course, if you come into my restaurant and want to spend a lot of money, make no mistake-- I'll help you spend it. You'll have a great time doing it, too. But if you come and don't want to blow your whole pay check, I will go out of my way make sure you don't. I'm not going to make you feel like a cheapskate and you'll have just as good a time as the Fat Cats sitting next to you (if not better because, hey, you're more relaxed since you haven't just spent your rent money trying to impress your date).

When the bill comes, be kind. Remember that I found you that beautiful bottle of wine from a region you've never tried before that was $20 less (and much better) than the one you were asking about. It made you look adventurous. Do keep in mind that I suggested our rib eye steak was big enough to feed the both of you. That made your dinner a little more intimate, didn't it? And when I served it all out table side? Ah, that was a nice touch, wasn't it? And when I sent you that dessert for no other reason than "just because," well... perhaps you might bear in mind that I just cut about $50 off of your tab when you are leaving me a tip. Great waiters are worth their weight in gold.

My assumption here is that most of you reading this are savvy enough diners to not make your servers take one in the shorts. You are more than likely sophisticated enough to know good service when you experience it. Why do I know this? Because you're reading a food blog, that's why. I'm not saying it's you. Really. Except those of you who are invariably going to comment that I am being whiney or that I should "get a real job" (I've heard that one before). I'm saying it might just be your mother, or your husband, or your best friend, in which case I hope that you might pass this post along to them after you've given them a nice big hug and told them you love them, even though they are embarrassingly cheap.

The next time you go out to dinner and you've had a great meal and and even greater server, make sure he or she is taken care of. In the words of the mortal Canadian (and you know how Americans make fun of their tipping habits) pundit Nicholas Demeda, "If you can afford to dine out, you can afford to tip well."

Tipping for good service is the one place you should never cut corners.

Watch This Week in Northern California tonight, Friday January 29 at 8pm to see Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new segment on local food and wine trends. This week, a conversation about restaurants and the recession and underground food markets with Bay Area Bites bloggers, Michael Procopio and Stephanie Rosenbaum.

"Never touch a customer (#32)." "Do not curse (#45)." "Never refuse to substitute one vegetable for another (#20)." "Do not play brass bands (#93)."

In late October, as part of his start-up chronicle for the New York Times's You're The Boss blog, Bruce Buschel posted what he called "a modest list of dos and don'ts" for servers at the Bridgehampton, N.Y. seafood restaurant he's opening on April Fool's Day. He included the above nuggets, along with 96 others. Far from "modest," the list, laid out in two parts, touched off frantic comment-slinging in New York Times-land. Interest grew as links to the article and rejoinders from far corners of the food and business blogospheres ping-ponged through Twitter and Facebook. I first saw Buschel's piece on Facebook. The morning of the second part's publication (a week after the first), a friend posted it to his profile and dissed it hard ("what an asshole"). A former bus boy at Per Se and the original Momofuku as well as a third year law school student, my friend is familiar with both the industry in question and argument as a general preoccupation. He brought both strands of experience to bear on his brief take. Combing the comments to Buschel's posts, I found that reactions were typically extreme and severe, running the gamut from similarly negative ("Who died and made this guy the bossy know-it-all?", for example) to laudatory ("This should be a must for every server and restaurant employee to memorize."). Comment-writers are a special breed. A certain kind of person has the time to read widely, strong opinions on most subjects, and a compulsion to dive into whatever fray they sense forming. Comment-writers rarely stand in for the larger population, just a subset of opinionated comment-writers who happen to have read the same thing. This is especially true when the piece provoking debate appears in the New York Times, a journal of record frequently accused of catering to an elitist readership.

In this case, some of the entries -- a hearty portion, actually -- concern a wee wafer of the food and hospitality universe -- nice restaurants for dates, expense accounts, vacations, and special occasions -- specifically, the sorts of places I imagine the writer frequents with more regularity than me. After all, the proprietor of a barbecue restaurant in rural South Carolina would not be compelled to offer olive oil as well as butter with bread (#19), and if some asshole from New York skated through and dumbly asked for it, he'd have to send him on his way -- maybe to Olive Garden, where bread and oil are endless. Buschel anticipates that critique: "I realize that every deli needs a wisecracking waiter, most pizza joints can handle heavy metal, and burgers always taste better when delivered by a server with tattoos and tongue piercing(s)." Aside from his frail and stunted knowledge of delis, pizzerias, and burger places, Buschel's advice ostensibly only concerns plans for his own restaurant, an organic vegetable and fish dispensary with nary a hoof nor a feather on the menu; yet the act of publishing his list suggests he thinks it has universal value.

Of course, Bruce Buschel doesn't even know what he's doing. He's a novice, you see, a dilettante, something he made sure to lay out in his very first post, a question-and-answer session with a hypothetical naysayer. He's never taken an order. He's never been tipped worse than a washroom attendant. His experience with restaurants is limited to dining in them. He's unfettered by an intimate knowledge of the industry. How refreshing! His do's and dont's reflect his own preferences, and perhaps those of his friends; when they're pressed into service at his own establishment, he's assuming diners will feel the same way. I'm not hating on #5. "Tables should be level without anyone asking." Oh god, yes -- shaky tables are the pits. No one wants to spend the first five minutes of any meal anywhere trying to fold a paper towel under a wobbly leg. Others are absurd. For example, if a guest "goes gaga" over dish, no server should have to ask the chef for the recipe on the excessively complimentary guest's behalf (#97). The guest should be told to chill out and come back soon.

I eat out a lot, both recreationally and professionally, and I have my own preferences too, though I would hesitate to open a restaurant and impose them on guests and employees. I'm a wreck, basically. I send mixed signals. I like to be left alone, for starters, but I hate having an empty glass. Fill it frequently enough and I'll fall asleep before dinner is over. I dread the sight of a beaming server approaching to check in with me. I am sensitive, and I anticipate condescension well before it happens, and I know it happens all the time. Excessively nice servers make me feel bad, like I should go get my food myself and share it with them, maybe feed it to them, bite by bite. I don't like anyone acting like they're catering to my needs, but I don't mind them being catered to just a little bit. I don't care how fine a dining experience is supposed to be; I like to hang my own jacket on the back of my chair and put my napkin in my own lap. And I don't like to have anything to complain about because I can't stand the possibility of conflict -- at least with strangers. I have seen people pitch fits in restaurants over service. Interestingly, my friend who hated Buschel's column is himself a very demanding consumer. In college, hung-over, at a breakfast place, he once sent back a ham-and-Swiss omelette because it came topped with inauthentic white American cheese instead of Emmentaler. A year or two later, he cleared a booth at a Manhattan diner to exchange screams with a waitress after he refused to pay for fries he received and ate but didn't order. He had points to make in both instances, but neither situation would have riled me. A white American omelette is authentic in northern Ohio, and fries are always nice to have. He should have ordered them in the first place and saved the waitress the trouble of guessing he'd probably like eating them.

Food and service are two very different things intertwined in the dining experience. I'm food-focused, and apart from my admitted quirks, rarely find that service rubs me the wrong way unless the food also sucks. Four years or so ago, I had a strange, sneering server at Perbacco, but I turned the other cheek. It was full of coppa. On several occasions, my girlfriend and I shifted nervously through meals at the lovable and lamentably late Vogalonga Trattoria. Our regular waiter was capable and friendly to me, but strangely, when he took her order, he refused to look at her. He would stare into my eyes awkwardly and ask her what she wanted. How weird, I thought every time it happened, but we still went back. Another time, we waited for a table at The Front Porch for over 45 minutes, and then, upon finally sitting down and ordering, waited once again for an hour before the first scrap of food arrived. I didn't give a shit about the fried chicken by the time it came; I just wanted to bail, which was why it was annoying that the server kept trying to make us eat dessert.

Restaurants love to offer free dessert when something goes wrong with your meal. The idea is to soothe you, and send you off with a sweet taste in your mouth, instead of fuming over the under-cooked chicken you sent back. I don't get it. If I want dessert -- which I usually don't -- I order it. If I don't order it, I'm full. Buschel should add a #101 on the subject: when someone screws up something, comp cocktails instead of dessert. Then again, my lady and I dined at Delfina the night before Christmas Eve, and at the conclusion of our meal, received a free dessert -- a lemon panna cotta, I believe. The food that night was great, if a little less stunning than it's been in the past, but this made it better -- even though we'd already had plenty to eat. We had no idea why we'd been selected for such a treat. We saw no quivery cylinders squishing across other plates in the vicinity. They must have known my status, I joked on the way home. Was our server's generosity a random display of holiday spirit? Had we failed to notice something terribly amiss with our meal? We could thing of nothing. Buschel, take note: comp something even when no one screws up -- even if its dessert (#102).

I'm a sucker for a great Caesar salad. Call me old school, but there are few things that can beat it in my book. Garlicky, lemony, cheesy, and anchovy-y, if there is such a word. If there isn't, there should be.

Sadly, a great restaurant Caesar salad has eluded me in San Francisco.

With the possible exceptions of Zuni Café and Tadich Grill (both old school and old guard), I have been bitterly disappointed every time I order a Caesar salad in a restaurant. And the above venues merely create good salads, not, in my opinion, great ones. Yet I keep on ordering them everywhere I go. It's like forgetting the pain of childbirth or the tragedy of falling in love with a crazy sadist-- I fall blindly and hopefully back into bed with the salad section of the menu and think, "This time, it's going to be good. This time I am going to find the one I've been waiting for all my life." Invariably, I am served a Romaine salad with either a flaccid, mayonnaise-like dressing, or an underdressed, uninspired one with croutons like ship biscuits that leaves me asking my server for a little extra lemon and another napkin with which I might dry my tears.

Perhaps I just live to be disappointed.

And then, when discussing the demise of this salad with a friend over a lunch that included a particularly sorry looking one, I understood what all of these salads were missing, good and bad:

Drama.

The Caesar salad is a dish that cries out for table-side service. It is, in my opinion if not in fact, the ham actor of the salad world-- a fact none too surprising when one considers that it was first created in a pique of impromptu by Cesare Cardini, an Italian man living in the once-glamorous town Tijuana, Mexico. Fortunately for us, Cardini had the good sense (or delicious folly, depending on your point of view) to seek out his fame and fortune in Hollywood, dressing recipe in hand, where the salad soon became a favorite among the local movie stars and luncheon élite. Cesare's salad soon evolved into Caesar's salad and, somewhere along the way, the apostrophe "s" was lost, and Caesar salads were being dramatically created in front of and for delighted diners in leather banquetted dining rooms and Danish Modern living rooms across the country.

Sadly, Cesare's salad is going the way of Banana's Foster, Cherries Jubilee, and the dodo, thanks to the demise of table side service. There is little room in most restaurants today to manoeuver the necessary salad carts, and diners (with the possible exception of brief fads like the Benihana's craze of the 70's, and eating at chef's tables in the 90's) seem less interested in having a server who entertains. Lastly, and perhaps most sadly of all, those venues who do still provide table side cooking are often so old-fashioned and unchanging that they have become a sort of dwindling, petrified forest. And those diners who habituate them are either equally as fossilized or, at best, there solely for kitsch.

So what can one do?

I, for one, have started making my own damned Caesar salads. Or Cesare salads, as I prefer now to call them. I can make them as obscenely garlicky as I like and can toss them as high and dramatically as my ceiling and physical abilities allow. I'm a professional waiter, after all, and one with a strong dramatic bent. Just ask anyone. Just don't ask me to make one for you at my restaurant-- there is no way in hell I could ever get that rolling cart past the drunken cougars hovering at the bar.

Lyle's Muy Fuerte Cesare's Salad:

Serves 2 to 4

At my birthday party last summer, I had decided that my own contribution to the buffet would be my favorite old-school salad, since I was now, officially (according to some people) old. It was then that I realized that I had never actually made one before. The one's I had known and loved were always made for me by people who understand gusto like my friend Shan or my ex-boyfriend Paul, who was about as theatrically dramatic as they come.

When I confessed this salad-tossing inexperience to my friend Lyle, he told me he would walk me through the entire process. Being my birthday, I let him take over, while I poured myself another glass of wine and watched him do all the work.

This is a recipe muy fuerte-- extra garlic, extra anchovy, extra everything. Brash and unsubtle. In other words, just the way I like it.

I would suggest preparing this dish with at least one other person in the room when you first try it. Talk the entire time you are mashing, whisking, and tossing. Remember: you are the entertainment. If you don't have anyone on hand to chat with, I suggest, chatting up your pet. If you have no pet, bring a houseplant into your kitchen and talk to that. If you are lacking a house plant, you are more than likely not the type of person who would ever make a Caesar salad and are therefore not reading this.

Ingredients:

Two heads of Romaine lettuce, well washed, outer leaves removed, and torn into bite-sized pieces.

About 1/3 cup Parmesan cheese. Please use the good stuff. Nothing that comes out of a shaker will do no matter how good a deal you got with that double coupon.

Whole anchovies for garnish are entirely optional.

For the Dressing:

1 coddled egg. Yolk only.

3 anchovy filets (spanish, preferably)

2 cloves garlic, crushed

A pinch of coarse salt (kosher is excellent)

The juice of one half lemon

4 to 5 drops Worcestershire sauce

4 to 5 drops Tabasco sauce

1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard

6 tablespoons (approximate) of extra virgin olive oil

Coarsely ground black pepper to taste.

For Croutons:

For two cups of croutons (it is always a good idea to make extra):

2 cups of day-old bread (french, sour, white-- take your pick), dried out a touch and cut into 3/4" cubes.

2 tablespoons butter, melted

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

a heavy pinch of salt

Preparation:

To Coddle an Egg:

Coddling the egg yolk lends a richer texture to the dressing by thickening it slightly, in case you were wondering. If you want a better scientific understanding of this process, ask a scientist. I prefer to live in ignorance and call it a miracle.

1. Bring your egg (which should be very fresh) to room temperature by placing it in a heat-proof glass of warm water for a few minutes. When this temperature has been achieved, drain water and cover egg with boiling water. Let stand for exactly one minute. Drain. Run cold water over egg. Egg has now been thoroughly traumatized and is now ready for use in your dressing.

Making the Croutons:

1. Preheat oven to 375F. Drizzle butter/oil mixture over bread cubes while tossing cubes with your free hand (if you have no extra hand available, use someone else's.) Coat evenly but do try to avoid an absolute drenching.

Place a single layer of bread cubes on a baking sheet and pop into the oven on the upper rack. Peek into oven at around 7 to 8 minutes into the process, shake and turn cubes. Remove from oven when cubes have become golden brown and therefore have officially attained crouton status*.

*To my mind, croutons should be very much like Lou Grant from The Mary Tyler Moore Show-- hard, crusty exterior, but soft and warm on the inside. They should, however, not smell strongly of bourbon in the middle of the afternoon.

To Make the Dressing:

1. Place kosher salt, anchovy, and garlic in the bottom of a wooden bowl. Mash these ingredients together with the aid of two forks until a rough paste is formed.

2. Next, add mustard, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, and lemon juice. Trade in the two forks for a wire whisk. Whisk until well-blended.

3. Add coddled egg yolk to the mix and whisk with gusto for about one minute to allow the citric acid from the lemon to "cook" the yolk a little.

4. Slowly drizzle in olive oil from as great a height as you dare, for theatrical purposes. Pause occasionally to taste with a clean finger. Make dramatic noises as you do so.

5. Let the lettuce leaves rain down into your dressing-drenched wooden bowl. Do not add any sound effects at this point. With the two forks you had earlier cast aside or with larger, more festive, salad utensils, begin to toss the salad. Sprinkle in a little cheese here, a little there. Hum as you sprinkle. Something lilting and hopeful.

6. Add your croutons, tossing and humming all the more.

7. Now add cracked black pepper to finish both the tossing of your salad and the incessant humming.

8. If serving directly from the salad bowl, sprinkle with a bit more cheese to garnish, if serving individually, divide equally among chilled plates, then add more cheese. Whatever you do, serve and eat immediately.

Enjoy.