Don’t Have a Cow, Man!

June 5, 2004 was a day that would change my life forever.  I had a blind date at 8 PM at Tommy Bahamas Restaurant in Naples Florida.  I'd like to say that I was on time, but she would tell you that she was just about to leave when I finally arrived.  In my defense I was delayed at work, and I did call to let her know I would be late.  Dinner was great, I begged for a goodnight kiss, and I was hooked. 

About a year later, I finally summoned the courage to mention the “M” word.  I think I knew I wanted to marry her when I met her, but I didn’t want to seem too anxious.  She told me “If you want to marry me, it’s going cost you.”  The first thing that crossed my mind was “Yeah, fifty percent in a divorce court five years from now, right?”  “Not even close,” she said.

You see, she is from Rwanda Africa, and in her culture, I would be responsible for paying a dowry if I had intentions of marrying her.  She explained that I would have to negotiate the price of that dowry with her father, but hinted the amount would be close to two hundred.  I was by no means a rich man, but I usually carried more than two hundred in my pocket at any given time.  I decided that I would offer her father three hundred, so it wouldn’t appear that I was cheap.  That’s when she told me, the dowry was two hundred cows, not dollars!  “African cows with big horns, and not those small inexpensive American cows” she said.  Wow, that wasn’t going to be a cheap dowry after all, but I did love her.  It was time for me to do what any hopeless romantic would do; Google search.  I needed to make sure she wasn’t pulling my leg. 

 

My search produced instant results, and it turned out this dowry thing was indeed real.  Depending on the culture, dowries can be given by the future groom, bride or their families.  I would have to man-up and pay, unless of course she wasn’t really from Rwanda as she had led me to believe.  Finally, my membership to Ancestry.com would pay off.

If I could prove she was from the Sudan, I would save thousands of dollars.  The brutal civil war that has been raging in the Sudan for the past 40 years has so disrupted agriculture that cattle are rarely given any more.  Instead, families pledge to give cattle once the war is over and the way things look, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.  I would just have to adorn a Dinka tribesmen outfit and jump as high as possible during a ceremonial dance.  I’m not quite sure her dad would be impressed with my twelve inch vertical leap, but it would gain me his daughter’s hand in marriage.  However, the thought of a torn ACL left me looking for another solution.

If she was Ethiopian, once we were married she would get paid housekeeper's wages, and would not be eligible for any inheritance. Our children however would legally qualify for an inheritance, but if I had a vasectomy, my bank account would be safe.  Nah, I really want children and my ancestry search verified she was Rwandese.  I needed another solution.

I could take the intellectual route, and argue the exorbitant dowries requested by African families for their daughters were creating a social, cultural and health crisis.  It might be a tough sell to her dad though.  I could also seek a simple reduction in the dowry by questioning her parent’s social standing or even her virginity.  That plan wasn’t going to work because her parents had a royal bloodline, and at age 32 I was certain she was still a virgin. 

It was then I read an old African proverb that said “A man without a wife is like a vase without flowers.”  Enough was enough; I didn’t want to be an empty vase for the rest of my life.  It was time to sit down with her and work this out.  I loved her and needed to do the right thing here; I needed to negotiate and make a counter offer.  I had once negotiated a great price on my home, so how hard could this be?  My strategy was to start low and stay there.  

My starting offer was three cows, a pig and four chickens.  Her father was not amused and firmly said “two hundred cows.”  I decided to “sweeten the pot” by adding two goats and a bag of feed.  Again, his response was “two hundred cows.”  As he walked out of the room I said, “Did I mention they were female goats?”  I followed him to the living room and made a solid final offer of ten cows.  This sixty five year old man then turned to me and threw a left cross that knocked me to the floor.  

As I wiped the blood from my lip, I wasn’t sure he had refused my final offer until he put what appeared to be a curse on me, slammed the front door as went out for his pre-nap walk.  As I stumbled to stand up, I had an Oprah AHA moment.  I had made a decision, and would marry her twin sister and screw the dowry.  She had several moles on her face and a small mustache, but the savings were hard to pass up.  

I know what you’re thinking and I can tell you, she was undoubtedly a virgin too.  On April 21, 2011 we celebrated five years of marital bliss.  Thank God for facial waxing.

Brian Silveira is a comedian, restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.

Don't have a cow, man! I didn’t marry the twin sister, but I still haven’t paid the dowry and that’s no bull!  My wife Angelica and I are still together, until she reads this story.

Jackpot!

During the past few months the stress of trying to find a job has been wearing me down.  Sure, I have my blog to keep me busy, but full-time employment and a steady paycheck would really put me at ease.  When people ask me how I have kept my sanity during this tough time, I am always quick to respond with something positive.  “Things could be worse, right?” is the phrase I’ve been using lately.  I think it lets people know that I’m aware that others are suffering more than I am.

I am an optimist who has always believed that good things come to good people, but lately I was losing faith.  It seemed as if my American dream was fading, when a lucky e-mail changed everything.  As I read this life-changing letter, the adage “It is always darkest before the dawn” came to mind.  The pain and suffering of my failed job searches were quickly becoming distant memories, as excitement overwhelmed me.  

I would never have to work again!  I would be traveling, driving a new Ferrari and living in a million dollar home. All of the positive thoughts during a very trying period in my life were finally paying off, and paying off big.  The e-mail was perfectly clear to me, I had hit the jackpot.

Dear Sir/Madam:
I am Barrister Samir Emad, an Indonesian attorney at law. A deceased client of mine, that shares the same last name as yours died as the result of a heart-related condition on March 12th 2005. His heart condition was due to
the death of all the members of his family in the tsunami disaster on the 26th December 2004 in Sumatra Indonesia. And in the record there is no known successor to this deposit of the deceased who died without a will.

My late Client has a deposit of Eighteen Million Dollars left behind.
Contact me via my private email account for more information: barrsamiremad@yahoo.com.cn

Best regards,
Samir Emad
Attorney at Law

Your eyes aren’t deceiving you.  I had just inherited eighteen million dollars from a relative in Indonesia.  That’s 18, followed by 6 zero’s baby!  Okay, I know what you’re thinking.  Would Brian have to pay taxes on this money?  Under current federal tax codes, the answer is, yes I would.  Even after taxes, I would still be getting over twelve million dollars, free and clear.  The biggest problem I was facing now, was whether that Ferrari was going to be a 458 Italia or 599 GTO. 

After a few E-mail’s, the lawyer Samir contacted me by phone. Samir was so helpful and told me he would handle everything, except telling me how to spend the money.  Okay, at this point you’re probably as concerned as I was.  Was it possible I suffered from the same heart-related condition that killed the person that left me all this money?  Wouldn’t that just be my luck?  There’s no need for anyone to worry about my health.  Although he wasn’t a doctor, Samir reassured me there was no chance I would suffer as his client did.  Surprisingly, Samir had checked my genetic history prior to contacting me, and said “you have no defects Mr. Brian.” 

I would simply have to pay a few processing fees of $39,528 and the money would be mailed to me.  As I prepared to empty the remainder of my 401K, I started to have second thoughts.  Samir had never asked for my mailing address.  Something didn’t seem right.  When Samir called again, he quickly explained he already had my address.  He had found it in the paperwork of my deceased benefactor.   He explained, telling me the address on the phone was dangerous. Criminals could be listening to our conversation and try steal the money before it got to me.  Clearly, Samir had done this before and was simply protecting my money.  The next day I was going to send Samir his processing fees and start my new life as a millionaire.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt rejuvenated.  Before I headed out to make the wire transfer to Samir, I was reading my e-mails and was stunned when I read the following:

I am Dr Samir Emad Governor Central Bank of Nigeria(CBN).  

There is counter claims on your funds presently by one Mr.Jones Tsai, who is trying to make us believe 

that you are dead and even explained that you had an agreement with him, to help you in receiving 

your part payment of $27.0Million US, kindly reconfirm 

to us, for your urgent release of the Premium immediately.

Reconfirm the above information to avoid making payment to a wrong person.

Dr Samir Emad

Governor Central Bank of Nigeria. 

There were actually two Samir Emad’s who had millions for me? I was now certain of one thing;  Sending any money to the lawyer Samir would be a terrible mistake.  Instead of wasting my time trying to get just eighteen million, I would start dealing with the doctor Samir.  I would just have to prove I wasn’t dead, and the twenty seven million would be mine.  That’s 27, with 6 zero’s baby!   I had hit Jackpot again!  I’ll let you all know when I get the money.

Brian Silveira is a restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.

It’s Prime Time Baby!

Recently, I had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse.  Ruth’s is a bit pricey, but never disappoints!   I don’t personally own Ruth’s stock (RUTH), but the word on the street is Blue Horseshoe(Wall Street) loves Ruth’s.  As for my dinner out with my beautiful wife, I ordered the man-sized corn fed filet mignon, while she opted for the lamb chops.  As for the filet, it melted in my mouth and I wished there was more than just a measly nine ounce cut of this scrumptious U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) prime Midwestern beef.  I finished the last bite and glanced down at an empty white plate, while loosening my belt and releasing a sigh.  As I returned from the restroom and prepared to order dessert, I was thankful I had passed on the side order of asparagus.  While ordering the cheesecake, I decided that this meal, and in particular the filet, needed some press.  Why were Ruth’s filets always so good?  

The answer is, its USDA prime baby!  Nothing but the best and the best is what Ruth’s Chris serves.  Unfortunately, the truth was about to set me free.  While researching this article, a trip to Ruth’s website menu (http://www.ruthschris.com/Menu/Signature-Steaks) revealed their filet mignons aren’t USDA prime after all.  For years I‘ve been paying the top dollar for Ruth’s filet mignon, only to find out I was wrong about the quality.  Boy, do I hate being wrong.  In an effort to ease my pain, I needed to know what would possibly lead me to believe Ruth’s serves only USDA prime filet.  As it turns out, it’s their logo.  

Before I get ahead of myself, here are some facts you’ll need to know. 

The USDA has eight grades of beef.  Most restaurants serve three of these grades (PRIME, CHOICE and SELECT).  Prime is the highest quality grade designation in terms of tenderness, juiciness and flavor. This quality grade is determined by maturity and marbling scores, with abundant marbling being required.  Less than 2 percent of the nation's beef supply earns the designation of prime beef, which is why it’s considerably more expensive.

Beef inspection is mandatory and funded by the government, while beef grading is a voluntary practice that is paid for by the meat processors and subsidized by the beef industry (Those are the guys whose commercials say, “BEEF, it’s what’s for dinner!”).  When graded, beef is given a USDA shield stamp.  That purple colored shield is the most accurate way to determine what grade of beef you’re eating.  Unfortunately, after a restaurant portions the larger cuts of beef, the grade markings become nearly impossible to read.  So, restaurants can buy USDA select grades of meat and sell them as choice, and also buy choice and sell it as prime.  The goal is to make an extra buck by getting a premium price for a sub standard product.  Now that you have the facts, let’s get back to the story.

Ruth’s logo clearly says U.S. Prime.  “What the hell is U.S. Prime?”  After thirty years of cutting beef, I had never heard of it.  I e-mailed Ruth’s to find out exactly what was going on here.  In an automated E-mail response, I was told to expect an answer to my question in the next 7 days.  Isn’t technology great?  I also sent e-mails to several of Florida's Ruth’s Chris general managers, in an attempt to get a quicker response.  

I was stuck!  I needed a way to get answers and get them quickly, so I turned to the most capable organization I know; the United States Government.  While on the government’s USDA website, I found no reference to the term U.S. Prime.  A quick live chat session with a representative would yield nothing, because much to my surprise the USDA doesn’t have a live chat option.  I was force to submit a question in the “Ask the Expert” section.  I was stunned to find out the “expert” would need 3-5 business days to respond to my inquiry.  Is it just me, or is the efficiency of our government agencies slipping just a bit?

Since it was just day one of my mandatory 3-7 day e-mail response prison sentence, I wanted to see what my other favorite steakhouse was up to.  Morton’s Steakhouse website proudly announces they only serve USDA prime and has a section dedicated to cuts of beef and their grades (http://www.mortons.com/experience/steaks/).  I e-mailed Morton’s a question about Ruth’s U.S. Prime logo.  Given my great experiences at Morton’s, I was not surprised when I received an e-mail response in less than an hour.  Guest relations specialist Capri Kinney replied,  “Hi Brian, I can't really speak as to why Ruth’s Chris word it as "U.S. Prime" but according to their menu they do also serve USDA Prime.”

Okay, I was dialing a restaurant friend when my computer chimed in.  “You’ve got mail!”  I had received a response from one of Ruth’s general managers. 

Filet on the Menu) is an extremely tender cut and when it does come in as Choice, it is almost impossible to tell the difference.  All of the other cuts are always labeled as USDA Prime.  I am the GM of the Ruth’s Chris in Boca and I can assure you that Ruth’s Chris only serves what they say and that is USDA Prime Beef.  We have extremely high standards and uphold this each and every day.  Any additional information can be obtained by contacting the Home Office in Orlando, Florida.  Hope this helps

Bruce Kirschenbaum

I couldn’t control my laughter.  The logo has what looks like a U.S. Prime stamp?  The filets are USDA prime, unless they’re choice?  The USDA is now allowing restaurants to serve choice when prime isn’t available?  Okay, this response sounds a lot like my initials(that would be B.S.)  The fact is Ruth’s menu doesn’t say the filets are USDA prime because they aren’t, but Bruce thinks they are.  The logo is so misleading that Bruce doesn’t even know the filets aren’t prime.

Okay, now it was time to go to my ace in the hole and make that phone call.   My friend has trained staff at Ruth’s for years and would surely give me some straight answers.  While asking for anonymity he said the following; “The Cowboy and Regular Ribeye, NY Strip and Porterhouse Steak are all USDA Prime. The T-Bone and both Filets are USDA Choice.  The Filets are wet aged 10 to 14 days. Every other cut of beef is aged 24 to 28 days.”

Ruth’s filets are in fact USDA choice, but their logo boldly states U.S. Prime.  The omission of USDA prime designation from Ruth’s menu descriptions of the filet mignons and T-Bone, suggest they aren’t willing to go all the way with their logo’s implied message.   Sure I got a great steak, but Ruth’s Chris and other restaurants should not be allowed to deceive the public by putting slogans like U.S. PRIME, PRIME CUTS or CHOICE BEEF in their logo or on their menus, unless that is the only type of beef they are serving.  It is deceptive advertising and it shouldn’t be tolerated.    

This beef problem is at an epidemic level not just restaurants, but supermarkets too.  The next time you want the truth about your favorite restaurant or market, just ask to see the beef in its original cryovac packaging.  If you receive any hesitation or resistance to your request, you’ve got your answer.  The purple USDA stamp is a government guarantee to the consumer.  That guarantee shouldn’t be mocked by restaurants looking to pocket undeserved money, while deceiving the public.

Always remember, “You are what you eat”, but try to make sure you know what you’re eating.

Have a great night out, and when you ask your server what grade of meat you’ll be eating, tell ‘em that B.S. won’t cut it!   Please leave and Thanks!  Brian Silveira is a restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.

Oh, Rats!

Oh, Rats!

Several readers have asked where the name of my blog came from.  I was watching a rerun episode of Gordon Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares.  Gordon screamed for the sous chef to step forward after a guest returned their entrée.   The tirade that ensued has become a Ramsey trademark.  “You could have killed somebody, this chicken is raw” he yelled.  He then slammed the plate to the kitchen floor and told the chef to “Feed it to the dog!”  

Gordon Ramsey’s reality shows aren't just about television ratings to me.  They have shined the spotlight on the restaurant industry’s dirty secrets that are hidden behind swinging doors and closed walls.   Eating undercooked food is never a good idea, but mistakes do happen in restaurant kitchens.  The fact is being served undercooked food is the least of your worries when dining out.  I was going to title this article “How healthy is your favorite restaurant,” but decided a name change needed to be made. The following story is true and without embellishment.

In the summer of 1978 I worked at a restaurant in my hometown of Gloucester Massachusetts.  It was located on the water and sat atop wooden pilings.  It wasn’t a glamorous job, but at age thirteen, it paid the bills.  I was paid the minimum wage $2.65 an hour to wash dishes and perform food prep work.  It was hard work that sometimes involved working sixty hours per week.  The pot sink was often piled high until midnight or later.  During those early morning hours, when the ovens were off and the cooks were gone, the wharf rats would arrive.  Despite the loud kitchen music, the rats would scurry behind the equipment and eat anything that had fallen on the floor.  They would dart in and out of the holes in the walls, trying to avoid the numerous traps.  Occasionally I would hear a loud snap, followed by the whimpering of the unfortunate prey.  The sounds gave me nightmares and I was forever petrified of rats.

The real scary part was, that despite the deceased vermin, the restaurant was still serving food and it didn’t seem to bother anyone.  As an outspoken teen, I complained to management that the problem needed to be addressed.  I’d like to tell you that the solution of chicken wire prevented further issues, but rats are very smart and always seemed to find a way into the kitchen.  As my career progressed into my early 20’s, I started any new job with mantra “When there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean.  I stole that phrase from Chef John Thrasher, who I had met in my late teens.   John gave me the impetus to make sure I would never work in a dirty kitchen again.

In 2009 I was managing a restaurant that I had spent seventeen years creating an environment of "clean".  The employees understood my philosophy and were committed to keeping this place the cleanest in Sanibel Island Florida.  I was never hesitant about allowing guests to enter the back of the house.  Life was good, but after leaving my job in early January of that year, my life was about to be turned upside down.

A few months later I found myself about to take a job at McT’s Shrimphouse & Tavern, also in Sanibel Island.  This restaurant was just down the street from my previous employer and was once the busiest restaurant on the island.  After twenty-nine years in business, McT’s had fallen on hard times; due in part to a nasty reputation that had been plaguing the establishment since the early 2000’s.  

When I went to meet the owners at the restaurant, the stench of the dumpster was chocking me as I exited my car.  The dumpster was placed just outside the kitchen door, and the garbage that surrounded it was an eyesore.  As I entered the kitchen, the smell of urine was nauseating, and followed me as I moved towards the dining room.  I could see live cockroaches moving around the food-littered floor.  As the owners greeting me, I could see a look of please help us in their eyes.  There was one year left on their lease, and they wanted to turn the business around and try to sell the name to the next owner.  After agreeing to give me full control of the business, I accepted the task of cleaning this place up and got to work immediately.  If there was anybody who could turn things around here, it was me.  I would quickly find out, I was about to relive the nightmare of my early teens.

My first night was filled with ant and cockroach sightings in the dining room.  In the office behind the bar, I could hear the rats running around the walls and the ceiling support beams.  At 1 AM after the bar had closed, I made my way through the dining room and could see rats dancing in the shadows.  I made my way to the kitchen with a flashlight, and was greeted by dozens of fleeing rats as I opened the door.  What had I gotten myself into?  

The following day I went on-line and researched the health inspections.  There were so many major violations; it was hard to understand why the state of Florida had not closed this business.  The lack of state oversight was putting the public’s lives in jeopardy.  The health department wasn’t the only party at fault here, and it was time to confront the chef.  Chef Ray was working in kitchen conditions that could only be described as third world.  His kitchen smelled of death and his only defense was “This is what I inherited when I came here four years ago.”  I was astonished that he had worked four years in the conditions.  A week later I would find several grease covered dead rats behind the kitchen equipment, and Ray was immediately fired.  

With the help of some dedicated employees, the daunting task of cleaning the business and killing the rats would commence.  .  A professional extermination company was called in, and the holes in the roof and walls were sealed.  Rat traps were set nightly, and a total of 190 rats were killed in the first thirty days.  The only rats that remained were the ones living in the building. I lost thirty pounds during the first month, and later learned I was being sickened by the rat feces and urine.  During the second month another 140 rats were killed and the building was finally rat free.  A decade of filth, in which this business had probably sickened hundreds or thousands of people, was cleaned up in months.  The business closed in June of 2010 and was sold soon thereafter.

I wish I could tell you my story is an isolated one.  There are thousands of restaurants just like McT’s serving food in America.  These days, I find myself disgusted when reading online restaurant Health Reports.  Dirty knives and cutting boards, warm refrigerators, lack of hot water, poor staff hygiene, cigarette smoking employees and improper chemical storage are just a few of the problem areas  that restaurants need to work on.  The majority of restaurants in this country don’t adhere to health codes, lack certified food managers, and are simply not clean.  

Check out your favorite restaurants health reports online, and get ready to be shocked.

Have a great night out, and when you get to the host desk, tell 'em Brian wants to know how clean the kitchen is!  Please leave comments and answer the poll question.  Thanks again!

Brian Silveira is a restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.

Something isn't Right!

Something isn’t right!

It was just the way I like it.  A simple, perfect plan, that started with dinner at 6:00 PM, followed by an 8:00 movie, and then back to the house for a clothing optional Jacuzzi.  If all goes well, my wife and I will be out of the 120 degree water by 11:00, and into the bedroom shortly thereafter.  Who’s smarter than me?  Don't answer that until you "Read the rest of the story." Thanks Paul Harvey!

Okay, so it’s not entirely romantic, especially when you consider I am planning the exact time at which I plan to give the Tempurpedic  the bounce test.  Before you question my need to plan a mattress warranty experiment, there are some factors you need to consider.  First of all, I am a man.  Heard enough ladies?  Guys, you know what I'm talking about, right?  Behind every romantic man, there's always  a motive.

This is how I envisioned my night out. I followed my own advice, and researched TripAdvisor for the best restaurant in Fort Myers.  With a 6:00 PM reservation confirmed, we should be seated no later than 6:15.  We’ll have drinks by 6:25, appetizers by 6:35, and entrees by 7:00.  At this point, I’ll be feeling like Hannibal Smith from the 1980’s sitcom The A-team.  Ah yes, “I Love it when a plan comes together!”  

I will take a post-meal restroom break just after finishing my entrée at about 7:15.  I find my Cialis works better with a full stomach.  I know what you're thinking.  “Why is Brian taking Cialis at his age?”  If you must know, Viagra and Levitra gave me headaches and blurred my vision, but that's not important.   Now that we've discussed my erectile dysfunction, let's get back to my night out.

On my way back from my 20mg uplifting lavatory break, I’ll grab the waitress.  Let me rephrase that, I’ll get the waitresses attention and order the chocolate lava cake, two spoons, and a celebratory candle.  The candle is to let my wife know that every night out with her is special.  Actually, I’m just trying to increase the odds of getting’ some action later.  Did you forget I was a man?  After finishing dessert at 7:40, we’ll pay the bill and  leave for the movies.  After two hours of laughing at the movies, everything else will slide into place. No pun intended. 

The following is what actually happened.  After an amazingly friendly greeting at the host desk, we were seated at 6:05.  My plan was perfect, but just a few minutes later, something isn’t right.  In the back of my mind I could hear John Madden's voice saying: "On paper, Brian looked great,  but that's why you play game."  A quick look up at the "game clock" showed 6:20 PM.  Where, and more importantly, who was our server?  At this point a waitress darted by the table and yelled , “I’ll be right with you.”  Why go see The Hangover II at 8:00, when our waitress could provide us with that nauseous feeling for free?

What the hell?  Okay, It’s not that bad yet, I’ll just make a few adjustments and we’ll be ready to order drinks, appetizers and entrees, when and if she returns.  It's 6:30 and she’s back, more frazzled than ever and apologetically says, “I’ll be right with you.”  My patience is wearing thin at this point, and I think we need to call a time out and find the manager.  Twenty five minutes without anything in front of us is too long.  Just as I get up, she's appears behind me like David Copperfield.  “Okay, did you want something to drink?”  Oh no, it’s worse than I thought, it must be her first night.  What happened to “Hello, how are you tonight?”  

I make a fleeting attempt to get this night back on track. With a jovial tone I announce, “We’re ready to order everything, not just drinks!” 

It is at this point, our dining experience could be better described Tom Cruise’s Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol being revealed before its December release date.  “I can only take your drink order,” she retorted.  This of course was done while she was chewing gum, and staring at another table that was flagging her down.  As my wife started to order a Margarita, she excused herself to attend to what was now a rather upset guest. 

She was about to add one, and possibly two more upset guests to her list.  She returned four minutes later, but it seemed like an eternity.  I made it very simple at this point.  We order dessert, entrees, appetizers and drinks in that order, at which time I stated that the drinks should be served first with a manager delivering them.  I'm not going to bore you with the gruesome details of how this dining adventure ended, because I'm sure you've been there, and done that.  Poor, inefficient service had cancelled my late evening shuttle launch and God only knows when the timing would be right to restart the countdown. 

By the time we finally left the restaurant it was 8:30. We had missed the movie, and my wife had come down with "a headache" and I ended up  sleeping on the couch alone, watching Cinemax.  Was this a bit of Karma coming back to teach me yet another important life lesson.  Actually,  I had only myself to blame for this disastrous evening.

Sure I had everything except penetration calculated down to the minute, but I had forgotten the most important part of dining out.  That’s right; I didn’t make sure to get a stellar server.

What could I have done?  Well, I will now give you a few tips to insure you get a great server.  I call them the FOUR R’s.

 

1. RESEARCH.   When you find a great restaurant review, make a note about the server that is mentioned in it.  Keep the name handy, and when you arrive at the host desk, don’t be afraid to ask for that server by name.
2. RESERVE. When you make your reservation, let the host know you are celebrating a special occasion and would like to also reserve a great server. 
3. REQUEST.  If you don’t have a particular server’s name, request the best server in the house when you check in.  Let the host know that you are willing to wait for a great server.  Believe me, the host staff knows who the best servers are, and more importantly, they know who the bad ones are.
4. RECORD.  That’s right, keep records.  When you find an outstanding restaurant, keep track of the best servers, the drinks and the food.  Keep a dining diary in the glove box of your car with the day, date, restaurant and servers name.  To jog your memory before your next visit, write a mini-review of your experience.

By not following the FOUR R’s, you are putting a night of fun and possibly some late night frolicking at RISK. 

Have a great night out, and when you get to the host desk, tell 'em Brian told you to ask for the best server in the house!  Please leave comments and answer the poll question.  Thanks again!

Brian Silveira is a restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.

Here's a Tip for You

Here's a Tip for You!

During these tough economic times, my wife Angelica and I don’t dine out as often as she would like.  When we do hit our favorite restaurants, there is a question she always asks after we’ve paid the bill.  "How much did you leave for a tip?"

I like to keep it simple when leaving a gratuity.  I’ve always tipped 20% for great service, 15% for good service, and 10% for bad service.  What the hell, I really leave a tip for bad service?  Lately, I find myself asking some rather serious questions about what is truly an appropriate amount to tip a server, especially a bad server.

  

I’m not quite sure about the origin of my personal tip percentages, but my psychotherapist believes I more than likely assimilated it in the late 1970’s, while I was a line cook in Massachusetts.  No doubt, it was probably imbedded somewhere, during a loud rant of obscenities by a service staff member, who was venting after receiving a bad tip.   In those days, staff tirades usually occurred as close to the dining room service doors as possible.  This was done so the guest in question could hear what they should have left for a tip.  At the same time, their tires were probably being deflated in the parking lot.  Of course, I had nothing to do with it.

Webster’s Dictionary gives the following definitions for tip/gratuity.

1. A gift or a sum of money tendered for a service performed or anticipated.
2. Something given voluntarily or beyond obligation usually for some service.
3. CASH that is demanded for sub-par service by a manipulative, aggressive restaurant server

Okay, so I made up that last one, but I think the majority of people really feel that way.  Don't leave a good tip and face the possibiltiy public humiliation or even server retaliation.

The  fact is, as restaurants raise their prices, gratuities are increasing too.  Is the level of servicing getting better as restaurants try to control rising food, labor and overhead costs?  If anything, service standards appear to be on the decline, while servers are making more now than ever.

When bad tips are received, could be a reality show on FOX(when servers attack might work better.)  I’ve seen it all during my hospitality career and can’t help wonder, was it the dollar amount or the tip percentage that prompted some of the following behavior?

1. A server confronting guests at the front door, asking whether they had done something wrong to get a 12% tip.
2. A server chased a party of four into the parking lot, throwing change at their car, while yelling “Keep it; you need it more than I do!” 
3. Catching several servers changing tips on credit card receipts. 

In 1972, George Foster, Professor Emeritus of Anthropology at UC Berkeley, theorized that tipping started with a desire to avoid envy on the part of the server, and to send the message that the server should have a drink at the customer's expense. 

Tipping is not about percentages, rather a voluntary gift, but don’t try to tell that to the service industry.  They have created their own set of rules, and patrons are no longer given a choice.  That’s right, I said it!  Restaurants now print menus that say 15%, 18%, and even 20% gratuity will automatically be added to your check, regardless of the service you receive.  10% gratuity will be added to all take-out orders, even though an employee will not be serving you.  You will also be charged a higher gratuity for parties of six, eight and ten.  Be careful of the servers who don’t warn you the gratuity has already been added to your bill, and saying nothing when they are generously double-tipped!  Some restaurants even allow Point of Sale devices to calculate the tip with state sales tax included.  Now, we’re tipping on the tax too?

Servers are already getting paid by the hour, so why leave a tip at all?  The root of the problem begins with server base pay.  The minimum hourly tipped employee wage is mandated by the state.  However, federal law does supersede state wage law, unless the state wage is more favorable.  Are you’re not confused yet, read this. http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1032&context=econfacpub&sei-redir=1#search=%22server%20wages%20by%20state%22 

Depending on the state you reside, tipped employees are paid between $2.13 and $8.67 per hour. http://www.dol.gov/whd/state/tipped.htm  In my state of Florida, servers are paid $4.29 per hour, which is only $3.02 less than the states’ minimum wage for non-tipped employees.  This means, that if a server makes $12 in tips per hour, they are making $16.29 per hour.  That a pretty decent wage, isn’t it?

But, it’s not that simple.  Restaurant owners can classify lots of employees as ‘tipped’.  Servers must also tip-out assistant servers, bus people, bartenders, dessert person, and other tipped employees who service them.  The 20% added gratuity you’re paying, is being used to subsidize the staff a restaurant owner wants to pay less.  It’s a conspiracy that John Grisham would be proud of.  Servers need to pressure owners to pay them more money, and not hold restaurant customers hostage for their wages.

The time has come to offer a solution to the out of control tipping policies.  My conclusions will probably anger most servers, but in my opinion the system needs to be changed.  Who’s with me?  Sell your restaurant calculators while they’re still worth selling.  I offer the following to my readers.

A.       Restaurant owners pay minimum wage to all tipped and non tipped employees.

B.       Patrons pay a flat rate of $6 per person.

C.       Patrons can leave more than $6 if they feel inclined to do so.

D.       Patrons can leave nothing if they are not served appropriately.

Imagine a world where servers at IHOP and Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse could be making the same in tips! I have a dream, I have a dream.

Have a great night out, and when you leave a $12 tip for you and your wife, tell ‘em Brian told you to do it!

Brian Silveira is a restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.

The Name Game

The Name Game

Not that name game.  Although, if you started singing Lincoln-Lincoln-Bo-Binkin, Bo-Banana-Fana-Fo-Finkin, I really wouldn’t blame you.  Shirley Ellis’ Name Game also known as the Banana song did reach #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1964.  Don't click on Shirley's picture to the left with children in the room, you'll be sorry.

I’m talking about the name game that has been plaguing the restaurant industry for years.

Back in the 1990’s I was a manager at a resort island restaurant in Sanibel Florida. I noticed a trend had started among our celebrity guests when they called to make reservations.  They were not using their real names.  To put it simply, they were using names like, well, my last name.  They had money, fame, and now they were looking to use average household names when making reservations?

After years of working in the business, and hundreds of hours of study, I mastered the rules of reservations.  A Guest calls in and is asked for a reservation time and their name.  Had I missed something?  I don’t recall reading anything during my studies regarding using a fake name, but I guess the reservation rules didn’t apply to everyone.  Guys like Chris Berman, Ted Koppel, and Wilfred Brimley weren’t using phony names, but Andre Agassi, Roger Clemens, and Dan Quayle were.  That was it!  It was, after what I now refer to as the ‘Dan Quayle Incident’, that I decided to strike back, and start a common man version of this disturbing celebrity name game.  I would be taking the names from the rich and giving them to the poor. By poor, I was referring to me.

In 2000, I would make my first restaurant reservation using one of their names.  I called a local hot spot as Robert De Niro. I needed a private table for two at 8 PM and would appreciate not waiting.  “The Robert De Niro?” the hostess jokingly asked.  My response was a quick, “You talkin’ to me?” 

“Okay Mr. De Niro, you’re all set!” she said in an excited voice.  When I arrived, my table was ready with a complimentary order of bruschetta on it!  The disappointment on the faces of the staff didn’t stop my girlfriend and me from having a great dinner.  Sorry, but I love bruschetta!

The game was on!  I would do the opposite of everything I had ever learned about making a restaurant reservation.  I was like the Opposite George Costanza episode from Seinfeld.  “Up was down, black was white, good was bad, and day was night!” 
 

There was a little trial and error, but I found athlete’s names seemed to work best, while using mega-celebrity names like Oprah Winfrey or Angelina Jolie didn’t work at all.  I used names like Derek Jeter, Ron Jeremy, and George Clooney.  During a Las Vegas trip I called as Siegfried and Roy, and it worked like magic!  When restaurants didn’t take reservations, or were completely booked, I would pull out my secret weapon.  “That’s right; Tom Cruise and his wife were coming in for dinner.  I would always call from a pay phone or blocked cell phone number, and if I was asked for a phone number, I didn’t give one.  Remember, a celebrity of my stature would never give out their personal or hotel number.

  
The last decade of dining out has been great, but hasn’t been without incident.  Years of playing the game has taken its toll on my psyche.   I had gotten cocky, careless, and started to make amateurish mistakes.  
My arrogance had pushed me to choose names that were too close to the edge.

Last year I made a reservation as General David Petraeus while visiting Virginia.  I was a bit embarrassed when I showed up for my 9 PM to find a marching band, several media outlets, and the local color guard waiting for their national hero.  The ‘national hero’ phrase appeared on several hand-made signs that had been crafted by the children of a local school for the blind. When I arrived at the hostess desk, I pretended not to have a reservation and calmly asked, “What’s going on outside?” 

This past February, my wife Angelique made a reservation at Prime 112 in Miami, under the name Madonna.  When we arrived, Dennis Rodman, Vanilla Ice and Sandra Bernhard were waiting impatiently in the lobby for the real Madonna.  A few bad booty calls, and Madonna gets are stalked for life? It was a sad to see how desperate these once mighty celebrities had become.  When I returned home to Fort Myers, eight CD’s went right in the trash.  Oh yes, it’s true!  Vanilla Ice had eight different CD releases.   

These past mistakes have led me to proclaim the only rule of the name game is; don’t use names that cross the line.  I have since rededicated myself to the name game, and in May rebounded with a wonderful, less damaging night out.  While visiting Boston I made a late night reservation for four under Boston Red Sox designated hitter David Ortiz’s name.  I used my best Latin accent on the phone, and told the man, “You can put it under Big Papi, and a few players might be joining me.”  Needless to say, there were many disappointed fans when a white man checked in under Ortiz.  Those ‘players’ I mentioned, were three out of shape, balding forty-something high school friends, who planned to go dancing later and try to pick up twenty-something woman.  Remember; don’t try this when the Red Sox are out of town.

Now that you know what the name game is, join my fight for reservation equality.  Isn’t it about time you add a little fun to your nights out?  Be creative and use your imagination when making a reservation, and try not to laugh.  Give it a try and remember there aren’t any name police that are going to show up when you arrive at the restaurant, unless of course you are impersonating an Army General.  By the way, the charges were eventually dropped and I did get a free meal during the ten hours I spent in that military holding cell.

Have a great night out, and when you get to the host desk, tell ‘em Arnold Schwarzenegger sent you! I mean Brian!  Please leave comments and answer the poll question.  Thanks!

Brian Silveira is a restaurateur and food lover from Fort Myers, Florida.