Where Everybody Knows Your Name
I haven't been 'round these parts in quite some time, mostly because Diner #3 likes to eat more than I do. I do not have a full restaurant re-cap, review, what have you at this point because I have precious few moments before the aforementioned tyke awakens and wishes to continue snacking on my rack. Moo.
In any case, I present you with this conversation that Jon and I had in the car, after leaving Los Pastores where owner Irma held and kissed and cooed at Diner #3:
Me: Do you think that when Diner #3 gets bigger he'll think it's weird the first time he goes into a restaurant and the people there don't know his name? I mean, do you think he'll just think that restaurant people have magical name knowing powers since he's generally greeted by name wherever we go?
Jon: Oh my God. I hadn't thought of that.
My son has been presented with a teddy bear from the folks at Delfina. Cuddled and snuggled by the folks at the Slanted Door. Presented with the birthday bong at Cyrus. Greeted warmly as "Diner #3 #2" at SPQR and A16 (chef Nate's son carries the same moniker and is therefore Diner #3#1), and given the best table in the house at Zuni. Now what is fucked up there is that while the folks at Zuni know us, I'm not sure they know our names. They know his and use it whenever he sees them.
I'm not complaining as we've been on the receiving end of several lovely comps simply for making Diner #3. But it's pretty fucked up that the kid is already a restaurant VIP when he a) drinks only breastmilk, and b) has no teeth.
"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld