davethegrinch.net

Dave Says:

The New Zealand restaurant industry is somewhat like a gangly teenager. Look into their face and you can see the adult they wish to be but the arms are just a little too long for the still developing clumsy body and they have this awful habit of slouching just when you need them to stand up straight.

Now, I am, I readily admit, spoiled. For all of the faults the United States may have, eating out at a reasonable price for reasonable food and service that trumps all isn’t one of them. The Kiwi’s want the same so bad it’s clearly visible in everything concerned with eating out except the actual eating out part.

There are two main classes of dining experience, the cafe and the restaurant. However the line between the two is often blurred. In NZ it’s all about the number. If you’re given a number when you order then you’re in a cafe. The patron is pretty much on their own in a cafe. Go up to the counter, fight your way though the crowd, order something to eat, order something to drink (usually having to take it from the fridge yourself), pay for it and collect your number to take back to your table.

In twenty short minutes someone will arrive carrying you order. Eat and be gone - very simple. Nothing wrong with that except everyone gets a number for every little thing everytime. The Kiwi’s can’t even make a latte without writing it down, giving you a number and making you wait twenty minutes. Again not a problem when, like us, you have nothing else to do and taking your time with coffee is a good thing. Usually however, its after you drink your coffee you relax. In NZ that cup disappears instantly upon it’s emptying leaving you sitting there at a clean deserted table without, heaven forbid, a number. Now everyone with a number grasped in their hands looking for table knows you’re just “camping out”. Time to leave.

It’s the restaurant thing that’s tricky to deal with. Now, there are amazing restaurants here just as one would expect the developed world over but it’s not of those that I speak. I’m talking here about the casual dining experience. Assuming this is not a number based establishment this is how it works:

Walk in, find a server (any one will do - usually one carrying a plate of food will nod in the direction of an empty table for you). Sit down, wait at least five minutes for menus. When the menu comes note that every place can mix you a Moscow Mule (vodka, ginger beer and lime). Decide if you want the bread and olive oil appetizer for $6. Appetizer are called “Entrees”, entrees are known as “Mains” and take-out is “takeaways”. Once you’ve decided if $6 for a couple bits of bread and oil is too rich for you freely olive oil soaked blood decide on your mains. For this expect to pay a lot of money. Nothing comes less than $NZ20 and most cost $NZ25 (up to $US19 a meal). At some point before you’ve decided a server will come by. This isn’t your server, it’s just “a” server. Decide quick, if you send them away then you have to wait a long time again. Now order, order, order. Order everything you need, order some things you think you might want and be sure to order two drinks because once that person leaves your table, you are done, your allocated waitress time is over. You will never have the pleasure of talking to a server again.

Food here is excellent. I have no complaints.

Finished? Excellent. Need anything else? You do, oh I’m sorry you’re now going to have to perform one of the many skills the British exported to this land. I’ll call it “The Waitress Chase”. Remember, your allocated waitress time has expired so if you need anything, get up and run after someone saying in a timid voice “excuse me, excuse me”. If there’s something wrong with your meal best pick up the plate and run after them with it. Need another drink? No problem just run after them with the glass. Often the number of customers running around exceeds the number of staff working and these are not professional plate carriers so collisions can occur.

Once you’re completely finish it’s time to pay. Using your new found skills at hunting down wait staff, do it again this time with your credit card in hand. Now, here’s the good thing. You don’t have to tip. In fact, I left some money on the table once as a tip and they came running after me to give it back. Not tipping is a blood pressure saver because the service is so bad that if one did have to leave the outrageous 20% of US standards then one’s entire evening would be ruined. In NZ you can walk out feeling like you beat the system. However, next time my US based readers complain about the tip amount cast your minds back to this blog entry (or print it off wallet size as one of those tipping calculators) and think of the alternative. Yes, we’re spoiled. Yes we’re pampered but, by God, we pay for it and it feels good.

Don’t forget to check out our first gallery and our second gallery and our third gallery and our forth gallery and all our extreme sports mad stuff.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 13th, 2005 at 5:46 pm and is filed under New Zealand. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.