Eddie’s Dining Pet Peeves: That Pretentious Waiter at the Table

Adeline loves eating, a lot and often, both at home and out. It usually goes well, but sometimes it doesn’t. In the series Sunday Roast, she shares her observations. This week: those conceited waiters.

Like almost the whole of the Netherlands, I was guilty of dining out in Belgium last month. Sorry not sorry. By the way, I’m so happy that we can simply eat out at home again now, but that aside, because I have something else to complain about.

I headed all the way south into Belgium, somewhere deep-deep-deep in the belly of Wallonia, to the smallest city in the world. Side by side, street after street, everywhere I looked: open wine bars, overcrowded restaurants and cosy little lunchrooms beckoned with their lights. It was a joy just to look at them—you get that when you’re suffering from a serious shortage.

Pardon My Not-So-Good French

So I put on a nice little outfit, rushed off on the first tip from a local and, upon entering, immediately knew what I hadn’t missed about the hospitality industry: the pretentious waiters.

In Wallonia, there’s first of all the fuss about which language you use, and that went wrong right away. The garçon in question looked at me as if I were out of my mind when I asked him to repeat the sentence he had whispered through a face mask. Flemish with a strong French accent, muffled by a mask—there’s simply no making sense of it.

Then I got the proverbial middle finger by being treated more haughtily than haughty. I really did try. With my biggest smile, I praised the food, nom-nom-nommed along with the bottle of wine, looked as content and satisfied as possible, and still that jerk (pardon my not-so-good French) looked and acted as if I were scum. It happens, better luck next time. That’s what I thought. But nothing could have been further from the truth.

The Middle Finger to the Chef

Two days later, after a solid fifteen-kilometre walk through the Belgian mud, I entered a restaurant in jeans, a nice jumper and fairly trendy sneakers. The restaurant where, the evening before, I had practically been welcomed with a red carpet. But this time the hostess looked as if I had escaped from the farm and walked straight into her hut. Her colleague wasn’t much better.

Whether I did realise that you had to order at least three dishes. The raised eyebrows because I ordered another perfectly decent glass of wine. Moving around the table in a very wide arc. And tossing the plates onto the table without explanation.

Not Welcome

I think the pretentious, conceited waiter may be the most irritating thing in the hospitality industry. And that’s saying something, given my repertoire of dining pet peeves. Nothing is as shitty as feeling unwelcome somewhere. Because what does such a nasty type actually think? That I’m perfectly fine with him/her/them completely ruining my evening? Not to mention the middle finger you raise to the chef who is working hard to put something beautiful on the table.

I dare say the food even tastes just a little less delicious because of it. Which was a real shame in Wallonia, because the chef had a Bib Gourmand. From now on, I’ll just eat out here again; at least I’m not the only annoying Dutch person coming in for a bite to eat.

Also read:

• Corona news: chocolate Easter bunnies in quarantine
• We need to talk about people who chew ice cream
• Dishes that (starred) chefs never put on the menu