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Your table is (finally) ready
By JANET K. KEELER, Times Staff Writer
We drum tense fingers on the steering wheel when red lights refuse to morph to green. The crowded grocery store deli? Why don't they hire more people for pete's sake, we've been standing here for five minutes! Yet, when the charming, bright-faced hostess at Brand X Bar and Grill tells us that dinner is 90 minutes away, many of us settle in for the wait like we're putting on comfy house slippers. Waiting for a table is standard operating procedure at most Tampa Bay area restaurants that don't take reservations, especially during the winter when visitors from colder climates join our ranks. Some restaurants, specifically midprice chains such as Carrabba's, Outback Steakhouse, Bahama Breeze and the Cheesecake Factory, have lines year-round during peak dinner hours almost every day, 6 to 9 p.m. On our way to that crowded restaurant, we probably drive by several less flashy mom-and-pop dining spots with empty parking places and tables. So, why are we so willing to wait an hour for dinner? Because, says University of Florida English professor and pop culture expert James B. Twitchell, we interpret the long lines as an endorsement of the food. The restaurant with openings on a Saturday night can't be that good, we think, or people would be spilling out the door, right? "Essentially what we taste is a brand, not the food," Twitchell says. "The brand (popularity) is generated by the interest we see that other people have in it. We're willing to wait because the wait validates the taste." He maintains that most of us couldn't tell the difference in a blind taste test between a sirloin, cooked medium rare from Outback, Lone Star or Sam Seltzer's. On a Saturday night in early February, St. Petersburg Times staff writers fanned out across the Tampa Bay area to gauge the wait and observe the scene at five popular restaurants. One was lucky enough to get a table in seven minutes; the unluckiest waited nearly two hours. They found out, though, what some of you might have suspected all along: the restaurant bar has replaced the at-home cocktail party. It's commonplace for friends and families to meet at a restaurant for dinner rather than have one of them invite the gang to her house. That would mean cleaning, shopping, cooking and cleaning again. The lounge also becomes host to the cocktail parties that used to take place in our living rooms. "People talk to strangers at a restaurant bar," says Renee Frengut, Boca Raton consumer psychologist and president of e-Qualitative Research. "In some ways, the wait in the bar has a Cheers feeling to it. It's a place where you can say to the person next to you, 'What an interesting watch,' and then strike up a conversation." If you don't drink and don't smoke, what do you do? It would behoove you to become a sparkling, patient coversationalist or learn to love the game "I Spy" when kids are in tow. Frengut says we expect the wait at most midprice, large restaurants, whether they be chains or tourist destinations. "People build waiting into their restaurant experience," she says. "I know if I'm going to Outback, I go an hour before I want to eat." At more expensive and/or smaller restaurants, customers don't want to wait. There, they expect to make reservations. A wait at a fancy, pricey restaurant would make us mad, Frengut said. Restaurateurs who take reservations do so because they don't want their customers to wait. They want to make them feel special and pampered. Proprietors of first-come, first-served restaurants are concerned about lost revenue when they hold tables for people who don't show up. Many popular restaurants, such as Carrabba's, will put your name on the waiting list if you call ahead on the same day. That way, you can wait at home and in the car. Here is what Times reporters found when they ventured out on Feb. 2, the night of the Gasparilla pirate invasion in Tampa: * * * Party No. 1 Frenchy's Rockaway Grill, Clearwater Beach
The answering machine at Frenchy's Rockaway Grill actually gave hope that a long line could be avoided. "For reservations, press 2," the voice said. Press 2 and the same cheerful woman's voice said, "We apologize that we are unable to provide reservations due to the fact that we are a first-come, first-served casual restaurant." Oh well. When Party No. 1 arrived at Frenchy's on Clearwater Beach, just after 7 p.m., the hostess said the wait would be 30 minutes for outside, 45 to an hour for inside. They opted for first-available. The waiting area was a small, brightly painted porch with only a couple of benches. Mostly, people leaned against the railings, trying to keep their toes from being stepped on by others. Diners could wait out on the sand -- but not with alcoholic drink in hand. That's against the law. By 7:15 p.m., the crowd on the porch had thinned a bit. Even so, a woman stomped by, saying, "There's an hour and a half wait." Party No. 1 was seated outside after a 30-minute wait. Almost immediately, they realized that they should have waited the extra 15 or 30 minutes for a seat inside. While the Frenchy's patio is great on a sunny day, the wind off the Gulf of Mexico was chilly, even early in the evening on a hot February day. * * * Party No. 2 Hungry Fisherman, Indian Rocks Beach
When Party No. 2 arrived at the Hungry Fisherman on Indian Rocks Beach at 7:05 p.m., the parking lot was nearly full, surely a bad sign. But there was no one sitting outside in the large, lofty entryway. On their last visit to the Fisherman they stood in line for more than an hour with all of Florida it seemed. In the middle of summer. The woman at the front desk assured them they would be holding a menu in 20 minutes and then handed them a light-up coaster/pager, icon of the modern restaurant dining experience. Party No. 2 wandered through the adjacent gift shop, perusing $1.99 Christmas ornaments made of shells and bags of plastic "museum quality alligators," a bargain at any price. The gift shop was a definite draw for the legions of tourists who frequent the longtime Pinellas restaurant. They had just spied the necklaces adorned with jumping dolphins and flipping whale tails, when the coaster blinked them to dinner. The hostess was surprised when they were pleased to be seated in just 25 minutes. "Plenty of people don't think this is quick," she said. A woman seated nearby in one of the restaurant's several dining areas remarked to a waiter they knew that they had wanted to be seated in his section. "But we figured we'd better grab the first table we could," said the diner, sounding relieved that she was eating before the stroke of midnight. * * * Party No. 3 Carrabba's, St. Petersburg
As soon as Party No. 3 entered the parking lot at Carrabba's on Tyrone Boulevard in St. Petersburg, they knew. So they devised a game plan: He would hunt for a parking space; she would run in and put their name on the waiting list, thereby procuring the coaster/pager. At 7:12 p.m., they were told the wait would be between 90 and 100 minutes. At least 1-1/2 hours, they swiftly calculated. On the outside patio, they listened to jazz oozing out of the speakers and wished they'd brought jackets. After about 10 minutes, a server walked by and asked if she could bring them anything. "Food," Party No. 3 blurted out. They shared appetizers, which took their minds off the breezy cold. Still, they kept consulting the clock. They were seated at 8:30 p.m., about an hour and 15 minutes -- 75 minutes in restaurant-speak -- after they arrived. By 9:10, they were walking out the door with the doggie bag. It took almost twice as long to get seated as it did to order, eat and pay the bill. * * * Party No. 4 Cody's Original Road House, St. Petersburg
The front of Cody's on Fourth Street N in St. Petersburg looked like a Country & Western dance hall somewhere in Texas. Staff in jeans and checkered shirts, peanut shells and the sweet smell of "bar-b-que." The dozen or so people waiting for tables were leaning on wooden rails or sitting on benches, popping peanuts, watching the sky and listening to Alan Jackson on speakers from inside. Cody's doesn't give pagers to people waiting for a table. And hosts don't call your name over a P.A. system. At Cody's, it's in the cards. People waiting get a playing card, and when it's your turn, your card is called. It's a fine idea as long as people don't get cute and start bringing their own decks of cards. "Hey, wait! I had the jack of clubs, too!" The person taking names for the waiting list dealt a five of spades and said 15 minutes. She was wrong. Seven minutes later, she called the card. Party No. 4 had a winner. Now remember, there's nothing subtle about Cody's, and if you know that going in, you're fine. This is a place where you chuck your peanut shells on the floor, have to talk LIKE THIS to be heard by your dining companions, and where you can scribble your name or a message or anything on your table, your lamp, or wherever else you can find empty space. And on a busy night, like most Saturdays are, it gets a little hectic in there. "Could you guys take me with you?" an exhausted server asked a party on their way out after she set down a tray heaped with plates of food. "It's not even 7:30 yet." * * * Party No. 5 Bahama Breeze, Tampa
Party No. 5 arrived at Bahama Breeze, a rambling restaurant with a huge outdoor deck along the Courtney Campbell Parkway, at about 6:45 p.m. Right away, they decided it was a good thing that there was plenty of outdoor seating, several bars and a singer doing a good job on the Bob Marley hits. Because even to get on the list for a table at Bahama Breeze, they waited in line for seven minutes. Linda, the pleasant young woman at the desk, gave them a flashing pager. "Do you know how long it will be?" they asked. "Yes," Linda responded. They waited, expectantly. "Do you want me to tell you?" she asked. Oh, sure. "Sixty to 90 minutes." They gulped and went off to join the crowd -- many sporting Gasparilla beads, sunburned faces and dazed expressions -- clutching pagers in one hand, cocktails in the other. It was no problem procuring drinks at the bar (there were two outside), and there were plenty of places to sit and admire the water view, the singer and the crowd. A couple of drinks and an hour later, Party No. 5 was cold and went inside. They perused the gift shop. They checked out the inside bar (packed, of course). They even sat in the child-sized wicker chairs to watch the tropical fish in the tank. At 8:25, they ran out of things to do and returned to Linda for an update. "Ten minutes," she was telling a young boy who had asked her what we were about to. "That's what you told me the last time," the kid whined. Party No. 5 did not whine, although they wanted to. They were told it would be a few minutes. At 8:40 they were getting testy. Linda looked at their pager and said it should have gone off already. "Modern technology," she said with a what-can-you-do? smile and shrug. She sent them inside to see Becky. They braced for another wait, but by 8:45 they were seated in a roomy booth in the no-smoking section, as requested. The service was swift and courteous. Bahama Breeze employees know how to handle cranky diners. They were out the door by 9:45 -- meaning it took twice as long to get a table as it did to order, eat and pay. * * * All of this waiting makes us think of former New York Yankees catcher Yogi Berra, almost more famous for his crazy one-liners than his baseball prowess. "Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded," he said. Except that we all do. -- St. Petersburg Times staff members Wilma Norton (Party No. 1), Janet K. Keeler (Party No. 2) J. Nealy-Brown (Party No. 3), Tom Zucco (Party No. 4) and Charlotte Sutton (Party No. 5) dined out for this assignment.
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From the Times Taste section From the features wire |
