(cross posted on Smorgasblog partner Thrown for a Loop)
Adjusting to life outside of law school is a trying experience. Mainly, this is because the yearlong dichotomy between working and going out gets thrown completely out of whack when the work portion of the week recedes into a neat little 40-hour box. You simply can’t party for the rest of it.
That doesn’t mean you can’t try.
After about a week of trying to balance working and going out in equal measure (about 7 hours per day on each, natch) it starts to wear you down. Where do you go when you’re worn down and can’t make it to the next bar? A diner.
For a few months, I’ve been hearing very nice things about Eleven City Diner, a new supposedly-authentic New York style diner/deli in Chicago’s South Loop. This post was going to be a review of the food we had there on Saturday, but the food, although good, was not as memorable as the highest waiter of all time.
With his hat pulled down to shield his eyes and five days of stubble on his face serving as a testament to his scatterbrained nature, our waiter stood behind the counter where we sat, staring at the soda fountain. Then he went to the touch-screen order-entry device and stared at it for a few minutes. He paced towards us, so we perked up, ready to order and very badly in need of some water. He looked at the people sitting next to us, got distracted by something in the distance above us – my guess is the ceiling fan – then went back to the other side of the counter.
After about 10 more minutes of aimless wandering, he came over to take our order. Our orders were simple. My lunch companion and I were both getting Reubens and soups; one chicken and one matzo ball. The matzo ball order was accepted without trouble, but our space-cadet waiter stumbled on the concept of chicken soup.
“So… you mean you just want, like, the broth?”
“No, I’d like chicken soup.”
“Because all the soup has chicken broth in it… the chicken noodle, the matzo ball, the, ummmm, kreplach…”
“Which one of those soups has the word ‘chicken’ in the name?”
“Whaaaaa?”
…and so on. Eventually, we were able to convey our uncomplicated desires for simple food, and he went on his way, having written nothing down.
Then he came back.
“Ummmm, what did you order again?”
This time, we knew to be very specific about the type of soup we wanted. He hovered around the touch screen for a while, then had a very, very hard time entering in two sandwiches, two soups and two drinks into a machine he supposedly uses all day.
After a wait far briefer than the time it took to get his attention after we sat down, one Reuben arrived, accompanied by a corned beef sandwich. No soup. The chef, who brought it out, was a little stunned by how wrong the order was, apologized and brought back the corned beef. We had to ask him for utensils, since the waiter never brought those either.
The chef spoke to our waiter and then went back to the kitchen. The waiter came to us and had the gall to ask, “what was wrong with the order?”
How about, “it was wrong!” How about, of the four items you punched into the computer, straight off the menu without modifications, you had a 25% success rate in terms of getting us what we wanted. How about, I know the tiles on the wall are interesting to stare at, but we’re hungover and hungry and why don’t you just contemplate the mysteries of the universe at home instead of when your paying customers want their damn Reubens?
Soon, our food came out, but the soup arrived at the same time as the replacement Reuben, which is very, very bad diner/deli style. How do you decide which one gets cold while you eat the other?
All told, the Reuben, despite the inauthentic mass of cheese on top, was darn good.
*
*I ate the pickle before photographing the sandwich.
What was the only time he behaved like an attentive waiter? When the check arrived. Tried as I did to wait for him to get distracted by a drizzle of chocolate syrup on the counter or a bicycle going down the street outside, he focused with laser-like intensity on the check. What reason would I possibly have for stiffing him?