Of Empty Restaurants

Winnipeg reputedly has the largest number of restaurants per capita of any city in North America. As you can imagine, competition is extremely tough, and many do not survive the first year in business. Deep pockets help, but the bottom line is quickly developing a base clientele who willingly supply good old word of mouth to spread the news of your food, service and ambiance.
Now, I have been called cheap, and tend not to frequent restaurants as a rule. Being an amateur cook has alerted me to the actual cost of my favourite dishes, most of which I can make myself, and hardened me to prices. And did I mention I am cheap? I may toss this bit of insight off in a cavalier fashion, but it has actually taken me years to accept this perceived flaw in my character. But do not misunderstand, I love a good meal in a quiet restaurant. The quieter the better, especially if I am with someone I love. To paraphrase "a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou..." I would say great food, an occasional visit from a server, and leave us alone suits me right down to the ground. The natural inclination might be to think that an empty dining spot is not a good dining spot, but if they weren't good at something, they would be belly up and gone in no time in this highly competitive market. For example, many Chinese outlets survive on pickup and delivery, not in-house dining, and I have discovered that if you love their food delivered, it can prove sensational served right there, a few feet from the kitchen. One also is rewarded with what the Chinese call "the sizzle of the wok", which means that most food is best served straight from the cooking utensil to your plate, and not placed into containers to cool, mush, and generally degenerate over the half hour or more it takes to reach you at home. There is no comparing pan fried shrimp served sizzling from the wok to the same gooey offering that comes with all the crunch factor steamed away from being enclosed and in transit.
For years with my wife, starting when we were dating and pure lust had opened my wallet wide to the eager outstretched hands of restaurateurs city wide, I had a knack for picking out interesting places to try that would invariably be empty when we arrived. This was not by design, as I was a relative stranger to the city at the time, but rather I thought a devine coincidence which allowed my love and I to dawdle over meals with no clatter and hubbub to distract us from gazing into each others eyes, still marvelling at the excitement racing through our minds, bodies, and hearts over this new found glory which we humans refer to as love. We were in the stage I heard referred to as the "Wonder of Me", which I believe aptly describes a burgeoning romance between two erudite souls, where each new revelation from a lover only confirms our good judgment and the righteous serendipity of it all. As we passed beyond this stage, where I would have eagerly offered every cent I possessed to be in her company for one minute, and as my wallet slowly closed up again to it's natural state, we found that even though our date night dinners were not as frequent, we had not lost this talent for finding excellent dining holes with no one in them. Besides the obvious lack of distractions to impede the cause of a loving and lustful evening together, we found that we started to get to know the proprietors of our favourite spots, and they us. This led to times of enjoying fresh made pasta dishes that weren't on the menu being served up "homestyle", while chatting happily with the owners, as we all sat together. It meant being serenaded with show tunes by Asian owners who loved the rhythm of my last name and would sing "Old Mcdonald had a farm" when we appeared. (never mind that the name is O'Donnell)
It meant stiff tumblers of scotch offered gratis by a Chinese grandmother as an appetizer when we appeared in tears just before closing, fresh from watching that damned "Sophie's Choice", the drinks accompanied by a lecture about the foolishness of watching sad movies when you are young and in love. "You should be happy!", she chastised us, and more sage advice was ever offered. It all added up to making an evening out all the more enjoyable, this common touch from common places. I have nothing against some pert young thing saying "My name is so and so", teeth beaming professionally, all scrubbed and willing to serve amidst the chaos of a packed house. But, give me Mama Kim Tuong at the deli, who would sometimes order the cook to make my favourite noodles even though they weren't on that day's menu, or the slender Vietnamese owner who would lazily drape himself into a nearby chair and chat with us about this and that while we waited for our dinner, or the bada-bing bada-boom conversations with the struggling Italian couple who would greet and treat us like family, or the hard working Newfie pair that always cooked my breakfast bacon just so, and offered their newspaper for me to read.
Okay, so I'm cheap, and maybe I haven't helped anyone through college with exorbitant tipping designed to show what a sport I am, but I spent my money on good food, prepared by good people in good places (most of which are still there), despite the comings and goings of the glittering trendy meet and greet establishments which flash onto the scene, make bushels of cash, then disappear overnight to reappear as yet another, even trendier spot for the card carrying masses. Elitist? Moi? You bet.
Give me "Old McDonald" everytime!