Pay Up and Get Out, Right Now!
Whether it is an exclusive restaurant or the Mexican restaurant around the corner — as soon as the patrons have finished eating, the waitstaff becomes uncomfortable. Manners — and bad habits — in the United States.
The restaurant is called Gracias Madre, a vegan Mexican restaurant in the so-called Mission district. Yes, you read that right — a vegan Mexican restaurant. Such places exist in San Francisco. Here, people think so much of modernized food that even Latin American immigrants cook animal-free versions of their recipes. The reward for their trouble: They can sell their dishes to contemporary cuisine nerds at highly elevated prices.
Despite this, Gracias Madre is not a restaurant for ecofreaks and health disciples. Hipsters and bohemians queue in front of the restaurant in order to be allowed to feast beneath the religious devotional objects. Luckily, we arrive at the right time. It is slightly after 6 p.m. and we get the last two seats — at the bar. The rest of the restaurant is already full or reserved. In California, people are ahead of their time, including when it comes to dining.
We choose empañadas stuffed with plantains, as well as enchiladas with mushrooms and beans in a rich cocoa sauce, accompanied by guacamole, tortillas and two glasses of wine. We eat; it’s good. At some point the waitress walks past. Charming smile, sickly sweet voice: “Is everything OK, guys? Are you enjoying your meal?” Yes, thank you, everything is good.
We eat up contentedly and don’t just feel full, but completely satisfied. Almost transported to a different country.
Two minutes later, the previously friendly waitress slams the bill down on the table without a word. $66.25. On top of that, the hint is to tip between 15 and 25 percent, which is expected. Distraught, we look at each other.
Such Cheek! And Not Particularly Charming, Either
Did we do something wrong? Unwittingly offended the waitress? Not praised the empañadas enough or chewed with our mouths open? Why else would they be throwing us out?
The feeling of insecurity is huge because Gracias Madre is not the first restaurant in which this has happened to us. The exact same thing happened to us in an Asian café recently. And the seafood restaurant in the Marina district wanted to settle up straight away too. Are Germans seen as bill-dodgers in this country?
The evening, which had started off so beautifully, had suddenly clouded over after 52 minutes. We drink up in Gracias Madre and hurry outside like hunted beings. We stand in the street, feeling rather perplexed. It’s still much too early to go home. Our spirits are at rock bottom and we start to vent our outrage: They can’t go around ordering people out with a polite smile as soon as they’ve consumed their last mouthful. Such cheek, and not at all charming, either.
(No) Cheery “Cheerio!”
We’re still complaining about it the next day, so a friend explains it to us: Americans like dining out but not for long. Eating serves the purpose of food intake — no more and no less. For Americans, German hospitality and European laissez-faire are clearly not only foreign in the literal sense.
Here, it’s all geared toward efficiency. Those who don’t order more have to leave. Ultimately, the next guests are already waiting with the attendant at the entrance for a table. Perhaps that is why fast-food restaurants are so successful. Even in expensive restaurants, people don’t allow themselves to sit there for a long time. That wouldn’t just incense the waiters but would also create a bad feeling for the guests themselves — assuming they are native.
But where do they go when the evening is still young? To the next bar. The Americans stay there until the place closes or they fall off their stools. Only then are they ordered out of the bar with a polite smile, probably not at all charmingly.
The restaurant is called Gracias Madre, a vegan Mexican restaurant in the so-called Mission district. Yes, you read that right — a vegan Mexican restaurant. Such places exist in San Francisco. Here, people think so much of modernized food that even Latin American immigrants cook animal-free versions of their recipes. The reward for their trouble: They can sell their dishes to contemporary cuisine nerds at highly elevated prices.
Despite this, Gracias Madre is not a restaurant for ecofreaks and health disciples. Hipsters and bohemians queue in front of the restaurant in order to be allowed to feast beneath the religious devotional objects. Luckily, we arrive at the right time. It is slightly after 6 p.m. and we get the last two seats — at the bar. The rest of the restaurant is already full or reserved. In California, people are ahead of their time, including when it comes to dining.
We choose empañadas stuffed with plantains, as well as enchiladas with mushrooms and beans in a rich cocoa sauce, accompanied by guacamole, tortillas and two glasses of wine. We eat; it’s good. At some point the waitress walks past. Charming smile, sickly sweet voice: “Is everything OK, guys? Are you enjoying your meal?” Yes, thank you, everything is good.
We eat up contentedly and don’t just feel full, but completely satisfied. Almost transported to a different country.
Two minutes later, the previously friendly waitress slams the bill down on the table without a word. $66.25. On top of that, the hint is to tip between 15 and 25 percent, which is expected. Distraught, we look at each other.
Such Cheek! And Not Particularly Charming, Either
Did we do something wrong? Unwittingly offended the waitress? Not praised the empañadas enough or chewed with our mouths open? Why else would they be throwing us out?
The feeling of insecurity is huge because Gracias Madre is not the first restaurant in which this has happened to us. The exact same thing happened to us in an Asian café recently. And the seafood restaurant in the Marina district wanted to settle up straight away too. Are Germans seen as bill-dodgers in this country?
The evening, which had started off so beautifully, had suddenly clouded over after 52 minutes. We drink up in Gracias Madre and hurry outside like hunted beings. We stand in the street, feeling rather perplexed. It’s still much too early to go home. Our spirits are at rock bottom and we start to vent our outrage: They can’t go around ordering people out with a polite smile as soon as they’ve consumed their last mouthful. Such cheek, and not at all charming, either.
(No) Cheery “Cheerio!”
We’re still complaining about it the next day, so a friend explains it to us: Americans like dining out but not for long. Eating serves the purpose of food intake — no more and no less. For Americans, German hospitality and European laissez-faire are clearly not only foreign in the literal sense.
Here, it’s all geared toward efficiency. Those who don’t order more have to leave. Ultimately, the next guests are already waiting with the attendant at the entrance for a table. Perhaps that is why fast-food restaurants are so successful. Even in expensive restaurants, people don’t allow themselves to sit there for a long time. That wouldn’t just incense the waiters but would also create a bad feeling for the guests themselves — assuming they are native.
But where do they go when the evening is still young? To the next bar. The Americans stay there until the place closes or they fall off their stools. Only then are they ordered out of the bar with a polite smile, probably not at all charmingly.