Word: waitering
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...Black Forest, past his fellow guests and their nurses. On vacation, he looked as chipper as ever, walking in the morning amid the trees, kneeling for as long as an hour in the chapel, while Paul, his son, said Mass. He joshed the hotel servants; when a waiter with a Rhineland accent brought the corkscrew to open some 40-year-old brandy, he insisted that the man drink with...
...week," says Saporiti, "I decided to test my friend. The conditions: he could introduce me to the most 'exquisite' dish of my career and if my palate agreed, I would pay the bill. We stopped at a restaurant where my friend whispered some hasty instructions to the waiter. Minutes later came wooden forks and an earthenware crock full of hundreds of steaming, crackling, silvery creatures. And I had my first taste of baby eels (angulas), shiny and tiny as pins. They are boiled in a brew of black sauce and garlic, then fried in sizzling olive oil with...
Harry Dichter is a waiter at Philadelphia's Ambassador Vegetarian and Dairy Restaurant (pickled herring, lox salad, borsch, carp). The customers know that he is fast, polite and can instantly memorize a complicated order without making a mishmash out of it. What many do not know is that Harry, at 53, is also a man of music. He is one of the top collectors and publishers of American music in the U.S., although, as he admits, "I can't read or play a note...
...down and down interminably." It does not stop until the Devil ("stylishly dressed in tails that hung on [his] hairy top vertebra as on a rusty nail") opens the grille and leads the lovers into a hellish hotel bedroom. Wine is brought them by a very "stern, very grave" waiter with a bullet hole in his temple: he is the lady's husband, who has just committed suicide. "I hope you've been comfortable," says the Devil, when the anguished lovers scuttle back to the elevator. "Hell is nothing to complain of ... We've had everything modernized...
...martinis so that he can trip off the platform as well. And, clutching his explosive glass, he is soon contemptuously dismissing, in a flush of ignorance and fluency, the poetry of those androgynous literary ladies with three names who produce a kind of verbal ectoplasm to order as a waiter dishes up spaghetti-only to find that the fiercest of these, a wealthy huntress of small, seedy lions (such as himself) ... is his hostess for the evening...