The Regular Guy's Restaurant Review

The Regular Guy’s Restaurant Review

“You are a sensible man, and you don't let good things that come your way slip by.”

-The Inspector General, Nikolai Gogol

Letter to the Editor of the Evening Journal:

Dear Sir,

My wife and I very much enjoy reading Marcel’s Restaurant Review column, but we could never afford to dine at one of the places he writes about. Could you please ask Marcel to write a column about a less pricey dining establishment where the average guy could take his wife, and maybe even his children, out for dinner? There are probably many such places in the city, and I would appreciate Marcel’s thoughts on this before I spend any of my hard-earned cash.

Thank you,

Joe Bartman

----------

“Marcel, we’ve got a great idea for your next column.”

Marcel was generally not receptive to “new” ideas from a third party as he was of the mindset that his ideas were superior to all others. His response dripped with sarcasm.

“Really?”

“Yes, instead of writing about all these high-falutin' restaurants you go to all the time, we’re going to send you to a more modest place, a place where the average couple could enjoy a nice meal without going broke.”

Marcel, accustomed to dining at the finest restaurants in New York, looked uncomfortable with the proposition. “Modest” and “average” were words not usually associated with the man who soared high in the city’s social circles.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, we got a letter from a customer suggesting we run a review like that. I think our readers will love it.”

“I already don’t like it, but exactly what did you have in mind, Ted?”

“Well, I talked to the boys down in the mailroom, and they came up with a place that sounds perfect… Herb’s Diner on 28th Street.”

Marcel looked like he was about to become ill.

“A diner? You expect Marcel to have dinner at a… diner? You can’t be serious.”

“Our readers will love it, a real change of pace, step outside the box, shake things up a little, go against the…”

“Ok, I’ve got it. When am I supposed to go to…”

Marcel almost choked on the words.

“… Herb’s… Diner?”

“Anytime in the next two weeks. But you might want to go on a Saturday night. That’s when they run their Specials. This week it’s Salisbury Steak, and next week it’s turkey with gravy.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Salisbury Steak? Turkey with gravy? Oh my God.”

“The guys in the mailroom really go for the Salisbury Steak. It comes with a dinner roll and a piece of pie.”

The great Marcel lowered his head and walked to the door. He could only mumble his response.

“Sounds… yummy.”

----------

“Martha! Red alert! Marcel is coming!”

“Who’s Marcel, Herb?”

“The Journal's food critic. His column can make or break a restaurant. He’s coming here Saturday night! Bernie, the guy who loves your chili, works in the mail room at the paper, and he got wind of it. He doesn’t know what time, but it will be this Saturday. We’ve got three days to get ready.”

“Get ready for what, Herb?”

“For Marcel! We’ve got to spruce this place up. If he says nice things about us, people will be fighting to get in.”

“Shouldn’t we just be who we are?”

“Martha, with a good review, we’ll bring in so much loot we could go on that vacation we always talk about.”

“I guess.”

Herb and Martha gave extra meaning to the term “flurry of activity.” Cleaning, scrubbing, sweeping, and touch-up painting on walls and the ceiling. New red and white checkered oilcloth tablecloths and candles.

“Martha, is our granddaughter Susie still taking violin lessons?”

“Herb! What a splendid idea! She can stroll around Marcel’s table and play.”

“Does she know any songs?”

“You don’t play songs on a violin, Herb. You just play violin sounds.”

“Terrific! Give her a call, Martha.”

“And we should get a waiter. Fancy joints always have some guy for a waiter.”

“My cousin Freddy could do it, Martha. He’d be perfect. He went to France once. Maybe he knows some French words.”

“That would be a nice touch, Herb.”

“Martha, how many grandchildren do we have?”

“Six. How could you not know that? Oh, wait. No, it’s seven. Why?”

“Maybe they could sing some songs. They all go to the same school. There must be something they could sing.”

“Herb, it’s the Christmas season. I’m sure they know things like Jingle Bells and Rudolph.”

“Perfect! Little children singing Christmas songs. Who wouldn’t love that?”

“What about parking, Herb? We don’t want him walking through the snow.”

“Valet parking! Now you’re cooking with gas, Martha. What a great idea! Who could we get?”

“Herb, did your Uncle Marty get his license reinstated yet?”

“I know he’s out of jail. I’ll check on the license thing. Knowing Marty, I don’t think that will matter so much.”

“The fancy joints always serve wine with their meals, Herb. Do we still have that bottle of wine your mom gave us for Christmas last year?”

“We should. That will be perfect.”

Despite the pressure of Marcel’s upcoming visit, Herb and Martha slept well that night, secure in the knowledge that preparation is the key to success.

----------

“Ted, be reasonable. You can’t make me go to some place called Bert’s Diner.”

“Herb’s Diner, Marcel.”

“Yes, Herb’s. I’ll be the laughing stock of the Restaurant Review Guild. Francine over at the Chronicle will have a field day with this, Ted. The whole paper will look stupid. And I’ll never be taken seriously. What’s next? A review of the concession stands at Yankee Stadium?”

“Mmm… You know what, Marcel? That might be interesting.”

“Stop it, Ted.”

“Now, Marcel, you know we always want you to go undercover.”

This aspect of his profession annoyed the world-class egoist Marcel. What was the point of being famous if no one knew who you were?

“Yes, I never want to get special treatment because of my position.”

“So, Marcel, you might have to dress down a bit, you know, you can’t go into Herb’s in something that you’d wear to Masa’s or Per Se’s. Do you have anything like that?”

“Of course not.”

“We’re about the same size. I’ll find you something. Maybe one of my old bowling shirts.”

Marcel stared off into nowhere as his mind went blank.

----------

Saturday Night. Herb ran through his checklist with Martha.

“New tablecloths in place?”

“Check.”

“Candles lit?”

“Check.”

“Violinist ready?”

“Check.”

“Freddy here in his rented tuxedo?”

“Check.”

“Children’s choir ready?”

“Check.”

“Marty ready with his chauffeur’s cap?”

“Haven’t seen him.”

“What?!”

Herb pulled out his phone.

“Dammit, Marty, where the hell are you? I gave you twenty bucks… You overslept? Marty, it’s six o’clock in the evening!... Fine, just get over here… Yes, definitely, wear a clean shirt. Yes, and your dress pants… Yes, and your good shoes. Marty, we went through all of this. Forget the shower. There’s no time. Just get over here!”

----------

Martha maintained a watchful eye at the front window. Freddy stood at the counter with a hand towel from his bathroom draped over his forearm. The children’s choir laughed and giggled in a corner of the room. Susie tuned her violin. Herb stirred the turkey gravy and Salisbury steak sauce. Marty stood curbside, awaiting his first customer while wondering exactly where he was supposed to park the patrons' cars. In his excitement, Herb had neglected to provide this seemingly critical piece of information.

Herb’s repeat customers were impressed… and puzzled by the new amenities.

“Holy crap, Herb, table cloths! What’s next? Real glasses?”

“Candles and a violin? Next time, I might bring my wife. She’s got a birthday coming up.”

The place was always busy on a Saturday night as Herb’s Salisbury steak special was well known throughout the neighborhood. Herb and Martha knew every one of their customers by name, so it was the unfamiliar face they awaited. Martha remained at her post with a clear view of the street in both directions. Her eyes searched for the mysterious Marcel with the intensity of Ahab seeking the white whale.

“Stranger alert! Stranger alert!”

It was a command that snapped all to attention. Even the customers’ eyes were on Martha.

“What’s he driving, Martha, one of those fancy foreign jobs?”

“Uh… he’s not driving. He’s actually pushing a shopping cart.”

“Wow, this guy is good. Bernie said he goes undercover, but I never thought he’d go that far. Everyone to your stations!”

Martha, Susie, the seven grandchildren, Freddy, and Marty all hurried to their respective posts. Herb’s command was given with such authority that even some customers quickly stood up and looked for a place to be.

“Marty! Get out there and park Marcel’s… shopping cart.”

“Park his shopping cart? Where?”

“Wherever you’ve been parking all the cars. By the way, where have you been parking all the cars?”

“All along Jefferson Street.”

“Marty, there’s no parking on Jefferson Street.”

“There is now.”

“Oh, my goodness. We’ll deal with that later. Just get out there and take care of Marcel.”

Marty hurried out of Herb’s and encountered the mysterious stranger peering into the front window. The man was wearing a worn overcoat, faded jeans with holes in both knees, tennis shoes, and a frayed Yankees baseball cap that topped his disheveled brown hair. He hadn’t shaved for days.

“Can I take your cart, sir?”

“No, you can’t take my cart! This is my cart. Go find your own cart!”

“Sir, I’m just going to put your cart in a safe place while you dine here at Herb’s.”

“Dine? I wasn’t …”

Marty glanced around and spoke in a whisper.

“Listen… you can level with me… Marcel. Herb wants…”

“Marcel? No, it’s Melvin, and I…”

“Ok, ok, I get it… ‘Melvin’. I know you’re undercover, so we’ll go with Melvin for tonight. It’ll be our little secret. Listen, I know why you’re here, but I just want to tell you that Herb is a really good guy, so I hope you say nice things about his diner in the paper. Martha’s a real peach, too. They are both good, hard-working people, so please be kind in your review.”

Melvin looked confused.

“My review?”

“Yeah, your review or article or whatever you call it. And try to say something nice about the tablecloths and the candles. Martha’s real proud of that.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be kind when you write about the children.”

“Why not? I love children.”

“And I just want you to know your dinner’s going to be on the house, so don’t be bashful when you order. Get the extra dinner roll, and what the heck, get yourself one of Martha’s brownies. Herb wants to impress you, so whatever you order, it’ll be free.”

The mysterious stranger looked puzzled.

“Free?”

“Yes, free. I’ll take you inside now and introduce you to Herb, and then I’ll park your shopping cart.”

Melvin’s puzzled look turned into a smile.

----------

“Herb, this is…”

Marty gave Herb a quick wink.

“… Melvin. He came here this evening for one of your delicious meals.”

“Melvin! How nice to meet you. And this is my charming wife, Martha.”

“It’s nice to meet you folks.”

“Melvin, this is Freddy. He’ll be your waiter this evening. Freddy’s been to France.”

“Really? That’s… great.”

“Yeah, so forgive him if he starts spouting out some French stuff. You know how those French guys are.”

“For sure.”

“Freddy, say some French stuff to Melvin. I’m sure he’d get a kick out of it.”

Freddy remained awkwardly silent.

“That’s ok. I’m ready to order… in English.”

“Freddy, you take good care of Melvin here, you know, like how we take care of all of our customers… every day… all the time. That’s our motto- take care of everyone all the time... while they enjoy one of our delicious meals."

Confident that things were off to a good start, Herb and Martha retreated to the kitchen.

“Herb, that guy can’t be Marcel. He looks like a bum. I think he’s a homeless person.”

“Bernie said he goes undercover, and Marty says he’s Marcel. He even talked to him about the article.”

“Right, and don’t forget, your Uncle Marty has a couple of screws loose.”

Herb looked concerned as he looked out the kitchen door to see Freddy tending to the mysterious stranger.

“Can I get you something to drink, Melvin, maybe something from our selection of fine wines?”

Melvin’s smile was growing bigger by the moment.

“Yes, that sounds good.”

Herb was pleased that Melvin seemed to like the food, but he was surprised at how much of it he ordered- the Salisbury steak special, a cheeseburger, two orders of fries, and Martha’s Meatball sandwich.

“Holy cats, Herb, the guy is going to eat us out of house and home. Do you really think the newspaper’s food critic would gobble food down like he’s never eaten before?”

“I don’t know, Martha. It does seem a little strange. But Bernie said Marcel would be here by seven, and it’s eight-thirty. It must be Marcel. I just wish he didn’t eat so much.”

Melvin liked the children’s Christmas songs and joined in a hearty rendition of Jingle Bells. He taught them as much as he could remember of Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer and asked each of them what they wanted for Christmas. Susie asked the mysterious stranger what he wanted for Christmas. Melvin’s response was a blank stare, silence, and the hint of a tear in his eye.

Children can sometimes sense things that adults can’t see. They liked Melvin.

“Where do you live, Melvin?”

Melvin looked down at the table.

“I… I live…not too far from here.”

----------

Patrons would finish their meals and leave, but Melvin lingered. He spoke to the children.

“Who knows the real story of Christmas… and not the Santa one?”

He smiled as the children gave their fractured versions of the story of the birth of Jesus.

“Yes, that’s right. We must always keep that in mind at Christmas.”

Melvin gave the children the official version… Mary and Joseph, no room at the inn, shepherds, wise men, a bright shining star, the manger, and the baby Jesus. The children listened intently. He spoke as though he had told the story many times before, in words a child could understand.

Herb and Martha were huddled in the kitchen, occasionally peeking out the door to study the strange figure at the table surrounded by children. Marty and Freddy were right there with the young ones.

“Herb, Bernie just came in. Go ask him about the great Marcel.”

Bernie shook the snow off his jacket and sat down at a table as Herb approached.

“Hey, Herb. Did you get my message?”

“No, what message?”

“Marcel couldn’t make it tonight… you know, with it being so close to Christmas. Maybe next week.”

It is indeed an uncomfortable feeling when one realizes they have been the victim of their own foolishness.

“I told you he was a homeless person, Herb. We’re lucky the rest of our customers didn’t get up and leave with him sitting there.”

“I feel like a real dope, Martha. I can’t believe we catered to a bum the whole night.”

“Are you going to throw him out?”

“I’ll just tell him to leave. I guess I can’t be mad at him. It’s not his fault. I’m just glad that Marcel didn’t show up to see that guy in our place. I’ll get him out of here.”

As Herb headed toward Melvin’s table, Susie put her violin to her shoulder and began to play. She did know a song… Silent Night. She played beautifully. The entire place went quiet. The remaining customers stopped eating, dropped their knives and forks, stood next to their tables, and Melvin led them in singing the words…

“Silent night, holy night,

All is calm, all is bright…”

Herb stopped in his tracks. The sweet sounds of Susie's violin and the soft tones of Melvin's voice brought him to his moment of clarity. It took a small child and a homeless person, but he got there. Christmas. He walked to Melvin’s side, put his hand on his shoulder, and joined the chorus.

---------

Christmas Eve. Herb and Martha had insisted that Marvin stop by the annual family get-together at the restaurant.

“I’ll just stay for a couple of minutes.”

“Don’t be silly, Melvin. You’re welcome here. Maybe just don’t eat as much you did the other night.”

Smiles.

“I’ll try.”

It had been on Herb’s mind since the night of mistaken identity. They couldn’t offer Melvin much. He would be the head waiter at Herb’s Diner in exchange for tips and a room at Marty’s house.

Who wins on deals like this?

“Thank you, Herb.”

It’s a Christmas thing.

“No… thank you, Melvin.”