Charged with choreographing the seating flow in a bustling restaurant one hopes that it’s being done with skill and good common sense. At best it can be a thankless task.

It’s an art form, really, of which legends are made in the larger universe of posh dining establishments. World-class dining is often synonymous with getting the right table.

In Portland there’s no such thing as a good or bad table. That’s left to the likes of New York, LA, London and other international cities where placement and position are ruthlessly guarded.

In places like La Grenouille or the old Caravelle in New York if you weren’t seated in the front section you were considered inconsequential indeed. And only out of town visitors to The Four Seasons would request the Pool Room at lunch when those in the know summarily require power tables in the Bar Room

Though I have noticed some exceptions in little old Portland. Certain tables at Back Bay Grill for instance are often requested when reservations are made. Some diners will only sit downstairs at Cinque Terre or Five Fifty Five.

Of course, we’re not apt to see Henry Kissinger or Barbara Walters sitting next to us here. So for us and in so many other cities it’s a nonevent.

Still, managing a traffic jam of diners at our popular restaurants is often done so badly by those in charge that you wonder how the establishment stays in business when those of us are given short-shrift by personnel who perhaps should seek other forms of employment.

Consider the following incident.

The other night we went to a busy, popular Portland restaurant that doesn’t take reservations except for large groups. I like the restaurant a lot. The food is delicious, the atmosphere is lively and it’s the sort of establishment where you should be able to drop in easily.

That night it was packed. The manager told us it wouldn’t be long before we would get a table. There were two parties of four ahead of us, and the next
table for two would be ours.

We repaired to the bar, which was busy with people eating or just having a drink and a good time.

I surveyed the room for a moment, just casually looking at the prospect of tables. It was then that I noticed an unoccupied table for two. It was set with place settings—napkins, silverware, water glasses.

On either side of this table were two parties of six in the middle of their meals.

I assumed that we would be led directly there in moments. The manager was busy doing other things.

After 10 minutes we were still not offered a table. I hate to be pushy or thought of as the proverbial assertive New Yorker who demands instant satisfaction in the steely chill of self importance.

Finally, if only ready to pounce, I went over to the manager to inquire about that table.

“Oh,” the manager replied, “it’s reserved…I mean I’m saving it for a large group that we’re expecting and we’ll push all the tables together once the others leave. We need that table.”

I thought about this for a very short minute and studied the two groups dining leisurely on either side of the empty spot. It would be at least 45 minutes before they’d be finished. Wouldn’t it have made sense to give it to someone, such as ourselves already at the restaurant and ready to eat?

I went back to the bar and made mention of this to the bartender who had also noticed the empty table and had questioned why we hadn’t been given it immediately.

And the bartender said, “I’m staying out of this,” with a roll of the eyes.

So we waited and ordered another drink.

A half hour had gone by and I was getting really incensed by the stupidity of the situation. I even noticed that the chef looking at the room from the open kitchen seemed to be staring at this empty table and wondering why it was not filled.

My dinner mate tried to calm me down. But I wouldn’t hear of it. I mean, this was ridiculous.

I went over to the manager again and said with some degree of irritation, “Ya know, we could have been halfway through our meal already had you seated us at that table a half hour ago.

Again I heard the dumb colloquy of restaurant policy concerning reservations.

“We take reservations for large groups only. It’s a first come first serve basis and the group that we’re expecting called before you arrived.”

“Huh,” I thought to myself. I tired to allow that I was missing something here.

As luck would have it someone at another table for two had finished their meal and we were led there immediately.

Our table incidentally was right across from the unoccupied one. The two groups on either side were still enjoying a leisurely meal. I noted that we had arrived at the restaurant nearly 45 minutes ago.

While our order was being taken I saw a large group enter the restaurant. There must have been ten of them. Of course there was no where for them to go. I assumed they must have been the large group who had reserved the space. I saw that they shuffled by the bar, looked around the room and after a while had some words with the manager. They did not seem to be unkind words as far as I could tell. But obviously they were apprised of the situation: that their table would not be ready for some time. The empty table for two in the middle of the line up of banquettes remaine like the forgotten man in a throng.

The ultimate happened. The large group left the restaurant.

I couldn’t help myself. I summoned the manager to inquire about what had happened.

“Imagine that. They left,” the manager said dumbly, obviously annoyed.

About 15 minutes later both groups on either side of the lone two top had finished their meal and left the restaurant, leaving one whole side of the room empty in their wake.

We were well into our meal already, and I no longer cared, though I have to admit I felt the wily twist of satisfaction over this sorry twirl of fate, the perfect simulacrum of I told you so.

Many years ago I interviewed a famous playwright for one of those lifestyle magaine articles. At the time he was more known for his outspokenness than his success on Broadway. We went out to lunch at a Midtown restaurant. The service was particularly bad, and our waitress was not at her best.

He called her over, demanding this and that only to reproach the poor woman with, “You’d be be better off to take to the streets.”

It was a terrible thing to say of course. On the other hand, a job well done has its rewards.

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