Richard Dreyfuss Just Walked into the Restaurant!
How my close encounter with a celebrity took a wrong turn.
Anything can happen in New York. Turn your back for a second and everything changes.
Case in point? It was the early 1990s, and I took great pride in my position as restaurant manager for one of Midtown’s ultra-luxury hotels. I’d taken over for the hostess that afternoon. The weekday after-lunch lag in customers matched the reduced number of servers still on the floor.
Including Eduardo. Hands-down, our least experienced server. He’d botched so many food orders, the chef had banned him from the kitchen. I once heard Eddie describe our venison chop to a customer as ‘tender, for a horse.’
But Eduardo had a big heart. He always lingered to pour coffee for his last customers. I’d seen him run outside to return a customer’s forgotten wallet full of cash and cards.
On this day, with only a handful of customers still in play, I stepped away from the hostess stand for fifteen seconds. And Richard Dreyfuss walked right into the dining room, helping himself and his guest to Table Five, splat in the middle of Eduardo’s seating section. Eduardo, ever the helpful stand-in, brought menus right away and took what, assuredly, would be the wrong drink order.
My heart switched into racing gear. Richard Dreyfuss! As in Jaws! Close Encounters of the Third Kind! The Goodbye Girl! My adrenaline rush rivalled being a child, watching Santa Claus cruise the neighborhood on a fire truck. I imagined telling my family later how that great actor came to my restaurant, to be served by the world’s worst waiter.
Oh, my God, I’d better get this right.
I grabbed the phone, speed dialing the kitchen production line. With a little luck, I’d catch the chef before his afternoon disappearing act with a bottle of champagne. To my surprise, he picked up right away.
“WHAT?”
“Celebrity, Table Five!” I panted.
“Take the order!” — click! —
I rushed back out to the dining room, but not in time. Here came Eddie, at a casual saunter, humming along on his way to ring in the order on the computer.
“You get that order?” I didn’t even wait for him to answer. “Let me see!” And he handed over his order book.
— 1 bagel/cream cheese
— 1 club sandwich/bacon
I ran my pointy little high-heeled shoes and the Celebrity Table Five order right into the kitchen, leaving Eduardo to his after-lunch nonchalance.
Behind the kitchen doors, a whirlwind of activity had already started over this simple late lunch order. The chef assigned three cooks to its production — the same number of cooks working the line on a busy Friday night seafood bonanza. The sous chef ran out the back door, down the street to buy a fresh bagel. Not that we didn’t have fresh ones delivered daily. ‘Celebrity, Table Five!’ earns you the run down the street.
Another cook sizzled up new bacon for the turkey club. No reaching into the ‘community bacon pan’ that got cooked before each meal, always with leftover bacon ready for any last-minute order. ‘Celebrity, Table Five!’ earns you fresh-fried bacon.
Eduardo, I saw, had arrived in the kitchen. He ladled up a cup of tomato soup and pulled out a wine bucket to take back into the dining room (to use for Mr. Dreyfuss’s Perrier water, I presumed).
“Eddie!” I scolded him. “Stay out on the floor!” This was no time for mid-afternoon soup snacking.
And without even an eyeroll for my reprimand, he hastened out to his station. I said a silent prayer he hadn’t used the same wine bucket the chef liked to pee in when he got drunk. The cooks started plating up the order. So much careful placement and balance on the plate, I thought they moonlighted on the local bomb squad. Perfect symmetry on the sandwich quarters, the cream cheese fluffed and piped out of a decorating tube alongside its toasted companion.
And with all the speed I could muster on my pointy little high heels, I flew that tray out to the dining room. Calm, I reminded myself. Like any other customer. That’s how celebrities like it, right? Outstanding service, but don’t draw attention.
Eduardo certainly had no problem achieving the calm vibe. He leaned against the wall, still swaying back and forth to his inner song. I landed the tray for him, watching as he reached into his vest pocket to reconfirm the order. So far so good. Then to my complete horror, he picked up both plates and served them to the two men sitting at Table Six.
My heart almost leapt out of my throat.
“EDDIE!” I stage whispered. The whole lobby full of people turned to look at me. Eddie, too, gave me a wry face. I made a sharp pointing gesture at the great actor and his friend sitting right next to him at Table Five. Richard Dreyfuss’s back was to me, thank God.
“He has his,” Eduardo whispered back to me. And Table Six started in with great enthusiasm on their deluxe versions of bagel with cream cheese and turkey club.
“But it’s for HIM!” I pointed again to my childhood hero.
“He’s already eating!” he answered again. Anyone watching would have thought we’d started up a game of charades in the hotel dining room. I peeked around Richard Dreyfuss’s left shoulder. The great man was halfway through a cup of tomato soup, a single glass of tap water at his elbow.
“Hey,” called out my evening-shift relief from the hostess stand behind me. I hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Chef says he’s coming out to shake his hand, ask how he likes his food.”
My little high-heeled shoes never ran faster.
