The Hott Waiter: Part I

In August, Miranda and I decided to check out a restaurant in the city where we live. This restaurant is in the trendiest dining neighborhood, features New American cuisine, and it's the favorite restaurant of one of our city's most beloved professional athletes (of whom Miranda is a very big fan).

We had an early reservation, and there weren't too many people in the restaurant. We were seated and took a look at the menus.

Then our waiter arrived.

Tall. Dark. Young George Clooney-esque.

I couldn't stop staring.

Miranda couldn't stop laughing.

Miranda has a bit of a problem -- she tends to laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate moments. This was one of them. He just came over and he was so handsome....also, I'm usually fine -- I just blush like crazy -- but when Miranda starts going, I can't help it and join in with the giggles.

In between bringing us our drinks, bread and appetizers, we started getting to know our waiter. Miranda asked him to point out everywhere in the restaurant that our city's famous athlete had sat. The Hott Waiter pointed out all of them and told stories. Miranda was delighted.

I was delighted, too, but in a different way. When I really like someone, REALLY like him, I become an introvert. Maybe it's because when something's important, I don't want anyone else to know. It's primal. If it's just a guy on the street, I'll catcall along with my friends, but this time, it was serious.

A word about this restaurant: it's the kind of restaurant that's impossible to hate. It's classy -- trendy enough to be good for a special night out, but relaxed enough to make it a frequent destination. The prices are high, but not sky-high, especially for our city. The menu features plenty of creative and varied choices, but plenty of more normal options for less adventurous palates. It's no wonder its clientele consists largely of regulars.

And the service. I've been there a few times (as I'll explain later) and what I love about the servers there is that they're so open, and friendly, and real. Often in fine dining restaurants, the servers are overly formal and robotic, and that doesn't put you at ease. After a night out at this restaurant, you and your server know so much about each other, and you're probably on your way to becoming friends!

The Hott Waiter was like that. He spent a lot of time just hanging out and chatting with us, and we loved it. At the end of the night, we filled out cards with our names and addresses on them. I didn't include my actual address, but the rest of the information, including my email, was true.

At one point, I got up to go to the bathroom. The bathrooms there are single stalls. I walked past the bathroom, and he opened the door (which opened into the stall, so he was literally standing inside it), said "Miss," and opened the door for me. It was a tad awkward.

Before leaving, Miranda and I told the Hott Waiter our real names (we already knew his) and left the restaurant, still giggling away, saying that we absolutely HAD to return as soon as possible.