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Customer service is a lost art
Around the table
pizza server
It is getting harder and harder to find a place that will serve good food well. - photo by Stock photo

The fast-food craze that began more than half a century ago is partly to blame for the apparent loss in customer service.
I rarely use drive-thru windows, if only because I prefer to find out I didn’t get what I ordered before I’m a mile down the road. Maybe it’s the new math or over-dependence on electronic devices used for calculating, but it’s a challenge for some fast-food workers to count hamburgers.
If you really want it your way, you better cook your own burger rather than ask them not to put ketchup on it. Don’t say “mustard only,” or you’ll get two sesame-seed buns with mustard but no burger.
I love pizza and I like the concept of delivery service, but I dread calling in an order.
“Hello, and thank you for calling Billy Bob’s Pizza,” the guy will say. “Please hold.”
After forever, he returns to the phone and asks me if I’d like to try their special or something else I don’t want. I’ll attempt to place my order, and he’ll tell me I can’t get that type of crust unless I buy a super-extra-large with geeky toppings I don’t want.
There’s an unusual delivery-service restaurant in Myrtle Beach I’ve often considered calling. Sometimes, it’s hard to get into any of the steak restaurants there without making a reservation in advance, which I always forget to do. To fill what appears to be a void, a store called “Steak-Out” is offering steaks to order that are supposedly delivered to my motel room, along with a baked tater and salad.
Things that sound too good to be true usually aren’t. These folks promise a steak cooked to order and delivered to me while still hot. They say they provide “products and services” that “exceed” my demand, but they don’t know me or how demanding I can be when it comes to steak.
Even if they can provide a medium-rare, choice rib eye served hot with an even hotter tater and fresh, crisp Caesar salad, it’s got to be good, quality steak. I don’t want anything as tough or as tasty as my old Army boots.
It seems like we have sacrificed customer service for speed and convenience. The guy who invented the automated phone-messaging system should be buried up to his neck in a fire-ant bed.
“Thank you for calling XYZ Car Insurance,” you’ll hear when you make a call. “If you’d like to report an accident or file a claim, please dial 1. If you’d like to pay a bill or change your address, please dial 2. If you’d like to talk to a real human being, please stay on the line until Jimmy Hoffa is found and Bigfoot is captured. Your call is important to us.”
What defines good customer service these days? Why should I feel obligated to tip a waiter or waitress who disappears after bringing our food to the table? My sweet-tea glass requires frequent refilling. If I have to finish my meal on the same small glass of tea I was given when I was seated, leaving a nice tip isn’t on my mind.
And who decided how much tips are supposed to be nowadays? The creator of the universe only expects 10 percent, so why do restaurants expect an 18 percent gratuity? Some add it to the bill, regardless of the service I get.
I will pay it — if it’s earned. But I think the tip should be proportional to the service rendered. The waitress at a buffet restaurant needn’t expect an 18 percent tip for letting me serve myself, but a waitress who has to come back and forth to my table several times can expect a good tip.
Don’t get me wrong, I strongly support tipping hard-working waiters and waitresses who are paid slave wages. My mama was a waitress for 40 years, so I know the little bit they get is divvied up with the IRS, busboy, dishwasher and door-greeter. Leaving a dollar on the table is OK as a tip for a cup of coffee, but if I get a full meal and the service was good, I don’t have a problem leaving a tip that’s commensurate with the service.
Oh, and I don’t take it out on the waitress if the food was bad but her service was good — except that I won’t go back to that restaurant. I don’t have a problem strongly suggesting all diners remember to leave a tip where a tip is earned. And be honest about it. Good customer service is predicated on being a good customer, or at least it used to be that way.

Email Murray at rmurray@coastalcourier.com.

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Tomatoes are terrific summertime treats
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tomato
Tomatoes are even good eaten raw, right after picking and a wash. - photo by Stock photo

Every day, twice a day I check my garden to see if I have any “maters” ripe and ready for picking. In less sophisticated parts of the country, this veggie-fruit is called a tomato, but I live in Georgia, so I call them maters.
I don’t even want to think about what Italian or Mexican cuisine would be like without maters, so I’ll just focus on how delicious they are fresh off the vine. I love a fresh sliced, homegrown mater with some fresh sliced, homegrown cukes.
That’s what folks in North Carolina call cucumbers. I lived there long enough to pick up some Tarheel lingo. Cukes are not to be confused with kooks, which can be contagious during political seasons.
Mater and cuke slices deserve a sprinkling of sea salt and cracked black pepper before eating by themselves or as a side dish with any Southern meal. They add character to everything. I especially like mine with fried chicken or pork barbecue.
Sometimes I’ll eat a mater, cuke and Vidalia onion salad with just a drizzle of ranch dressing. Salt and pepper too, of course. I first discovered this salad at K&W Cafeteria, a family restaurant chain based in Greensboro, North Carolina. They left out the Vidalias, though. I first found Vidalias included with maters and cukes on a salad bar in Georgia.
Fresh mater slices are pretty much mandatory on most sandwiches. A summer picnic with grilled hamburgers wouldn’t be the same without a large slice of beefeater mater. In fact, some of us enjoy a plain mater sandwich. Just add a little mayo, salt and pepper.
When I ate mater sandwiches as a kid, I figured we didn’t have any burgers, ham or bologna to put on our sandwiches. I quickly learned to love them and didn’t care if I had anything else to go with the mater slices.
Bacon? Well, that’s different. Bacon and maters were made for each other (with mayo, salt and pepper). You really don’t need lettuce, which has no nutritional value anyway. If you want a healthy BLT (if that’s possible), use spinach leaves in place of lettuce. If you’re really hungry, add a -pound grilled Angus beef patty with cheddar cheese (then throw away any notion of eating healthy). Rest assured a homegrown mater will blend its sweet-acidic flavors with these add-ons.
There are a variety of maters for the backyard gardener. This year I planted heirlooms and Burpee’s Big Boy hybrids as well as some cherry and grape maters. I also planted a yellow variety called Lemon Boy, which have a different but wonderful flavor. According to Prevention.com, red maters are slightly better for you than the yellow ones, mostly due to the extra Vitamin A and C. I like the yellow ones anyway.
I can’t tell the difference between cherry and grape maters, except that one tends to be a bit oblong. I prefer them to plum maters in a salad because plum maters are too big to eat whole. I’m not the only person to ever bite down on a plum mater, sending mater guts streaming across the table. I like roma maters though, which are really plum maters, only bigger. You have to slice them to eat them, which can save you an embarrassing moment.
In ancient times, folks thought maters were poisonous, maybe because the leaves of some varieties are poisonous. According to several online sources, maters originated in Central and South America and were taken into western North America and Europe by Spanish explorers. English explorers who first settled North Carolina’s coast brought with them a fear of maters that was prompted by the poison myth.
According to North Carolina’s barbecue history buff Bob Garner, drinks made with mater juice were consumed from a common drinking vessel at the time, the pewter mug. In those days, pewter mugs contained lead. The acid from the mater juice tended to leach lead from the mugs, which caused revelers to act like kooks (not cukes). This led folks to believe maters were poisonous. It was so strongly believed that eastern North Carolina barbecue sauce developed without maters, just a peppery vinegar.
I do like my maters, but I’m sort of glad they left them out of the eastern North Carolina barbecue sauce I also love. When I make summer visits to Wilbur’s BBQ in Goldsboro, I make sure I get a plate of homegrown, local maters to go with their delicious pork barbecue. The maters add character to their already-perfect barbecue.

Email Murray at rmurray@coastalcourier.com.

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