“Can I bring you something to drink?”

“Can I bring you something to drink?”

Every server is taught to ask that probing question as soon as possible in their dealings with diners. Not because they’re keenly interested in anyone’s hydration levels, however. Alcohol sales are key to a restaurant’s profit margin and to padding the bill for a bigger tip. Everyone wants to push the booze.

I understand that, but there is something inherently backward in asking me what I want to drink before I’ve even glanced at a menu. If I’m eating out at a nice place with a full bar or even a decent wine and beer list, chances are I want to pair my beverage with my meal. I don’t want to be rushed into a glass of Pinot Noir and then think, shoot, that’s not going to go with the scallop appetizer I’m eyeing.

Even if I do just want an aperitif for starters, three seconds – the span of time between when the server puts down the drinks list to the time The Question happens – generally isn’t enough for me to whittle down the cocktail list.

The usual scenario is that my eyes race crazily all over the list in hopes of settling on something before I hear the phrase of doom: “I’ll give you a moment to decide.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Come BAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

 “A moment” in server time is different than “a moment” of civilian time. It ranges from 5 to 15 minutes, I’ve found. I don’t need “a moment” and I don’t need 15 minutes. I need about 3 minutes.

Restaurant owners, please stop pushing servers to push drink orders first thing. Everything about this ritual makes me cranky. Trust me, you don’t want me to be cranky.

Servers, please don’t rush me, and don’t disappear if I can’t make a decision on the spot. I probably didn’t wander into the restaurant telepathically knowing what was on the beverage menu.

Here’s an idea: Put down the menus, ask if we’d like some water (chances are really good that we do), and tell us you’ll be back in a few minutes if we’d like to place drink orders or if we have any questions on the menu.

Simple. A good compromise. You’re still planting the notion in our heads that we might want something alcoholic to imbibe, but you’re not breathing down our necks, and you’re promising not to punish us for not being prescient about our palates.