A Seinfeld Moment in Tom's (or Monk's) Restaurant

Walking around the streets near Columbia University in Manhattan on a beautiful spring day, I stopped abruptly when I saw the sign. It said “Tom’s Restaurant” on one side of the building and “Restaurant” on the other. I stared for a moment or two, then grabbed the arm of another chaperone and said, “Wait. We have to stop. Do you recognize that place?” As soon as she saw it, she knew.

She, too, was a loyal fan of the Seinfeld series. She knew it was the home of the “Big Salad,” the place where George, Elaine and Jerry frequently met and discussed sometimes controversial (but mostly mundane) topics. Where George griped about everything under the sun and Jerry pondered imponderables.

Without hesitation, we went inside for lunch and noticed that the interior looked nothing like it did on the show – completely different floorplan, different art on the walls (this place was covered with signed caricatures and photos of the stars of the show), different condiment containers and different booths.

But the hostess? She could have come straight out of one of the sitcom’s episodes.

Here’s the scene. The restaurant is quite small, with three rows of booths, very narrow aisles between them and a counter. One booth could be described by restaurant people as a “six-top” which means it seats six adults, all the others seat four.

We arrived before the lunch rush, so most of the booths were empty. We were a group of eight, two chaperones and six kids. Or, if you look at it the way I looked at it, two groups of four people each. I had been traveling around Manhattan with the same three girls, so I was expecting to sit in a booth with the four of us (as we had done for every other meal).

The hostess had a different idea.

With a gorgeously strong, rapid fire New York (probably Queens, maybe Bronx) accent, she asserted, ” ‘Ow menny ya got? Ya got eight? Right here! Come ohvah heaah. You can sit heaah. Eight. Right? Yeaah. It’s peh-fect. We’ll just pull up a chair, put it on the end. Theaah ya go. The rest of ya sit…ya know…theaah.”

She gestured matter of factly toward the six top and looked into my eyes as if it were an order, not a suggestion. I hesitated…knowing, first of all that certain girls didn’t want to sit together and the way they were about to squeeze in would have resulted in elbowing, arguing and an all around unpleasant dining experience. Just try to shove tween girls together who don’t like each other very much, you’ll quickly discover just how nasty they can get. It’s a catty, sarcastic phase.

But the hostess could care less.

She scowled at me with growing impatience and a “WTH are ya doin’ ya fr*@*in’ tourist? Sit yer a@# down already!” kind of look, still motioning for us to fill in the six-top booth.

Meanwhile, some of the girls had climbed out of the six-top, others had climbed in, and my three girls had opened menus, sat down and started getting comfortable in a four top in the next row. They then said, “We’re sitting here ,” without even looking up from the menus.

Our lovely hostess, now completely annoyed with us, tried one last attempt, “Wha? Ya got eight, right? Right here. Whaat’s wrong with this? This is fa eight. Right heeaah. I got a chair. I’ll put the chair heeaah. You’ll be fine.”

I explained that we were fine as we were. No thanks, we would just sit separately. It was better that way. For us. You know, the customers . We grumbled among ourselves as if we were taking cues from George Costanza himself. “Do you believe that woman? Expecting us to squeeze in there?! Ridiculous! What was she thinking? Well, I’m not doing it.”

Lovely hostess rolled her eyes, threw up her arms, sighed and said, “Fine. Whatevah.”

But it wasn’t fine.

She came back again and said, “Ya know…if we get busy…now you’re takin’ up two booths. You can all fit in that one booth. It’s fa eight. Y’can sit ova theeaah (motioning again in the direction of the six-top).”

“Uh, well, sorry, we’re already here. It’s early. We’ll probably be gone before you fill up. If we have to move later, we will. But we’d rather stay here. For now. Okay?” I offer in my most sincere, midwestern (please let this end soon) voice.

Just as the drinks arrived, another group of five (that happened to also be part of our main group) walked in the door. Five. All of the girls were tiny, young tweens, so they dove right into a four-top booth. But the hostess would not have it. She walked over to the half of our group sitting in the six-top and commanded them, “Yor gonna haffta move. We gotta bigga group heeaaah. Ya gotta move.”

They packed up the drinks, menus and personal belongings and sat in the four-top booth behind us.

I had to laugh. Would there be any better way to enjoy the restaurant from Seinfeld? Thanks, lady. Now can I get that Big Salad?

____________________

Special thanks to Sister Sassy from Sisters of a Different Order for mentioning the Big Salad and Melisa from Suburban Scrawl , noting that Tom’s was called Monk’s in the show in comments on yesterday’s post .

Advertisement