RANGE: From the wine racks to the coatcheck room, from the sanitary hand-drying machine in the restroom to the basin of melting mints by the cash register; from the “have it our way” roughage window to the garbage-gobbling clown can in the parking lot, the Maître D’eamon calls America’s many elegant eateries his home away from home. HABITS: The Maître D’eamon sees to it that when you arrive at a restaurant, the parking lot is full, but a smiling young man is there to take your car. When you escape the restaurant some hours later, the smiling young man is not there. Neither is your car. That is the work of the Maître D’eamon, whose highest calling is to give his victims an evening they will never forget. When you enter a restaurant to celebrate your anniversary (after planning the occasion for weeks), it is the Maître D’eamon who concocts a mix-up in the reservations. It is he who arranges for you to wait at the bar for an hour with three intoxicated salesmen until the captain says, “Oh, have you been waiting long? We should have a table for you any minute.” Forty minutes later, you are seated. The mysterious stains left on the tablecloth by the Maître D’eamon give you something to talk about until your waiter gets back from the dentist. The Maître has kindly seen to it that you are seated right by the kitchen door, so you have a chance to see how real dishwashers smoke marijuana. (Look at the cook. Did you know they worked with their shirts off?) At last your dinner arrives. You do not recognize it, thanks to the Maître D’eamon. It was under his influence that you ordered what looks like a briquet from the bowels of Mordor’s Mount Doom, and a frozen something from icy Lapland. Dessert? Coffee? A liqueur? Just the bill? Very well. The Maître D’eamon has seen to it that the restaurant does not take credit cards. A check? The restaurant does not take checks. Cash? It does not take cash. Krugerrands. The restaurant takes Krugerrands. As you are leaving, the D’eamon inspires your waiter to tell you how much the staff enjoyed watching you eat with all the wrong cutlery. You exit the restaurant to the gales of the busboys’ laughter and the sight of the captain’s palm, patiently waiting for his tip. No inconvenience is too great for the Maître D’eamon, so long as it is more inconvenient for you. HISTORY: The Maître is un-American. He is unspeakable, uncivilized, inhuman: the Maître D’eamon is French. Arriving in America with Lafayette, he first conveyed his lack of manners to Jefferson’s butlers in Monticello. From there, he moved north to the capital, where he currently inflicts a fourstar array of annoyances on devotees of Michelin and McDonalds alike. SPOTTER’S TIPS: You will find this creature wherever you find hammered copper coats-of-arms on the walls, tufted naugahyde dining nooks, unlimited salad bars, the piano stylings of Hugh LaGoon, sink-sized brandy snifters, a wine list as big as a family Bible, and a waiter whose hair has been painted on … by the Maître D’eamon himself.
棲息地 気取って格式ばったレ
ストランのいたるところに出没
する。 とくに一流ホテルのフラ
ンス料理を食べさせるレストラ
ンなどに多く集まっている。 分
厚い絨毯, きらめくシャンデリ
ア, 怪しくゆれるキャンドルの
炎, キチンとした服装のお客た
ち、丁重なことば使いをするよ
うに教育されたボーイたち。 こ
の場で起きる失態はすべてお客
側に非があるように錯覚させる
豪華な設備。 そんなところにこ
の妖精たちは住みついている。
習性 “忘れられない夜” をお
客様に提供することを第一のモ
ットーと心がけている。 だから
なにかの記念日を祝おうと何日
もまえから計画し,貯金もして
やってくるお客にいたずらす
る。 まずそういうお客がくる
と、 「ただいまは満席ですので」
といって酔っぱらいがくだを巻
いているバーで, たっぷりと待
たせ、ようやくテーブルに着く
と、 なかなかウェイターがやっ
てこない。 しかし妖精たちがテ
ーブルクロスにつけておいたし
みのおかげで話題に困ることは
ない。
ようやく注文もすんで,食事
が運ばれてくると,パンは堅
く, スープはすっかり冷めてい
るし, サラダは野菜が半分腐っ
ている。パスタはヒモのようだ
し, 肉はとても噛み切れたしろ
ものではない。
「デザートは何にしますか?」
「なにがあるの?」
「なんでもございます、はい」
「たとえばどんな物?」
「どんな物をお望みですか?」
「だからどんな物があるの?」
「ですからどんな物でもです」
こんな会話がながながと10分
はつづくのだ。 最後にはお客の
ほうが疲れて、 「なんでもいい
からもってきて」というと、 「か
しこまりました。 では当店自慢
のカシスのシャーベットにいち
じくのソースをかけたのをおも
ちいたしましょう」 なんて得意
顔で答える。お客をからかつて
じらすのがおもしろいのだ。
そして最後に勘定を払って店
を出ようとするお客にこういう
のだ。
「ありがとうございました。 お
客様には最初から最後までまち
がったナイフとフォークの使い
かたを見せていただきとても楽
しかったです」
フランス革命以後,庶民
歴史
がぜいたくな料理を食べるよう
になってから。
髪を七三にき
私立探偵の情報
っちりと分け, 油でテカテカに
させたウェイターのいる店。
108
Habitat
Appears throughout pretentious, formal restaurants. Particularly concentrated in French restaurants at top-tier hotels. Thick carpets, glittering chandeliers, mysteriously flickering candle flames, impeccably dressed guests, waiters trained to use polite language. Luxurious surroundings that create the illusion that any embarrassment occurring here is entirely the customer’s fault. That’s where these sprites have taken up residence.
Behavior
Their primary motto is providing customers with “an unforgettable evening.” So they target customers who planned weeks in advance to celebrate some anniversary and saved up especially for the occasion. When such a customer arrives, first they’re told “I’m afraid we’re fully seated at the moment” and left to wait at a bar where drunks are rambling on. When they finally reach their table, the waiter takes forever to appear. But thanks to the stain the sprites placed on the tablecloth, at least there’s something to talk about.
When the order is finally taken and the food arrives: the bread is rock hard, the soup completely cold, the salad half-rotted. The pasta is like string and the meat is utterly impossible to chew.
“What would you like for dessert?”
“What do you have?”
“We have everything, yes.”
“Such as what, for example?”
“What would you like?”
“So what do you actually have?”
“Whatever you desire, sir.”
This exchange continues for a full ten minutes. Eventually the exhausted customer says “just bring whatever” — to which the waiter replies with a self-satisfied air: “Very good. Then allow me to bring our house specialty — cassis sherbet with fig sauce.” Teasing and stringing customers along is what they find amusing.
And as the customer finally pays and tries to leave, the waiter delivers this parting shot:
“Thank you so much for your visit. We very much enjoyed watching you use the wrong knife and fork from start to finish.”
History
After the French Revolution, when commoners began eating luxurious cuisine.
Field Intelligence
Any restaurant where the waiters have their hair parted with mathematical precision and slicked down with oil.
108
