A Letter To The Waiter Who Didn't Warn Me My Cocktail Was Coming In The Wrong Glass

Dear Waiter Who Didn't Warn Me My Cocktail Was Coming In The Wrong Glass,

How has your night been going? Good? Good. When I say that I don’t want to bother you right now, I mean it. But I’m kind of going to bother you.

Actually — and I don’t want to take up too much of your time because I know you’re busy — I really want to start by thanking you for allowing us to sit down without our complete party. Everyone said they were five minutes away even though Find My showed that they still hadn’t gotten in their Uber yet.

Even more so, I want to thank you for quickly asking if I wanted anything to drink while I waited for everyone else. You could’ve ignored me while I stared down at my phone, but because I can tell you’re a consummate host, you stood next to me while I quickly scanned the cocktail menu. That’s patience I can appreciate. Seriously, thank you.

Ugh, okay, now the hard part.

I really don’t want to be a pest. Like, really don’t want to be a pest. But I don’t think this cocktail is supposed to be in this glass. I know, I know, I hate me too.

You and I both know this isn’t your fault, which is why I was so hesitant about flagging the issue. As a former waiter myself, I’m well aware you aren’t the one who decided to put this Negroni in a coupe glass. In fact, I can almost tell by the look on your face that you get it.

While you’re probably fighting a silent battle night in and night out on this front, just know that I completely understand the situation you’ve found yourself in. These decisions are out of your control and I do have respect for that.

From my experience — and I’m sure yours too — bartenders can often be as fickle as chefs. It’s intimidating to disturb them while they’re placing sprigs of thyme atop glasses with a pair of specialized tweezers, never looking up once. You’re held hostage to their aesthetic, customer be damned.

While I’m not trying to be all Don Draper-y about this, I do think we should collectively acknowledge that some things simply need to remain classic and consistent. If Manhattans were meant to be served in stemless wine glasses, they’d simply call them “Manhattan glasses” instead. I know, I know, I’m being so nitpicky that even I’m tired of hearing me talk.

Between you and me, though? I think we need to come to an understanding that while I will drink this cocktail to completion, it should perhaps be flagged at the next staff meeting that customers are a bit rattled when their espresso martinis arrive in microscopic Nick and Nora glasses. I mean, the three beans are fighting for real estate in the foam to stay afloat.

I feel for you. I really do. See, in my heyday as a waiter, we hadn’t reached peak mixology yet. My biggest fear was spilling a few ounces of someone’s martini while carrying it on a tray because the bartender handed it over to me with a vodka meniscus forming atop it. You, though? A whole different slew of problems now that Instagram exists.

You know what — and I’m just riffing here — but I’ve seen other restaurants do line drawings of what the cocktail looks like on their menu. I’m not sure if there are any struggling art students working here, but it seems like a really good opportunity for one of them to elevate your menu. Sure, management hasn’t taken an idea from anyone but themselves since the soft opening, but it’s at least worth a try.

I know that you know that martinis are supposed to be served in martini glasses. Which is why you and I need to team up. Conspire against the bartender who made this executive decision. Tear down the system from the inside and make sure that no one ever has to drink an Aperol Spritz out of a highball glass again.

I’ve taken up a lot of your time, so here’s my plan for the rest of the night while my friends file in: While they take their first gander at the cocktail menu, you may hear me telling them to be careful with what they order because the glassware here seems to be a bit off. This is not a reflection of you and I will do everything in my power to shift the blame away from you. But if they start making special requests for more normalized glassware, well, just know that these inmates end up running most asylums they find themselves in. They’re a loud and lively bunch.

Luckily, they tip well. Especially after a post-dinner round of carajillos — just please don’t send them out in thimbles. I mean, after all, they’re like $14 apiece.

Sincerely,

A Person Who Had Been Daydreaming About The Perfect Version of This Cocktail All Day