Manfred

Sometimes a moment in passing, a glance at something forgotten, a sound, a taste, a smell-- sometimes something makes a synapse go "click" and suddenly you remember. On a mission, moving through the house, at work, in the car. I can't say it happens all the time, but it happens.

Last night something happened and, suddenly, I was thinking about Manfred. Manfred worked at the Grill on the Alley in Chicago. He would almost fly around that restaurant in his black slacks and white waiter's coat, a shock of white hair standing straight-up, hands held chest-high, greeting his regulars, chasing down drinks, recommending an item. Always, "Oh Michael und Tommy. Und how's my little Efun!" He was from Dusseldorf and retained his thick accent.

I think I remember him because he was a character and, also, because of his kindness. When Ev was an infant Manfred once built him a bed in our booth. He first led us to a quiet corner of the restaurant that was already out of service for the evening and then he fashioned a bed from a stack of clean table cloths. Finally he reassured Evan's mother that the baby was okay and told her to have a Lemon Drop. As Ev got older Manfred would always park us in a spot where Evan could play with his cars and trucks on the floor around the table without tripping and killing a customer or employee.

And when Kelsey came for her 16th birthday with her small posse of friends he had to really pour it on-- easy for him. Greeting all the girlfriends and paying special attention to the Birthday girl. Even at 16 he would still offer her a Shirley Temple.  I think they all may have had one that evening. "Hoppy Burfday und may all your vishes come twue!"

Manfred came from the very old European school of service. He understood and took pride in facilitating your needs as a diner in his restaurant. For Manfred it was far more than a job. And when you left the restaurant, whether you'd had a bone-in New York steak or chicken pot pie, you felt you had been out for dinner. It was dinner and a show and you were damn glad you'd bought the ticket.

I would guess Manfred was well into his seventies when he left The Grill. I don't know where he is now but I thank him for taking care of me and my family. As he would always say after bringing the drinks, "Here's to your hoppiness und goot hellt. Und de most important of dese s your hellt!" That, and good memories.

Back in the day: an evening out, red meat, good booze, long dinners, and Manfred