Do it now, and don't spare the horses

When I moved to Chicago six months ago, I was terrified of ordering food. It's not because I was flirting with anorexia (get real), but it's because in contrast with American diners, I was so intimidated by the food ordering process.

In the States, not only do you need to know what you want, you need to know how you want it. Think "When Harry Met Sally" (everything 'on the side'), and you'll get my drift.

I was more used to the Australian/European way of ordering; the laissez-faire approach to dining that implied a degree of flexibility in terms of food presentation and condiment selection:

Euro Waitress (EW): Do you want fries with that?
Me: Well, I don't know - should I have them?
EW: I would; they're very good today.
Me: But I just don't feeeeel like fries.
EW: Well, what about a salad?
Me: Yes but it doesn't come with mayonnaise does it?
EW: Only on the side.
Me: Yeah okay. And alright, I'll take some fries too.

Clearly this is a much more agreeable exchange, and given the Australian and European prevalence for queuing (Italy being the obvious exception), no one else in the line seems to mind the interaction, because they will do exactly the same thing when it's their turn.

Here in the States, however you had BETTER have fries when you're given the option. Just think how you'd feel if someone else had them instead of you, and they were great fries, and you missed out? So get them, load them up on your plate, put them in your ears for all it matters. Just get them, and get them now.

So after the rather abrupt induction and steep learning curve, now I am somewhat of a professional orderer, at least in the restaurants and assorted food emporia around my office.

The scariest place by far used to be Harry's Hotdogs, run for the last 45 years or so by genial old man named, you guessed it, Harry. But the grills are run by some of the most ferocious waiting staff you'll find - unforgiving of anyone who doesn't know what they want, and how they want it served up. I mean, God forbid you get in the cheeseburger queue if you want a gyro (yiros), or if you ask for ketchup on your hotdog (no true Chicago hotdog ever has that on there)! I learned all that the hard way, trust me.

So I am pleased to report that I have got things down to a fine art now, and no longer cower behind Melissa in the diner queue. I look the cashier square in the eye, and state my order clearly and with authority. And if they ask me any supplementary questions I'm not prepared for, I may be freaking out on the inside, but the trick is to show no fear.

My approach tends to be to keep saying NO to whatever I'm being asked rapidfire (the only language spoken by serving staff in the greater Chicagoland area it seems). While NO may not be the most completely appropriate or helpful response to all the questions I'm being asked (eg "Sweet or hot peppers?"), I generally get what I want in the long run. And it makes me look like I know what I'm doing!