Waiters

Macky TakaharuGower Gulch AmagiKaraoke Bar

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Beverly Hills, CA 90211

Category: Restaurant > Japanese

Region: Beverly Hills

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More About

• Santa Monica Place
• Martin Bedard
• Nobu Matsuhisa
• Eating Out
• Meat

MACKY TAKAHARU

It’s 11 p.m. on a Friday night, and the karaoke carnage is in full swing at the Gower Gulch Amagi restaurant. Macky Takaharu is wiry, a bundle of restless energy, and not one to mince words: "How do I feel about working as a waiter? It sucks, man!" He’s worked here for five years, after moving to the U.S. from Kobe, Japan, all the while scrounging enough money together to make films. There’s a happy fatalism about Macky that goes nicely with the cowboy Western aesthetic: some samurai, some Eastwood. "It’s a hierarchy, see" — he shapes his hands into a pyramid — "and we, the waiters, we are at the bottom." He grins as he gestures to the lower end of the triangle. "People treat us like such shit. It’s in the way they look at you, like you’re lower than dirt." Why not work somewhere else, then? Being a waiter, he says, is "easy money," and he loves the restaurant, loves the loud karaoke, the standup comedy in the lounge. Macky works the floor like a Tasmanian devil, expertly moving drinks and food back and forth from sushi bar to cocktail lounge to the dining room. Tips, which go into a communal kitty, are divvied up at the end of the night. Onstage a girl belts out, "Let’s get physical." "Some people were born to be happy in their jobs," Macky says. "Others, like us, were meant to struggle." Has working in a famous karaoke bar helped his film career? "That’s a big misconception," he answers. We’re practically shouting at each other over the music. A plaintive expression steals across his face in the dark with the spinning pink and blue lights. "You watch a couple sitting next to each other at a table, a boyfriend and girlfriend, and you think you’re going to learn something by the way they sit next to each other, something about human nature, but eventually," he says, "you’re just trying to get them their food on time." (Amagi at Gower Gulch, Gower Street and Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood; (323) 464-7497)

MARTIN BÉDARD

Ignace Lecleir, L’Orangerie’s debonair manager-sommelier, seats me, pours Evian into a delicate goblet and opens the roof, a greenhouse-style affair over the courtyard. Enter the talented Mr. Bédard. Martin Bédard may have been waiting tables at L’Orangerie for only one year, but he’s a pro, the captain of the wait staff. It’s not just the disarming cherub smile, the French accent that comes and goes at will, or the effortless gift for gab that brought about his rise through the ranks of food service, from busboy at a small Greek restaurant in Montreal to server at Alain Ducasse’s Essex House in New York. Some things no school can teach. Tact. Discretion. Charisma. "Eighty percent of the time, I know what someone is going to eat even before they order," he says. "You have to be able to read people." At this level of fine dining, working the tables is as much a mental as a physical effort. Details count. All aspects of the environment are controlled and calculated. From the way the knives are placed, and the alignment of the crystal, to the way he murmurs, "Madame, the tuna is not for you." (Martin is also a theatrical actor — he’s performed a one-man show at the Cinegrill.) Waiting tables, however, "is like a ballet, you cannot just plop the glass on the table," he explains. Each night is like a show, and each table, each person, requires a different approach, a different attitude. Yes, but how do you know? "Usually I start by asking them if they would like to see the menu right away or wait." His blue eyes flash. From the moment the customer enters the restaurant, he reads the telling cues about what the "rhythm of their night" is going to be, whether they want to be left alone or if they want attention, whether they prefer a more animated or more subdued interaction. "We want them to relax, to have the perfect evening, to forget where they are," he says. The worst is when he feels that the "chemistry" between customer and waiter isn’t working, when "you start losing control of the table." I can’t imagine this happens much. Mr. Bédard is a formidable charmer. And I swear it’s not just the petits fours Ignace brings over about 15 minutes before the interview draws to a close, or Martin’s subtle shifts in posture that put me at ease, but damn, I’m relaxed . . . Now, what was I saying? (L’Orangerie, 903 N. La Cienega Blvd., Beverly Hills; (310) 652-9770)

Michelle Rick & Katrina WrightMatsuhisa

Michelle Rick & Katrina WrightMatsuhisa

< What does it take to get into Matsuhisa? Patience. Fourteen days. And a reservation. Celebrity won’t help, according to receptionists Michelle Rick and Katrina Wright. “Everyone is treated equally,” says Michelle. Her voice — low, smooth, British accent — is utterly soothing. People who complain about a 30-second McDonald’s drive-thru, I expect, sigh with gratitude when she pencils them in on the two-week waiting list. Michelle and Katrina are Matsuhisa’s gatekeepers. Perched side by side behind the reception podium, they’re the first thing you see. Cerberus and Charon. Castor and Pollux. Heckle and Jeckle. They are a study in contrasts: Michelle is pale with long red hair; Katrina (think Tyra Banks) has curly brown hair, dark skin. Michelle’s face does interesting things when she talks. The eyes go big. The brows lift. The mouth grimaces, then erupts into a grin. Katrina is poised and proper. They turn to each other as they speak, confirming, finishing each other’s sentences, sometimes replying in unison. They take turns answering the constantly ringing phones. They run a tight ship — Matsuhisa has only 14 tables and a sushi bar. Michelle, who’s worked here for four years, coordinates reservations from all over the world — she’ll arrange a table for five from Milan, then refer someone to the “Aspen location.” Katrina, a singer-songwriter, speaks fluent Japanese. It takes finesse, this job of keeping people out, getting people in. On the wall there’s a photo of chef/owner Nobu Matsuhisa with Robert De Niro and Bill Clinton. On the subject of celebrity guests, they’re so apologetic about not being allowed to discuss it — “for privacy reasons” — that I feel bad for asking. They giggle. Simultaneously. All right, if being famous won’t get me in any faster, how about money? “There’s no general policy about accepting or not accepting tips,” Katrina says enigmatically. “The most we’ve ever been tipped?” asks Michelle. She turns to Katrina, who nods approval. “A hundred?” Must be some sushi.