You may remember (the, oh, millions of you who think of yourselves as regular Dadwagon readers, and by millions I mean “dozens”) that we recently made a weeklong series out of the kids-in-restaurants argument. Well, Matt’s employer has weighed in, recommending a few fine-dining places that claim to welcome small children. I have no argument with their conclusions: that some restaurants handle tiny people much better than others, and that the staff at the places mentioned in the story are tolerant and amenable when confronted with same.
But I do wonder. “Tolerant” is nice, and it may be policy, but it’s a long way from actual enthusiasm. You can’t tell me that, somewhere in the back of the house, there aren’t staff members muttering “goddamn parents who bring their kids everywhere, I can’t fuckin’ stand them.” I myself, on the occasions when I have brought our guy to local restaurants, spot the difference immediately: Either you get a server who genuinely likes small children, and all but smooches the little guy every time he or she comes by the table, or you get the tight restrained smile that says “Ohhhh-kay, here we go. I’m just gonna deal with this table, and move on.” When we get the former, we are a lot likelier to feel like returning.
Speaking of a place we keep going back to, here is one restaurant the Times didn’t comment on, because it’s not serious-foodie enough: the Third Avenue/34th Street location of Patsy’s Pizzeria, the thin-crust chainlet that spread all over Manhattan about fifteen years ago and has been my basic go-to pie joint ever since. Not to offer a blanket endorsement, but one regular weeknight hostess there is madly enthusiastic about small children (or at least our small child) and knows how to make a restaurant feel genuinely welcome. Two thumbs (plus one very small thumb) up.
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