The Column: Here's a tip on cultivating generosity

Let’s pretend.

Omicron is over, the virus is in retreat, we again are visiting restaurants.

For me, it’s been two years since seriously engaging the bistro scene (pizza places and Panera are exceptions), and I am thinking ahead.

I love eating out and curse the pandemic for snuffing the simple pleasure of gathering with strangers, smiling at overheard jokes and long-held secrets, placing an order and hoping for the best. Enthralled, I am an unfailingly a well-behaved customer.

The worst service, the wobbliest of tables, the schmaltzy swell of violins on a Mantovani soundtrack do not bring complaint. Nor do I gripe if a server, who 10 minutes earlier took our order, returns with two steaming plates and asks: "OK, guys, who gets the eggplant parm?"

Disappointing fare may prompt a mild comment — "Gee, I didn’t know clam chowder was best when chilled" — but never a rant of the sort that might summon the manager or demand response from the local precinct.

And when it comes to tipping — this, finally, is the point — I think of the practice not as an opportunity for retribution but reward. Restaurant workers must depend on the benevolence of people they don’t know, who likely are better situated financially and who, too often, have spilled gravy on the linen or sneezed into the napkins. Generosity must be the guiding principle.

On this point, I cite a recent email from John, my wife’s brother-in-law.

John, who is from Brooklyn but now lives upstate near Rochester, sometimes sends charming recollections of youth — in this case, his days as delivery boy for Goldfarb’s florist.

John’s father had died. Money was tight. Tips mattered. But there was a problem.

Located in Brooklyn, Goldfarb’s also served Manhattan and it was not unusual for 14-year-old John — wrapping an arm around his precious floral cargo on crowded subway cars — to arrive at swell apartment buildings where doormen stood guard against the lesser world.

No dopes, the sentries took charge of Goldfarb’s bouquets and carried them to residents, collecting the tips that might have been John’s.

One holiday season, an elegant gentleman waiting for the elevator in a Park Avenue high-rise observed the handoff.

"How far did you travel with those flowers?"

"Brooklyn," John said.

"Not fair," said the gent, offering John a 10-spot, good money in 1945. "Merry Christmas."

Ever since, John said, he has been an avid proponent of the big tip. If he finds himself with, shall we say, more frugal dining companions, for instance, John slips unnoticed back to the table and rehabilitates both gratuity and reputation.

"Lifetime habit," he says.

My own tipping approach is deeply informed by two individuals, Henry and Bob, former Newsday colleagues.

Henry, who covered consumer affairs, died several years ago. At the memorial service, a son paid tribute.

"He was a generous man," said the boy, "and infinitely patient."

Out for a family meal, he recalled, things went badly off-track — disinterested server making mistake after mistake and without apology.

No matter. His father left the usual hefty tip.

"Dad, the service was terrible," the son said to his father. "Guy didn’t have a clue."

Henry only shook his head. "We all have bad days," he said, ending an impromptu lesson in forgiveness.

Of the same kindly nature is my pal, Bob, who, in the area of giving away money, cannot be outdone. One year, Bob won a Pulitzer Prize for beat reporting. If they gave an award for income redistribution, he’d be a cinch to repeat.

Once I joined Bob and a couple of other Newsday reporters at a pub.

We had sandwiches and, two of us, I think, glasses of beer. The server was a favorite — peppy, efficient, funny, quick to laugh.

Lunch over, Bob took the check and calculated a four-way split.

"Not complaining," I said, "but seems kind of steep. How much was the bill?"

"Eighty," he said.

"And the tip?"

"Same."

"Eighty — 100%?"

"We can afford it," Bob said with a smile. "And she has a real job."

Tipping may be a peculiar ritual, but that’s a discussion for another time.

For now, let’s look forward to better days, and restaurant meals, and, after dessert, a chance to spread the wealth if only a little. Fair is fair.