Restaurant Escapades with Extended Family: Who Pays?

As we approach the holiday season, the anticipation builds for festive meals with friends and family. Eating together is a central focal point of life, and at this time a year—whether at home or in a restaurant—many of our fondest memories take place around a table.

The season brings to mind countless time-honored traditions. We exude expectations, both humble and grand. And in my family and perhaps yours, there’s always one irreconcilable constant—fighting over the bill. Who pays?

There is no rational explanation for this irrational behavior. It just happens. I can no more explain it than suggest an alternative course of action. The game is almost always afoot, and it may involve nimble sleight of hand and often keen under-the-table machinations.

In an ongoing effort to continue sharing my cultural experiences, I am compelled to relate the events and artful dealings from an extended family gathering from a couple summers ago with my Iraqi cousins in Calgary, Canada.

We spent five days and nights together, and before it began, I took the liberty of making five reservations for dinner. The maneuvers that followed have become the stuff of legend, and you’re welcome to make use of these tricks as needed this season or anytime.

Dinner One: The Quick Grab. Gaga pizzeria was a perfect place for an early strike. Amongst my Calgary cousins, Bashar is the oldest and thus bears the unwritten responsibility for ensuring that the Sarsam’s of The North are not dishonored by a guest picking up the tab. However, Bashar never saw this one coming. Relatively late in the dinner, I made eye contact with our waitress. She approached me and asked if we needed anything else. I said everything was delightful and slipped my credit card into her hand in a stealthy manner, without saying anything. She brought the bill a few minutes later and handed it to me. Bashar erupted in fury. I simply said “Hey, I got this … maybe you can get the next one.” He leaned back, silent, with a look of frustrated acceptance. He knew … game on.

Tony: 1, Bashar: 0

Dinner Two: The Wait Staff Prework. Minas Brazilian Steakhouse brought the heat, in more ways than one. I realized this night wouldn’t be as easy because both Bashar and I knew we had to up our game. My plan turned out to be overly simplistic, along the lines of starting a mediocre pitcher in Game Two of the World Series because you won Game One in a blowout. My plan was to prearrange the bill payment when we get to the restaurant, which simply required getting there first. Thus, I told Bashar we’d meet at Minas at 7:00 p.m. The Sarsam’s of The North are notoriously late, so I thought if I got to the restaurant at 6:50, I’d have plenty of time to do the prework. No problem. I got to the restaurant at precisely 6:50 and gave instructions to our waiter, who smiled and nodded. At the end of our protein-coma-inducing Brazilian dinner, the waiter approached the table and handed the bill to … Bashar?! “What happened?!,” I exclaimed. “We talked!” The waiter calmly replied that Bashar had called ahead and said his “broke cousin would ask for the bill, so please smile and nod. But don’t put his family at any further financial risk; just bring me the bill.” Simple but effective. All I could do was dig deep and strategize anew.

Tony: 1, Bashar: 1

Dinner Three: The Conditional Reservation. The Juniper Bistro in Banff brought a new opportunity. As we drove around in the Canadian Rockies earlier in the day, I knew I needed a comeback win. So with a perfectly clear conscience and requisite convoluted subterfuge, I told Bashar we were going to a different Banff restaurant, Brazen, as part of an elaborate bait and switch. As we were leaving Lake Louise, I texted everyone else to meet at The Juniper Bistro. When I arrived at the Juniper, I confided to the maître d’ that our extended family of 19 would go to Brazen if it wasn’t too big of a hassle to pre-charge my credit card. He smiled and welcomed us in. Then I called Bashar and told him, “So sorry, I must have given you the wrong name. Meet us at The Juniper.” He arrived a few minutes later. We were all seated and having a merry time. He looked at me, his eyes narrowed slightly … he knew ….

Tony: 2, Bashar: 1

Dinner Four: The Bribe. La Brezza Ristorante loomed large as a must-win for Bashar. He insisted on confirming the reservation, so my previous night’s strategy was compromised. In my naiveté, I thought I’d resort to a simple bribe tonight to slam the door shut on the series. I called the maître d’ and promised him that perfect service would require letting me pay the bill. There would be a generous tip, naturally. Done—or so I thought. Bashar saw the bribe strategy coming and told the maître d’ that the evening’s frivolities included a family contest to see who can give the host the most … with a cap of $200, which he promptly handed him. Touché.

Tony: 2, Bashar: 2

Dinner Five: The Use of Kids as Props. The Keg Steakhouse brought everyone together one last time. It was a must-win for both families. All the conventional trickery had been deployed, and Bashar and I were both aware that this night’s tab would go to the most creative defender of family honor. Naturally, we both called ahead. We talked to the hostess, the servers, the manager. I even caught one of the busboys to see if he could help. The servers were all in on the goofiness of our contest. I started thinking that the openness of the battle for the tab was an advantage for the nimble mind, and a bold plan began to take shape in my mind that was simple and elegant. I’d make sure that the TIME the bill arrived was fixed and set. Then I’d create an appropriate diversion. Bashar loved being an uncle, and I decided to deal a card from the bottom of the deck. That would be my daughter Victoria. She’d bring it home for us with gusto. As the dinner began its final stages, I asked our server to bring me a night cap of iced tea. As she handed it to me, I told her it was important that we get our bill precisely at 9:30. No problem, she asserted—9:30 would be fine. On this family trip, my daughter Victoria was five years old, irresistibly cute and had a bladder the size of a shot glass. With a suggestion from Dad at 9:28, she executed flawlessly:

Victoria: “Uncle Bashar, can you pwease take me to go potty?”

Bashar: “Of course, sweetie. Let’s go”

At about 9:32, our server returned and announced with a chuckle, “Who gets the bill?!”

I said, “My cousin had to leave suddenly and asked me to just pick this one up.”

Bashar and the notorious long-pee-breaker Victoria returned at 9:39, just as I signed the bill.

Tony: 3, Bashar: 2

And with that—game, set, match! The Sarsam’s of The USA returned home with legendary tales of our shared vacation and the closer ties of kindredship we experienced with our cousins in Canada.