My Calcium

The Secret Lives of Restaurant Food Delivery Tippers

Tipping protocol is a constant subject of conversation, debate, and controversy in New York. Parking lot attendant extortion, unsolicited "help" hailing yellow taxis, doorman ties to the mob, the massage parlor "invisible hand," gypsy cab negotiations (and whether this term is offensive to the gypsy population), dedicated sommelier tip lines, Christmas gifts for the highrise building family you never knew you had, and the bartender binary bill conundrum are a few of the many gratuity topics on the mind of today's metropolitan citizen. Most of the notes I've read on the topic are generalized guides, outlining the appropriate instances when prescribed roundabout percentages are owed to certain recognized service providers. But with the recent rise of purveyor instituted tip jars -- accompanied by gratuity induced prices engineered to maximize coinage returned from paper bill purchases -- it's become increasingly important to develop a more granular and robust thought process for gauging these subjective matters of social protocol.

Friends commonly ask me for opinions on appropriate tipping procedure expecting a singular hard-and-fast rule in reply. Very few tipping situations are as uniform and static as the posers of this question would like to think. And many, like the one I’ve outlined below, involve multiple considerations in order to tabulate the proper outcome. To give you an idea I’ve outlined a cursory “thought process” examination of the high-frequency, multi-variable tipping scenario of restaurant food delivery.

>Long a Floor / Short a Cap
Importance: High

The blind application of a flat tipping percentage will at times result in a payment shortfall or overage. On the low side, remote patrons who are consistent placers of near minimum charge meal orders should be tipping more than 15-20%. On the high side, the toro sashimi takeout party you and your ten closest friends decide to have shouldn’t require the full 20% on top of an already pricey bill. A floor/cap of $2/$10 for a reasonable payload carryable by one delivery person should override an otherwise 15-20% of bill baseline rule-of-thumb.

>Distance
Importance: High

Requesting delivery to the outskirts of a maximum territory boundary prevents workers from churning out additional orders. Reward distance. Conversely, don't feel guilty offering up a low side tip on deliveries from restaurants located within shouting distance of your front stoop.

>The Multitask
Importance: High

Reward delivery journeys that appear dedicated to your order alone. If the person shows up with multiple bags it’s likely that the oven-to-door time has been extended against your interests (though this is not always the case).

>Weather
Importance: High

Though braving the elements is technically part of the job description, an additional tip is appropriate to compensate for safer/slower delivery speeds, especially if the payload arrives promptly. This booster is countered partly by the fact that during bad weather there is likely more orders to deliver, thus more tips.

Sidenote: The opposite theory applies in regards to bad weather when considering tips for taxis. Yellow cabs generally operate "in stride" during inclimate weather. And since there is usually no shortage of riders I feel less compelled to bump up gratuities.

>Tonnage
Importance: Moderate

Unwieldy pizza boxes and heavy orders of cheap brothy soba deserve more credit than a lightweight bento box or portable dish of Thai protein. Reward tonnage.

>Stair Stipend
Importance: Low

Climbing two flights of stairs is easier than four. Delivery to the door of my fifth floor walkup apartment deserves a small scaling consideration. Reward height.

The Quinoa Challenge

There was plenty of time to share stories during our chilly Sunday stroll from the toucan inhabited cemetery spires of Greenwood Cemetery towards the DELICIOUS clutches of Franny’s Potato Croquettes. As EB and I crossed the magical and ever moving border between South Slope and Park Slope I decided to share a tale of vain admittance. A few weekends back a group of us sat in a Williamsburg brunchery pondering the age old question of sweet versus savory. The inconsequentiality of my decision gave birth to a pitiful plan of personal praise. Since everything appeared equally appetizing I would order the Quinoa Crusted Chicken simply so that the waitress would recognize how smart and cultured I was to know its proper pronunciation. The sound of EB’s incredulous laughter interrupted my story. “A LOT of people know how to pronounce that word,” she jokingly commented. Though my memory of the waitress’s blank stare affirmed her assertion I staunchly stood my ground and disagreed. In order to accurately gauge my friend’s estimation of quinoa awareness I retorted with this hypothetical scenario: “If you stood on the corner 5th avenue and 57th street in Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon and asked 100 people to read a sentence with the word 'quinoa' in it, how many would pronounce it correctly?”

In a suprisingly confident voice she answered "50."

Do you agree that 50 or more people would successfully pronounce quinoa in the context outlined above? Well, if you do and would like to wager a consequential deed or asset on its outcome please contact me with your proposal. If I find your proposal suitable we’ll begin working out the logistics for administering The Quinoa Challenge.

Souvlaki Trailer

I don't bicycle to work very much during the winter. The problem is that I haven’t worked out a system to shield my shower wet hair from the cold while both protecting my skull and not looking more disheveled than usual upon arrival. But despite all my undeniable wimpyness I decided a brisk February morning ride would do my not-looking-forward to work despondency some good.

{Don’t forget your helmet or the two bike lock keys. Stop ignoring the garbage and just take it downstairs; you can replace the bag liner the next time you throw something away. Don’t close the door until after you tap your pockets to check if you took your apartment keys, wallet, and phone. Ok, close the door. Turn the deadbolt key counterclockwise one rotation until you hear the click. Click. Heel toe down sixty stairs, hairpin left onto the humidity warped linoleum towards the rat infested garbage canned backyard, and don’t get startled when the door hinge makes that weird brakey noise. Undo the ten pound chain lock first and be careful as you drag it through the already damaged front tire spokes. Wrap the chain four times around the head tube without getting your hands greasy or choking the brake cables. Watch out for all the mysterious broken glass!}

There are only so many ways to get from Manhattan’s east single digits to its east 40s. That morning I decided to take the longer but less treacherous bike-pathed route: Westward via tree-lined 9th Street, up 6th Avenue (not “Avenue of the Americas”), back east across 46th Street (a.k.a. The Little Brazil that couldn’t), then up Vanderbilt Avenue. As I approached the company sponsored bike rack a member of our crack security team, acting as if he’s never seen me before, began reciting his lines as I preemptively patted myself down in search of i.d. “This bike rack is ONLY for employees” he says in a mandatorily stern voice. Before I have the chance to become annoyed the “I’m only doing my job and though it’s boring and unfulfilling I don’t mind because it’s enough to support my family” look in his eyes forces each prickly inclination in my head to stand down. After locking up the bike I replace my helmet with my work hat but not before giving my now matted down hair a two handed tussle in front of the window’s glared reflection. I prove myself again to the indoor security guard before stepping onto the escalator where I decide to uncharacteristically stand rather than climb. A tiny but earned reward for this morning’s harrowing journey.

Preparing to leave my desk, I am quickly reminded that the tattered Helly Hansen fleece which was inadequate on my ride to work will be even more inadequate in this evening’s windy chill. After completing my P.M. security guard serenade I set off for my semi-annual dentist and doctor checkups.

Most visitors to this city would wrongly assume that delivery trucks, yellow taxicabs, or the unwieldy multi-sectioned MTA buses sit on top of Manhattan’s street traffic hierarchy. Anyone who’s lived here long enough or has ridden a bicycle once during rush hour knows that it’s the hardened bike messengers who are the lions of this kingdom. With their grizzled glares peering through duct taped vintage eyeglasses they zoom past soon-to-turn-green avenue lights atop their sanded down fixed geared skeleton frames. If you’ve never noticed them before you will now. But while messengers are our fearless generals it’s the endless platoons of food delivery bikers who are the true unsung heroes of this war. The speed, recklessness, and grit that characterize messenger bike culture is mirrored by the endurance, temperament, and humility of New York’s food delivery cavalcade.

With blood extraction bandages on both arms I cruised past Broadway’s Carpet Row, bumped along the cobblestones of Union Square West, then hooked a left onto 14th street. After parting throngs of NYU students at the pedestrian owned intersection of Broadway and 14th a food delivery biker, previously heading north on 4th Avenue, turned right and led me and another commuter in a mini-peloton towards The East River. It was at that point when my vividly rare New York moment began. The delivery payload sat within a black strapped dirty red padded bag, lined with space-aged shiny aluminum insulation. The bag was carelessly dropped unfastened in a stripped black wire basket atop the rear wheel of his ravaged late 90s model mountain bike. His unwavering swerve was accompanied by the metallic clank of sloppily affixed chain lock against frame. As we passed 2th Avenue the wind flapped open his bag and I awoke from my daze to the appetizing smells of Chicken Souvlaki! Under normal delicious food whiffing circumstances it would have hardly registered. But against the backdrop of MTA bus exhaust, those darn sewer smells, and piles of pizza store garbage it was a nothing short of a sensory revelation. My nostrils flared and relaxed as the wind continued to blow the bag open and shut. After parting ways upon his delivery destination I walked my bike the rest of the way home feeling happy to live in New York.

Brunch Wheelbarrows in The Weimar Republic

The scene is reminiscent of media depictions during chaotic months following the Soviet Union's 1991 collapse. Hordes of hungry people waiting in endless lines, clamoring to purchase bread, flour, eggs, milk, and other dietary staples. The only difference is that this isn't post-communist Russia, it's a typical Sunday morning steps outside my New York City apartment.

Surrounded by female clothing boutiques, vintage nic nak shops, and a truly fabulous eyeglass store sits the unmarked 9th Street Market, one of Downtown's elite brunching institutions. Elite in that hungry Manhattanites routinely wait for more than hour to secure seating at one of their 10 coveted tables. The menu boasts a stock array of hearty New American seasonal fare: Banana walnut pancakes, French toast dusted with confectioner's sugar, Goat cheese omelettes, Steel cut Irish oatmeal, etc. I've had the pleasure of dining there on multiple occasions, a few times for weekday breakfast and once for their lesser known dinner offering. The food is undoubtedly good but given the preponderance of quality restaurants in the vicinity it's astonishing to me why anyone would wait an hour and a half for a plate of Migas and roasted potatoes. If you’re considering a peak time Sunday meal here just think how silly you'll feel standing in the freezing cold amongst a restaurant-full size group of uninformed brunchers, clogging the sidewalk, and trying to ignore our incredulous stares. Do yourself a favor and opt for one of these lesser known neighborhood alternatives: Angelina Café, La Palapa, Quhnia, or Tree.

One Siren's Song

Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, oh how many times you’ve tricked me! You sit in the back of my cupboard unbound by expiration dates, whispering to me, wanting me to want you. Something you said to me as a child keeps me coming back, keeps me wondering why I haven’t heard the maraca shake of your slim corrugated blue box for so long. I’m willing to put aside the bad times we’ve had together and give it another chance. Did I add too much milk last time? Should I have boiled your elbows in salted water or used margarine instead of butter? Is one packet of bright and dusty cheese powder really enough? Was I using the high altitude directions by mistake? You’re right, there isn’t enough pasta in this box for a growing young man like myself; I’ll just make two batches for good measure. Wait a second … No … I won’t do it! Your wily charms have fooled me for the last time! I know you’re the cheesiest but I don’t care. Your conniving nature and stomachache-inducing artificial flavors are the reason I don’t like girls who eat American cheese. I'll get my calcium elsewhere, thank you very much. And don’t think that I’ll aid in propagating this vicious cycle by donating your non-perishable wares to the local food drive. You’ve ruined enough lives already.

Jumping Monkey Cocktail Recipe

This is a recipe I adapted from a cocktail served to me at Perry Street Restaurant during the spring of 2006. Naming credit: Christina Frayne

Ingredients:
Kentucky Bourbon
Serrano peppers
Granulated sugar
Brown sugar (optional)
Passion Fruit Juice

Making the Syrup:
The quantities I use in this example should make enough syrup for many drinks (15+). The extra syrup should be cooled and stored at room temperature in a glass jar. Other types of peppers can be used to vary the taste and heat level - Thai chili, Jalapeno, and Habanero (hot!) all work well.

1. Bring 3 cups of water to a rolling boil in a medium sauce pan.
2. Add 5-7 roughly chopped whole Serrano peppers. Boil gently for 2-3 minutes.
3. Drain out the peppers and discard. Pour the water back in the pan under low/medium heat.
4. Completely dissolve 1 1/2 - 2 cups of sugar into the water. Note that the traditional balance for simple syrup is two parts sugar to one part water. I prefer to use less sugar for this particular drink.

Making the Drink:
2 parts Bourbon.
1 to 2 parts syrup depending on desired sweetness.
8 parts passion fruit juice.

Combine ingredients in a Cobbler Shaker with ice. Shake and serve in a chilled double old fashioned glass. Granulated or brown sugar rim if you like that sorta thing.

Most / Least Desirable NYC Restaurants (Hype Adjusted)

--Most desirable restaurants after adjusting for hype--
360
Aki
Anyway Cafe
Apizz
Bozu
Cafecito
Cha-an
Chiyono
Downtown Bakery II
Fette Sau
Franny's
The Good Fork
Kori
Little Giant
Locanda Vini E Olii
Los Dos Molinos
Marlow & Sons
Moto
Natori
OMS/B
Pizza Gruppo
Pho Bang
The Queen's Hideaway
Tides

--Least desirable restaurants after adjusting for hype--
'Inoteca
9th Street Market
Cafe Habanna
Clinton Street Bakery
Da Silvano
Danal
Dos Caminos
Frank
Katz's Deli
Koi
Kuruma Zushi
Lombardi's Pizza
Mama's Food Shop
Momofuko Noodle Bar
Morimoto
Tomoe
Veniero's
Waverly Inn (Note: I've never actually eaten here)
Una Pizza Napoletana
Union Square Cafe

East Village Restaurant Files

I'm very keen on updated my tired list of East Village & vicinity DELIVERY / TAKOUT staples. Listed below are my current "go-to" places surrounding my home near 1st avenue and 9th street. If you have suggestions to improve this situation please write me. (Help me.. Help me please)

*Japanese/Sushi*
Ginger
Natori

*Pizza*
Pizza Gruppo
Una Pizza Napoletana
Two Boots

*Italian*
L'il Frankies

*Latin*
Caracas Arepas

*Pan Asian*
Tara Thai
Republic
Pukk
East Village Thai
Kai Kai
Why Curry?
Cafe Himalaya
Thai on Two

*Indian*
Banjara
Royal Banglandesh

*Mexican*
Downtown Bakery
Paquitos
Benny's Burritos

*Middle Eastern*
Cafe Rakka
Moustache

*Chinese*
Red House

*Misc*
Westville East
Atomic Wings
Wai Cafe
Quantum Leap