don’t clap between movements

My wife has taught me many things. One of them is that if you attend an orchestra or symphony performance, you do not immediately begin clapping between movements.

Apparently, this is a thing.

The first time I heard this, I thought it sounded ridiculous.

The musicians stop playing.

The room becomes quiet.

The piece sounds finished.

Why wouldn't you clap?

Because it isn't over.

The silence is part of the performance.

The pause is intentional.

The composer hasn't finished speaking yet.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized food works the same way.

Restaurants have movements too.

The first movement begins before you ever sit down.

You glance at the menu taped to the window.

You smell garlic coming from the kitchen.

You hear glasses clinking somewhere behind you.

The overture has already started.

Then comes the seating.

The drinks.

The menu arrives.

And inevitably there is always one person who treats the entire experience like they are trying to catch the last helicopter out of Saigon.

The server walks up.

"Can I start you with something to drink?"

"Yeah. Burger. Medium. Fries."

My friend, we haven't even opened the program yet.

Then there are the menu freeloaders.

The people who refuse to read a single word.

The menu could be the size of War and Peace.

The chef could have spent months crafting it.

Yet they immediately ask:

"What do you have?"

I don't know.

Perhaps the answers are hidden in the document currently resting in your hands.

Imagine attending the symphony and asking the conductor halfway through:

"So what songs are you guys doing tonight?"

My personal favorite is the table that summons the server as if hailing a taxi in Midtown Manhattan.

"Boss!"

"Hey!"

"WATER!"

No eye contact.

No patience.

No waiting for an appropriate moment.

Just a verbal air horn launched across the dining room.

It is the restaurant equivalent of applauding three measures into the violin solo.

Now, don't misunderstand me.

I am not advocating for fancy dining room behavior.

I have eaten tacos standing next to a gas station.

I have consumed hot dogs at baseball games.

I have ordered food from places where the menu was handwritten on cardboard.

This isn't about being classy.

It's about rhythm.

Every good meal has rhythm.

The drinks arrive.

Conversation starts.

The order gets placed.

Food lands.

Someone steals a fry.

Someone says they're not hungry and then eats half your plate.

The dessert menu appears.

The check arrives.

Finale.

Curtain.

Applause.

Maybe that's why I get irrationally bothered when someone orders before they've looked at the menu.

Or when they interrupt the server before introductions are complete.

Or when they begin dismantling the basket of bread like they're preparing for winter.

You're clapping between movements.

The performance just started.

Let the orchestra play.

Then again, maybe I'm the wrong person to judge.

After all, I'm the same guy who thinks ordering a glass of milk at a restaurant should require approval from a panel of experts.

And if you eat all your fries before touching your burger, you're probably the person applauding after the oboe tuning.

We can still be friends.

But I notice.