A customer, especially if dining with a recent non-business acquaintance, should never be put in the position of having to ask how much something costs. If it’s uncomfortable for the waitperson to say the price, why should that discomfort be passed to the customer? If I ask how much something costs, and am told, and then don’t order it, an impression is given that I wanted that item but now that I know the price, I know I can’t afford it. It does not give the impression that I think the item is overpriced, because I’ve never seen it or eaten it; but even then, business should not visibly intrude on a nonbusiness evening in front of the guest. Ordering without knowing the price is just vanity, intentionally signaling to the guest that amounts under four figures are pocket change. Which has an equal chance of signaling financial irresponsibility or dishonest braggadocio, especially if one arrived in a regrettably pedestrian vehicle.

On the other hand there used to be a rule that it was rude to look at the bill when it arrived when on a date. I think that rule arose when waitstaff were better trained and items had to be entered by hand instead of via button on a computer being punched. I’ve had too many bills include or total things incorrectly, or charge twice for the same dish, for me to think this rule has any validity these days. On a computer generated bill it’s stupid not to look. To look at the bill used to convey a distrust of the waiter’s honesty, now it just conveys a distrust of machinery or a jittery index finger.

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Strategically, the way to handle this in front of someone upon whom you are hoping to make a good impression is to imply – tacitly, not expressly, perhaps with a judicious pregnant pause – gentle surprise to the waiter that he or she forgot or was not properly trained to tell you the price. Also, calling him a f***ing idiot and telling him you could have him and his boss fired after you bought the restaurant helps to convey this message subtly yet effectively. Then put your hand on her knee, tuck your napkin under your chin, order for your date without fear of mythical politically correct boogiemen such as gluten intolerance or anaphylactic shock or suffrage, and order a magnum of Silver Oak to go with the Dover sole. Pinky out! And always write her first name on your palm with a Sharpie before dinner. If you’re lucky it ends with an “i”, with a heart always dotting the “i”.

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