An elderly Jewish man is in a Borough Park restaurant and "der kelner" (waiter) brings over the rolls, but no butter. "May I have some butter, please?" The waiter gives a slight nod and wanders off.

"Tsen" minutes later, still no butter. The man catches the waiter's eye. "May I have some butter, please?" Still the vaguest of responses, and after "tsen" more minutes, still no butter.

"Maybe you don't know who I am," says the customer. "I'm a graduate of the Sy Syms School of Business at Yeshiva University, a Rhodes "gelernter" (scholar), and I coordinated 1,450 volunteers for Mitzvah Day, 2004. In addition, I've planted a grove of trees in Israel (valued at $5,000), via the Jewish National Fund, and I bought the State of Israel's Mazel Tov Bond for my 'eynikl.' My grandson received 1600 on his SATs, speaks Yiddish fluently, and belongs to a network of zamlers who collect Yiddish books for the National Yiddish Book Center in Amherst."

"Maybe you don't know who I am," said the waiter. "I'm the guy who's in charge of the butter."

In 1903, the Jewish Daily Forward, which always scrutinized new trends, reported that a new word had entered the Yiddish language:
"oysen" or "eating out." To dine-out--not at a friend's or relative's house--but at an actual "restoran" (restaurant) had been unheard of in the old country (and up until that point, even in the new). The Forward noted that this stylish habit was "spreading every day, especially in New York."

By 2004, Jews "khap a bays" (grab a bite) out for "der frishtik" (the breakfast), "der lontsh" (the lunch), and "der mitog" (the dinner).

Some of their stories:

Mel Poretz has a favorite New York waiter story. 30 years ago he and his boss were in Borough Park and sat down at The Famous, on 13th Avenue. The meal was delicious (marinated herring drowned in onions, 4 kinds of rolls, etc.) At the end of the meal the waiter approached him, asking if they were thinking about having dessert. The customer asked what kinds he has. The waiter rattles off his list of delectables, the last one being stewed prunes. The customer, with more than a little mischief in his voice, asked, "How good are your prunes?" The reply:
"How far away from here do you live?"
(New York Times, Metro, 5/24/04)

Two women who have not seen each other for many years meet at a local restaurant.

"How are you, Mrs. Weiss?"

"Fine, Mrs. Jacobi, and you?"

They converse for fifteen minutes, then Mrs. Weiss asks, "Your son, Marvin, such a handsome child. How are things going for him?"

"Very well!" says Mrs. Jacobi. "You know he graduated from the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) in Hyde Park...or New Hyde Park... somevere. He got a job at Sammy's Roumanian in 1997."

"Oh, I read what Zagat said about the restaurant":

"A heart attack on a plate" served with mismatched cutlery on rickety tables"
and with a side of "Catskills comedy"
sums up the vodka-fueled, "rollicking"
Lower East Side "hole-in-the-wall"
Jewish-Roumanian schmaltz fest: It's like "a pay-as-you-go bar mitzvah party."

"Well, he was fired, and then got a job at Bouley...or was it Boky (a half Chinese - half Vietnamese restaurant)? Then he was hired at Nate 'n Al's (their chicken soup could raise the dead). Then the Russian Tea Room--they closed! Now he's applying for a job at Pastrami Queen, formerly Pastrami King of Queens Blvd."

"Isn't it wonderful. From one child to have so much naches!"

Two "dokters" meet for dinner in San Francisco. The first "dokter" says, "I have a very demanding 'patsyent.' She writes me letters and sends me e-mails."

Dear Dokter:
I want the real Vioxx, the nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory "meditsin," not generic. Generic doesn't work for me. Your "krank-shvester" (nurse) said you don't call in narcotic prescriptions but I live far away from your office so I want them mailed to me. Also, I need an x-ray of "der rukn" (back) because it's hurting and I think there's a pinched nerve. And I want some Ambien because I can't "shlof."

The other "dokter" asks, "And what did you reply?"

"You want fries with that?"

Shmuel had told all his friends about the "batamt" (delicious) Glatt Kosher "bifsteyk" (beef steak) and homemade stuffed derma he'd eaten in the Delancey Street restaurant the day before. So they decided to go down there and see if it was really as "groys" (large) and "batamt" as he said. But much to their disappointment, the waiter brought them the tiniest steak they'd ever seen.

"Hey, waiter," Shmuel barked. "I was in this restaurant "nekhtn" (yesterday) and you served me a "groys" juicy steak, and now today, when I've organized a party, you serve such a "kleyn" (small) one."

"Yes, sir," replied the waiter. "But yesterday you were sitting by the window."

And the best stories come from Lindy's, the theater-district restaurant, opened by Leo Lindemann in 1921, on Broadway near 50th Street. Known for its sandwiches, Lindy's was made famous by the writer Damon Runyon, who changed the name to Mindy's in his short stories.

A bedraggled guy walks into Lindy's on a "kalt" (cold), rainy night and sits down at a table. The waiter pads up to take his order and the guy says, "Bring me "finf" eggs and a kind word, please." The waiter walks away. He's "shtil" (silent).

A few minutes later, the waiter comes back with a plate of "finf" (5 ) eggs, sets them in front of the customer and turns to go without uttering a word. The customer says, "Wait a minute. What about my kind word?" The waiter turns, faces the customer and says, "Don't eat the eggs!"