Yesterday morning, after so many years of being a dedicated reader of her blog, I finally read Penelope Trunk’s book. There were many parts of the book that rung true with me, but one in particular was regarding “human moments,” a term I had never heard used before.

Originally coined by Edward M. Hallowell, a psychiatrist and senior lecturer at Harvard Medical School, he writes that a human moment is “an authentic psychological encounter that can only happen when two people share the same physical space. It has two prerequisites: people’s physical presence and their emotional and intellectual attention.”

Penelope went on to give a specific example that applies very closely to the concept of coworking, which a workplace trend I strongly support.  She writes: “Even if your office is a coffee shop at the end of your block, those frequent trips to the barista provide a nice face-to-face moment if you make a bit of small talk.”

This is exactly why I like to eat out. Because I appreciate eating good food, of course, but also because I really enjoy connecting with people, especially the people who exist outside of the circles I normally run in.

As a creature of habit, I tend to frequent the same restaurants over and over again.  I’m also likely to order the same thing, every time.  Not because I’m unwilling to try new things; quite the opposite, really.

In fact, the very reason I know all of the good places in town and all of the good things on their respective menus, is because I have tried new things so often.  And as a result of that all of that experimentation, I’ve figured out exactly what I like and exactly what I don’t.  I’m not picky in my tastes; I’m refined.

However, the way I decide where to eat is rarely based entirely on the food.  Good service is a big factor for me as well.

I like to go places where people know my name. Where people know what I always order.  It’s nice to be remembered.

And I like to go places where they don’t mind making a vegetarian equivalent when I ask for it.  Places that don’t mind when I order off of the kid’s menu, because I have an unusually small appetite. Where they’ll make exceptions for me and accommodate special requests (I’m always adding capers).  It’s only natural to prefer preferential treatment.

Only recently have I started to cook for myself, which means that I’ve a great deal of time eating out.  Through the years, there have been a few really memorable instances of stellar service.

My favorite restaurant in Austin, hands-down, is Wink.  Their menu changes every day, depending on what they buy at the local farmer’s market that morning.  They specialize in rare and exotic meats, but since I don’t eat meat, they excel at making incredibly delectable vegetarian plates. And it’s never the same, because the chef just whips something up from whatever he has in the kitchen that day.

Wink is a tad on the expensive side for just any old night, but I always pick it for special occasions.  In 2005, John Erik Metcalf and I went there together to celebrate his birthday.  I booked the reservation, and let them know that it was John Erik’s birthday; since the menu is never the same, it has to be printed up anew every day. Thus, they can add a special message at the top if you request it.

When we sat down at the restaurant and started perusing the menus, John Erik and I looked up at each other at the same time.  He, having just noticed the personalized birthday note, and me, stunned to see that the top of my menu read “welcome home.” In Chinese.

Indeed, I had just returned from my first six months in China.  Not only did they know and remember that, they had taken the time to translate the message into the language for which I had set out to learn.  This seemingly small gesture probably one of the most randomly touching things that has ever happened to me.  It was a human moment that I’ll never, ever forget it, for as long as I’ll live. And it remains one of my favorite stories to tell.

Now, that is going above and beyond just service.  But honestly, good service doesn’t have to take on that intense level of detail.  Sometimes, it’s much simpler than that.

On the east side of Austin, there is a little place that is famous for its breakfast tacos called Juan in a Million.

The first time I ever set foot in this restaurant, the owner was standing proudly by the door, greeting each customer as they entered, and thanking every customer as they left.  When I walked in, he looked at me, smiled widely, took one of my hands and grasped it in both of his, and said, “Nice to see you.”

Read that statement again. “Nice to see you.”

He didn’t know whether or not I’d ever been there before, and it didn’t matter because there was no implication either way.  Regardless of whether or I was a first-time or a long-time customer, he was still able to succinctly and effectively express the right message: it was nice to see me there.

And that’s another human moment that I won’t ever forget.