Let's Do Lunch

Back in high school, you ate lunch with a lot of people you really didn't know and a few people you knew well. The food was average, although the pie floater was a very big deal.

Today, you eat lunch with a lot of people you don't really know and a few people you know well. The food is average, although the dukka-crusted tuna is a very big deal.

You see what I'm getting at? There will always be lunch. And people who figure out how to enjoy this meal with grace and gusto establish a beachhead of personal satisfaction in the middle of the day. Those who play the lunch game wrong miss out on one of the greatest perks of business life. And maybe a promotion or two. Let's look at the rules.

Rule 1: cancel no more than three times

As pleasurable as a nice lunch with a business associate can be, it's amazing how often, at precisely 11:42am, we feel like cancelling. The first cancellation may be carried out by your assistant, if you have one. No reason needs to be given.

For a second cancellation you'll need an excuse, which should be offered by you personally, since you are, in fact, very upset. Excuses may include, "The boss is being a dick" or "Finance has us reworking the quarterly numbers again." Be apologetic and offer to pick up the bill next time. Make sure a new date in the near future is scheduled.

A third cancellation should once again be carried out by someone other than you. You are tied up. You are overcome with grief at not being able to make it. You are close to death. Nobody with a brain or a heart could blame you for cancelling, the circumstances are so dire.

There is no fourth time. That'd say, "I don't give a crap about you and don't care if you know it." Don't go there, unless you need more enemies.

Rule 2: always make a reservation

It's a restaurant, not McDonald's, so call ahead even if the staff know you well. Any venue that doesn't treat you like royalty after three visits, by the way, isn't worth a return trip.

Rule 3: suck up to the maître d'

This has nothing to do with a pre-lunch palm greasing. I always sit at an excellent table and I never hand over a cent as inducement. Maître d's - at least the good ones - do not respect people who make them feel like prostitutes. I do occasionally slip the person a decent but not ostentatious note after the meal is over, as a reward for service delivered and as an investment towards next time.

What, you have something against sucking up all of a sudden? No? Then why not suck up to the person who decides if you sit next to the restroom or centre stage, where the chairman of the next company you'll work for will see you?

Rule 4: know when not to order an entree

Okay, we're at the food part now. And still . . . we are not. Entrées are not food. They are a way of extending a pleasant meal with somebody you like or want to do serious business with. At your average establishment, they add 20 minutes to the meal. This means that no matter how much you like the lobster bisque, you do not order an entrée if you are with somebody you can't tolerate for more than 75 minutes.

Of course, if your dining partner orders an entrée, you'll probably have to as well, unless you are truly averse to the idea, in which case you can say, "You go ahead, mate. I'm watching my abs." Very often, if you pass, your companion will as well, because he probably doesn't enjoy spending time with you, either.

Rule 5: order what you want

I say this only because if you're with a really pushy bloke at his restaurant of choice, he may run the "You've got to try the oysters!" gambit on you. Then you feel obliged to try the oysters, even though oysters make you throw up. Order what you like. This is lunch, not a test of loyalty.

As for booze, well, the long liquid lunch is almost extinct, and even a single beer is on the endangered list. Sales guys sometimes partake. And, of course, drunks.

If your companion is having a glass of something, it doesn't hurt to keep him company. But whisky, gin, vodka, tequila? No way, José, even if your name is Cuervo.

Rule 6: discuss the agenda

At some point during the meal, you're going to need to talk shop. If you have a lot to chat about, you can start the moment solid food appears. If the topic is more insubstantial, you can wait until later.

But when that moment arrives, don't hesitate. Listen for that window to open. Feel the wind on your cheek. It's why you're there; it's what allows you to stick the whole meal on expenses. But don't work it too hard. And by that, I mean don't pull out paper and pen. This is an oasis, remember. Nobody sweats the small stuff in an oasis.

Rule 7: plan your escape

Would you like coffee? Slow down. Remember: extend the meal only if you like your companion.

Also, this is the only time when you're allowed to ask, "When do you have to get back?" or say, "Sorry, I have to run to my 2:15." Whether you have a 2:15 or not is irrelevant.

Rule 8: figure out who's paying

Let me be clear: assume you're paying. In the past three years, I've picked up at least 500 bills. The leeches I eat with have taken care of, what, maybe 10? Perhaps I'm not lunching with the right people. I'm having fun, though.

If somebody does manage to seize the bill, always say, "Okay, but next time it's on me." This is a great and friendly thing to say, and no-one expects you to mean it.

There is one last great strategy pertaining to the magic hour. It's what you do on those very special days when your plastic is as tired as you are, when you would rather be impaled on a stake than talk to one more insincere person.

The plan is called Tuna Sandwich at Your Desk. The door is closed. The chips are crisp and fresh, the bread's soft and yielding, the silence is deep and golden. In a world dedicated to the exploitation of every waking hour, a couple of minutes like that just might be the greatest business perk of all.