For the average man, no date on the calendar is more fraught with peril than Valentine’s Day.
Blow it, and you’ll be in the doghouse with Rex, duking it out over the Alpo.
Within the trifecta of obligations associated with Hallmark’s holiest day — flowers, card, dinner — nothing piles more pressure on a guy than landing reservations at a romantic restaurant.
Especially forgetful guys.
Which is why maitre d’s and restaurateurs everywhere are fielding frantic calls from men who think scoring a prime table tonight is as easy as sending a dozen roses.
Just ask Blair Taylor.
Over the years, the owner of Barolo Grill on East Sixth Avenue in Denver has been offered everything from Rockies tickets to use of a Vail condo to squeeze procrastinators into his restaurant on Valentine’s Day.
“Guys tend to resort to offering up cash,” Taylor said.
Barolo fans also pursue the popular Table 20, the two-top tucked by the fireplace.
“But we don’t let people reserve that on Valentine’s,” Taylor said. “It’s all luck of the draw. It’s the only fair way to do it.”
Toby Hurd, general manager at Restaurant Kevin Taylor in downtown Denver, has endured a week of madness.
“It’s been a scramble the last two days,” Hurd said. “We’ve been booked for ages, and we get vehement callers saying, ‘Do you know who I am?’ ”
That’s restaurant-world Esperanto for “Not only am I a procrastinator, I’m a jerk.”
“They just go through the roof,” said Hurd, who expects 168 diners in three seatings. “You get these doctors and attorneys who don’t seem to get that we’re a business.”
At Aix, a cozy French place in the Uptown district, chef-owner Rachel Woolcott is braced for the usual Valentine’s Day chutzpah.
“We get people who try to bluff their way in,” she said. “They show up, announce they have a reservation, but it’s not in our system. And that just doesn’t happen.”
Paul Attardi is co-owner and maitre d’ at Fruition, a top Denver restaurant. A veteran of high-end rooms, Attardi can smell Valentine’s Day desperation like a dog smells fear.
Bribery is always the first recourse. “The standard line is, ‘I’ll give you $100 right now,’ ” he said. Such efforts fall flatter than a collapsed souffle.
Fruition was booked solid a month ago. Still, some guys have the persistence of an over-caffeinated telemarketer. By noon Tuesday, Attardi had fielded four calls from one panicked Don Juan.
I asked Attardi if anyone ever spins a heart-wrenching tale about a dying girlfriend.
“No, their stories are more like that they’ll be dead,” he said. “A guy will say anything to get in. ‘I’ll be killed. I’ll never be able to go home. The marriage will be over.’
“It’s kind of amusing, but kind of sad too.”
Restaurants will open for dinner in mere hours. So what’s a poor reservation- free Romeo to do?
Taylor suggested opting to dine at the restaurant’s bar. Woolcott advised calling when the restaurant opens to ask about last-minute cancellations.
Attardi, who is so suave he could make Cary Grant look like Jethro Bodine, offered a Plan B.
“Guys underestimate the power of whipping up a dinner at home,” he said. “You want to impress a woman? That’s a great way to do it.”
William Porter’s column runs twice a week. Reach him at 303-954-1977 or wporter@denverpost.com.
