More oil, Madam?

Tradition dictates that Britain’s Italian waiters grind their crotches in unison with pepper mills bigger than the Leaning Tower of Pisa and enquire, all oily slick, if ‘la signorina’ fancies anything else? Their act is cheesier than mozzarella, but as they are merely confirming our prejudice of Milan man as a harmless bum-pinching Latin Lothario out of Carry On Up The Tiber, it’s dismissed as all part of the trattoria tradition. When it comes to home-grown British waiters, however, we expect Basil Fawlty or worse, to have mentored them. So what to think of Pizza Express, now reportedly training staff in the gentle art of flirtation? Minefield! Come-hither looks over the lasagne? Extra sauce with your pasta? That’s strictly for Continentals. I see trouble ahead if other chains adopt this initiative. Imagine the scene around midnight at the nearest nosherie: ‘Coffee, tea or me?’ winks Romford Romeo waiter. Cue lagered-up of Luton, ‘Oi, tosser! It’s the salad that’s supposed to be fresh. Look at my missus like that again and I’ll tear those dough balls to shreds!’