People who pretend they’re the gastro kings and attempt to humiliate the staff should be spanked, and people who try the ‘I know AA Gill’ line in order to get a freebie of some sort should be made to stand in the corner.

But that’s not the case today. One of the newest Junior Sommeliers is having a hard time on Table 9. He’s eager, passionate, young (which, as they say, is not his fault), and just like the best of us is prone to make mistakes.

Apparently, it is all about a half bottle of Sancerre. ‘Have you tried the wine?!’ the gentleman snarls. ‘Yes s-s-sir’, the boy stammers. ‘Well, it's corked. Caput. Finito. It's so corked they can practically smell it back in my office. I should get the gout de terroir and all I get is the gout de merde! You’re a disgrace!’

I consider myself tough and mercenary but something in me moved when I saw the boy’s jaw twitch with disappointment, nervously rubbing his fingers at the thought of losing his job (No of course he didn’t. He’s still with us). The man smells his fear and delivers the fatal blow. ‘If you’re not good enough, step away from my table. Get me a proper Sommelier. Bloody foreigners.’

‘Bloody foreigners.’ That’s something that gets to me on a consistent basis. At one of my first restaurants abroad I had to deal with such comments myself, and not being prepared for it in any way, it is fair to say it hit me below the belt.

‘Where are you from? Malta? I went there and it was so boring. There’s nothing much happening and is full of loud people. Byron had it right you know. An island of ‘bells, yells and smells’ he said. And the food? Oh it was so appalling. No wonder you’re here now.’ How do you respond to that? Well, after weeks of pondering on it you do eventually get back with an answer, tucked in up your sleeve readily available for the next person who dares mock my nationality. U il-kotra qamet f’daqqa.

Years later, it happens again. A posh English lady taunts at me through her war-painted Rimmel-laden face. Her neck wrinkles are so pronounced it reminds me of the map for London Underground. ‘Your country is a mess. The roads are worse than the paths I used when doing voluntary work in Somalia. Everyone seemed fat and so short! It’s laughable. You should still belong to the British.’

I choke. And I cough politely. ‘Madame let me just explain to you one thing. I am Maltese and I am proud, and will do anything for my country. I consider what you just said arrogant and rude, bordering on uneducated. But, diplomacy being one of our greatest assets I shall continue to serve your table with the same grace as before. I sincerely hope you enjoy your evening with us.’

I can never understand why people need to come to a restaurant and direct their criticism in a personal attack against the staff. I’m not talking about complaints – it is your money to spend and you should well receive what you’re paying for. But delivering any criticism in an abusive manner is only making the situation worse, the staff more defensive, and you have managed to put yourself in a situation where the staff actually do not want you to be there. You may think you do not care, but you will sense the awkwardness just as well as we do, and thereby your evening is spoiled. After all, you’re here to enjoy yourself. Are you not?

What good does it do to tell your waitress she’s useless because she forgot the salted butter? And did you really have to embarrass the Maitre D' in front of everyone for her not catching the name under which your reservation was booked? You might have forgotten all about it later on in the evening, maybe even there and then, but I’ve personally seen people break down in the back of house over insensitive comments and I for one still carry the ‘battle wounds’ around with me to this day. In the world of catering and hospitality, where you come and relax and enjoy a bite of food, other people have made it their life, and actually enjoy their work. Some have even taken the job in order to make ends meet. Life is hard the way it is: don’t make it harder over a lump of forgotten butter.

The higher you go in the hierarchy of dining, the more passionate the people are about their work. And this is where things tend to be taken personally. You will find that the more you put your heart in your work, the harder it is for you to accept even the slightest of criticism. I am not in any way defending such reactions, merely pointing out flaws in being human, but think about the last time you encountered the snappy waiter. Was he really rude? Or was he just plain upset with what you said? This is exactly why the French have such a reputation of being arrogant.

Especially if you said something along the lines of ‘Escuzay mwa! My cheese is too smelly.’