• Photo: Eric England

Joey Garrison's got the rundown over at The City Paper, but here are the basics: Downtown will be divided into nine vendor zones where food trucks will be allowed; outside downtown, food trucks will be required to keep a set distance from driveways and from brick-and-mortar restaurants; trucks will be required to buy a permit and be inspected regularly; food trucks serving on private property will be required to have documentation showing they have been invited. The details, including how much these permits will cost, are yet to be worked out.

This might sound like a lot of red tape and bureaucracy for mobile eateries to navigate, but Nashville Food Truck Association president (and Riffs Fine Street Food chef/operator) B.J. Lofback tells Bites this is not a "crackdown," as some people have characterized it to him.

Mr. Pink: I don't tip because society says I gotta. I tip when somebody deserves a tip. When somebody really puts forth an effort, they deserve a little something extra. But this tipping automatically, that shit's for the birds...

Mr. Blue: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their ass. This is a hard job.

Mr. Pink: So's working at McDonald's, but you don't feel the need to tip them. They're servin' ya food, you should tip 'em. But no, society says tip these guys over here, but not those guys over there. That's bullshit.

Mr. Orange: They work harder than the kids at McDonald's.

Mr. Pink: Oh yeah? I don't see them cleaning fryers.

The dialogue, of course, is from Quentin Tarantino's classic Reservoir Dogs, which, at least in regard to the infamous "ear" scene, is decidedly not something you want to watch whilst eating. It does, however, illustrate a point: Why is the professional food service industry seemingly the only industry that not only expects tipping, but damn near demands it (see the "17 percent gratuity added to parties of ___ or more," on the bottom of one of your recent food receipts)?

Where did this curious convention get its start? Why don't restaurants just pay their servers more in the first place, eliminating the need for tipping unless a server goes completely above and beyond the call of duty?

Of course, many argue that today's tipping system was put into place expressly to motivate said server to go the extra mile. By placing the burden on the waitperson to actually earn part of his or her hourly wage, service quality is, in theory, increased across the board. But, for the sake of argument, couldn't the quality of service also be controlled by, say, firing servers who receive repeated complaints? I realize there's a shortage of quality waitstaff these days (or so I'm told), but if tips are damn near mandated as they are now (at a 20 percent clip, no less), where's that almighty motivation? (Interestingly, in Alaska, California, Minnesota, Montana, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington, on top of tips, by law servers must earn at least minimum wage. It is imagined that line cooks and dishwashers in these states are particularly cranky on busy nights).

According to StraightDope.com, the origin of tipping (the word itself, at least) has two probable etymologies: the Latin "stips," meaning gift; and the Middle English word for "to give." Tipping spread from Mother England to the colonies (at least after a class system began to reassert itself), and lo and behold, some 230-plus years later, your $50 steak dinner is $10 more expensive. The restaurateur's side of this? If one didn't tip, the waitstaff would expect to be paid more, the price of your food would increase, yada yada yada, and you're out your $10 anyway.

But might that model be more intrinsically honest? When I go buy a car, I don't drop the salesperson an extra 2K on my $10,000 ride. When I have someone recommend a bottle of wine, I don't drop a dime on the sommelier. No, most of us grease palm when we've been satisfied, when we've been taken care of.

All this said, I must admit to dropping a solid 20 percent after almost every meal I eat, whether it's $10 Chinese take-out (yes, take-out) or a $60 splurge. Bartenders, too, get the same treatment. (With the former, it's because I often feel guilty, and tend to visit my favorite haunts rather frequently. With the latter, it's more a matter of self-preservation. If I had to figure out 17 percent on a $32.65 bar tab, I'd be there until the next night's last call.)

What about you, readers? Are there any occasions you don't tip (outside of exceedingly bad service)? How do you maneuver the take-out minefield? Do you ever drop ducats into your barista's tip jar, or gladhand the helpful wine salesperson, or is your repeated business thanks enough? Should those producing the food — the kitchen — get a cut of the action too? Hit us up in the comments.

My brief: explain to the group what a professional looks for in a restaurant's front-of-the-house operation.

The simplest answer is that if there were a formula for it, every restaurant would be a success. And that's not the case at all. And there are successful restaurants of every description — hard to see one formula there.

For me, in the end, it's the cooking. Not the concept, or the inspiration, or the menu. The cooking. I'll put up with a lot of inconvenience and discomfort for good food.

At every price point, I look for food that surprises and satisfies, and is good value for money. I find it all over the place: the boffo Philly steak sandwich at Cori's Doghouse; meats from Corner Pub on Smokin' Monday; fried oysters at Wild Hare; Lazzaroli's pasta; the $3 banh mi from Viet Noodle House. Hot hen from Fleet Street, duck burger at Table 3, duck confit at Firefly Grill.

Notice that one of these is a particularly upscale joint. I get much pickier as the price point rises, and quite honestly, I'm disappointed more often than not.

With my $25 and up entree, I want more goodies; coat check, comfy banquettes, tables roomy enough to hold all the dishes, a thoughtful wine list, draft-free seating, enough light for reading the menu, good service, vegetarian selections that aren't just an after-thought, daily specials that really are special, fabulous ladies room, decent parking.

But in the end, the cooking clinches it for me. Tough parking, drafty tables, zero vegetarian options, loud music, even neglectful service can be endured for the sake of good cooking.

What about you? What do you think makes a good restaurant experience?

Innocently browsing for Greek yogurt coupons while also eating Oikos yogurt — delicious in spite of the use of papyrus in their logo — I happened upon their Facebook page, which has erupted in scandal.

Oikos (parent company is Dannon) ran a Super Bowl ad yesterday featuring John Stamos, in which a coy, flirty couple feed each other yogurt at the kitchen table. But wait! Stamos doesn't really want to share — he wants all the 'gurt to himself. Girl gets mad, and BAM! — she head-butts him. People now are outraged for two reasons: First, because the commercial uses a song eerily like the John Butler Trio's "Zebra"; and second, because the commercial "promotes violence." I remember viewing the commercial during the game, but only because it sparked exclamations like, "JOHN STAMOS LOOKS THE SAME AS HE LOOKED ON FULL HOUSE — HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?"

• Photo: Eric England
• "What are these truck-like things with food in them? We're SO CONFUSED."

Uh ... OK. So, "the South" — defined this broadly — has a hot lunch, unlike every other part of the country, where no one eats a hot lunch or sits down for lunch. Got it. Someone alert Olive Garden! Seriously, this is such a dumb thing to say, I don't think it needs further commentary. But Stern can't stop herself from getting all amateur anthropologist, and this is where it goes from plain old dumb to one moon colony shy of a picnic:

Southerners are not sandwich-grabbers, they're not eat-on-the-run people the way New Yorkers are, they're not food truck people. They sit down like civilized ladies and gentlemen, and they order a piece of ham, a piece of fried chicken, an oxtail — whatever the meat of the day is — and their three favorite sides, with a little cornbread and a little yeast roll and a glass of sweet tea.

Aw, eat a lunch of little foods with simple folk who are never in a hurry and haven't changed since 1970. I think what bugged me about this was that she could have said the second part without saying the first part. Yes, you can go to a meat-and-three for lunch in the South. But it's not the only lunch there is. You can also have a sandwich, or even have Thai ... from a food truck. We have food trucks! Fancy that!

Hear the segment for yourself below. Spoiler alert: They really like Sylvan Park Restaurant.

The biggest tool in my kitchen is probably me, but as for the most important tool, I guess I'm with Bourdain on this one.

People working near the airport, in a hospital, or an office park know what I'm talking about.

The restaurant nearest the Scene used to be Jimmy Carl's Lunch Box, and we miss it. Providentially, the hot bar at Turnip Truck Urban Fare opened the week Jimmy Carl's closed.

Whiskey Kitchen, Sambuca, Cantina Laredo, Urban Flats, Ru San and Casablanca Coffee are also close enough to be contenders. And when the boss is paying (or, theoretically, would be paying), Watermark and Kayne Prime.

In my other job, the nearest restaurant is (wait for it) Chili's. That's right. Chili's. Say it again. Chili's. Sniff it and smell the majesty: Chili's is around the corner from my office.

Them's the breaks. What restaurant is around the corner from your office? Do you eat there? And what do you wish were nearby?

• Photo: Eric England
• The Wild Cow

Although Nashville has an abundance of barbecue pits and chop houses, many local restaurant owners are savvy to the fact that non meat-eaters want more variety in their dining options. And though Nashville’s a far cry from the South’s vegetarian Meccas like Asheville or Atlanta, local restaurateurs are wising up to it.

As a vegetarian, I’ve come to be a discriminating diner — the type who does research on a restaurant before going to eat there. I don’t like sitting down, looking at a menu and having to leave because there’s nothing for me to eat. But local restaurants like Jamaica Way, The Wild Hare, Sloco, Tayst, mÄmbu, the Wild Cow, Porta Via, Gojo Ethiopian Cafe, PM, Rosepepper Cantina, Woodlands or Anatolia are ready and able to accommodate me, my vegetarian fiancé, my vegetarian mother and my vegetarian friends.

Chef Jeremy Barlow, owner of Tayst and Sloco, said he has embraced the growing demand for vegetarian cuisine in Nashville.

“[We] saw the increased need and desire for vegetarian and vegan food at Tayst over the last eight years, and we just kind of embraced it,” Barlow says. “You can make some awesome vegan food. We always kind of prided ourselves on the fact that we knew that vegetarians could come in and eat just as well as everybody else.”

Prince's is a Nashville landmark. I am a Nashville native who lives on the East Side and who loves to eat, especially chicken. I'm not sure if it's because I'm afraid of the hot chicken, or if it's because I hardly ever find myself on Dickerson Road. No one has ever asked me to join them to make the trek, either. And even though it seems like everyone else in Nashville has eaten at Prince's, I never get the feeling that they eat there regularly. Excuses aside, I'm still pretty mortified about it. So I think one of my New Year's resolutions in 2012 will be to visit all the Nashville restaurants that I'm ashamed I haven't tried yet. Here is my running list:

Prince's Hot Chicken — See above.

High tea at the Hermitage Hotel — I love tea. I love the Hermitage Hotel. I have no excuse for this oversight.

Macke's — I've read and heard good things about this place and never think to try it.

The Catbird Seat — It's obvious that this is an experience anyone who loves food should have. I guess I'm waiting for a special occasion to drop that kind of dough.

Gojo — I have been a little afraid to try Ethiopian food in Nashville as I'm worried it won't measure up to the local spots I used to frequent when I lived in West Philadelphia.

Manna Korean Restaurant — I drive by this place every day and have never been in.

Table 3 — Again, have heard nothing but good things. I wasn't a big fan of the place that was in this location before, so that may (unjustly) have something to do with my avoidance.

The Mad Platter — This place has been around forever, has always been highly regarded, and is less than a mile from where I work. Again, no excuse here. Does anyone know if they are still doing the happy hour thing?

Brown's Diner — I've always been charmed by the old streetcar, and always stare at it when I am sitting at the light at 21st and Blair. I think the smoking situation turned me off for years, and once it went nonsmoking, I always forgot about it as a burger option.

So go ahead, give me a good beating. I deserve it.

Are any of you nearly as guilty of sins as unspeakable as mine? Which places are you ashamed to admit you've never tried?

• chow.com

Even though I'm sure it tastes fine — OK, maybe it tastes fine — the idea of baking any kind of meat into a cake, drizzling it with gravy and calling it "Thanksgiving" is completely repulsive to me. Plus I'm pretty sure that my brain would do the water-Sprite mix-up, expect a sweet cake and get TURKEY CAKE instead. Cue histrionic retching.

Is this appetizing to anyone? Would anyone consider serving this? If so, I'd love to hear the reactions of your loved ones on Thursday. Here are some hilarious dessert-ish Thanksgiving cake wrecks for your consideration as well. I'm planning on bringing this much more palatable dessert to Thanksgiving dinner this year.