From the New York Times advice columnist Dear Flo Fab:

Q. I love to dine out and am lucky to have become friendly with bartenders and waiters at some of my favorite restaurants. It is not uncommon for them to pour me an extra couple of glasses of wine for free or to send over a complimentary appetizer or two (once a delightful suckling pig!)

The writer blabs on and on, wallowing in his sad plight of being gifted with free stuff. His question? He wants to know how to tip his waiter. Should he stick to the usual 15% when he gets a whole big pile of free?

This scenario sounds like Greek to me, but then again the only time I went to a restaurant twice was when I was collecting plastic Shrek cups. Flo Fab advises this person to estimate the free food's value and calculate the tip from that. Oddly, she misses the real question floating in my head:

What is a waiter trying to tell you when, unprompted, he brings you a roasted baby pig?

I mean, imagine you work in the kitchen of a fancy restaurant. You're surrounded by caviar and truffles and all sorts of pricey, exotic food. But here's your thought process:

WAITER: That Roman is such a cool guy, I think I'll surprise him with something. Antipasto? Too colorful. Dom Perignon? Too sparkly. There must be something dead and brown laying around somewhere.

I've gotten some lousy presents before -- thanks for the crepemaker, George! -- but somebody would truly break new ground by presenting me with a leathery critter that's got fruit wedged between its teeth. Everybody else in the ritzy dining room is picking at their designer entrees while I look like somebody who won a fight on Lost. Surely this writer realizes the waiter is trying to tell him something: he looks like the kind of guy who can eat an entire animal all at once.

I think this would be my reaction: dude, thanks but no thanks. Next time you want to surprise me, make it alcohol. Bring me a creme brulee when you aren't wearing pants. Don't deliver something that until recently was attached by a cord to its mom.

And meanwhile, writer, let's reserve the word "delightful" for things other than newly-departed animals. "Delightful" describes a story a five-year-old tells about leprechauns. "Delightful" is a European carnival ride where you sit in a big wicker chair.

A suckling pig isn't delightful unless, lying there on its platter, it rolls over and tries to kiss you.

For that I might spring for eighteen percent, and even more if somebody brings me a mint.