THE FREE LANCE–STAR

My third visit to Buffalo Wild Wings in Central Park was a lot of fun. I enjoyed some good wings and a party atmosphere while watching U.Va. beat Kentucky on a TV screen the width of a semi trailer.

My second visit to Buffalo Wild Wings was OK, with a decent burger and a beer amid an upbeat crowd on a football Monday night.

My first visit to Buffalo Wild Wings, at lunch on a weekday, was so odd it would have been my last had I not needed to go back as a reviewer.

Here’s what happened:

I stood at the counter ordering my meal, as one does before choosing a table. It came time to pay, and I used my credit card.

The cashier, who had taken my order and explained that someone would bring food to my table, said: “You can designate who you want to leave a tip—me, or your waitress.”

You read that correctly.

I was pressured to tip the cashier, before I had experienced any service.

Buffalo Wild Wings opened in Central Park last month, just in time to refresh herds of hungry Christmas shoppers. It’s not a mom-and-pop joint (where reasonable diners expect to be patient as the kinks are ironed out) but a franchise of a national chain.

For those reasons I decided to review it soon after its grand opening, but I planned in advance to go several times in the interest of fairness.

The tip thing, which happened within my first five minutes as a Wild Wings customer, didn’t make me feel like a welcome patron. It made me feel like an open wallet.

Make no mistake, I am a liberal tipper on principle. At most restaurants, servers make only a nominal wage; tips are part of their basic compensation. Withholding a tip is like docking someone’s pay.

I tip at all table-service restaurants and at bars, buffets and banquets.

But Buffalo Wild Wings doesn’t readily convey to customers exactly what it is. Is it a fast-food place with big-screen TVs? Or is it a casual sit-down sports bar?

The case for the fast-food interpretation: