We hadn’t been to a favorite restaurant in a while. Things had changed, and we had to learn how to eat all over again.

First, we had to hit the QR code on our phone the table to see a menu. This wasn’t an entirely new experience. We had done this at another place and the magic worked. What didn’t was my habit of browsing a menu, letting my eyes sweep up and down, back and forth, until they rested on an item. Seeing it on a phone required me to sweep and swipe around, which actually reduced the amount of items I could choose.

Then there was the difficulty with special requests. We have severe food allergies. Every restaurant visit usually begins with one of us explaining and a requesting that food be prepared without cross contamination with items that we could not consume.

The on-line menu had pull down options for comments. We didn’t trust those because we couldn’t be sure if the chef would actually see or read them. Also, we had to know before we ordered if any items contained things to which we were allergic.

We saw servers delivering the food but no one lingered long enough (or perhaps, using that well-worn skill that servers hone, they pretended not to see my politely waving hand and needy facial expression) to notice us and answer our questions. One of us had to rise, find the host and ask.

A server rapidly brought our drinks and appetizers and left before we could ask for cutlery and napkins. We waited a few minutes and no one visited us, as is customary in chain restaurants, to ask if everything was okay. The appetizers were finger foods. We needed napkins. Was this a simple mistake or evidence of a new procedure intended to reduce footprints, carbon, human or otherwise.

I stood up, went through the maze of tables and found the host, who gave me two set-ups.

By then, a server came with the main courses. We thought about ordering another drink but found ourselves locked out. We would have to go through the entire ordering procedure again, so we decided to forgo the second drink. When it came time for coffee, which we didn’t order the first time around, I stood up again and found a human being who wasn’t the host and wasn’t serving. Like the fretful soul who tries to resolve problems with supermarket self check-out machines, this person’s job was to talk to people at tables who had problems with the on-line menu. It turns out this was one person in the restaurant whose job was to talk to people at tables.

We were told us that the two french press coffees we were about to order were actually too much, and that we could get by on one. When I tried to pay with cash, he said the restaurant would take cash but had no cash register and couldn’t provide change. I gave him a credit card, the same card to which the on-line menu had charged.

He presented me with a printed receipt, and tab to sign. I signed and left another tip because I felt relieved that I had finally found a human being who would talk with me and put a personality on the service.

Having worked in restaurants and grown up at a time before cell phones became required for contemporary life, I felt a little uneasy about the first tip that had been taken automatically. True, the service was fast and efficient, and the food was as good this time as it had always been. I know how hard and low-paying restaurant work can be, so I’m not stingy with tips. And I have never objected to tips factored into the bill when I’m dining with six people or more.

But it’s disquieting when the act of tipping, and how much to tip, is taken from me. It raises the question: if no human being takes the order, a different server arrives each time with the food, and no one talks to me, who am I tipping? Whom am I thanking for good service? Whom am I appreciating for welcoming me, answering my questions, and, in the case of the food allergies, making sure an enjoyable night out doesn’t end in a hospital emergency room?

I understand that there has been a culture war against human for many years. Some people think it’s cool to have the world brought to them through the playing-card sized screen of their phone, and would rather have their desires met without the competence, benevolence, effort and warmth of another human being.

That happens at buffets and supermarket take-outs. At a restaurant, we should enjoy the entire experience, even if it’s as simple as a smile from the person who pours your coffee.

I’m sure the trend toward eliminating the human touch in restaurants, and other businesses, into a cell phone will continue.

I just hope the person paid to talk to people like me keeps their job.