Peppier (pep-yay) n. The waiter at a fancy restaurant whose sole purpose seems to be walking around asking diners if they want fresh ground pepper.
I’ve only encountered one of these professional spice runners once, maybe twice, but it was worth it. To hear the cracking sound of black peppercorns coming from that baseball-bat-sized peppermill was pretty neat, and it was really good on my vinagrette-sprinkled bibb lettuce salad, but not nearly as good as it was the Cassarole Poulet that was in the next course. I don’t get to taste French cuisine all that often. In fact, I think the only French restaurant within 50 miles might have closed down by now, but these Peppier guys are definitely part of the atmosphere, and way quieter than the Mariachi band at the Mexican restaurant down the street. It seems that one spice company has created little disposable peppermills, so you can be your own Peppier at home, but the feeling just isn’t the same. Grinding your own pepper into a chopped pile of iceberg lettuce is not going to give you that kind of little attention you really want from a Peppier. It might be cheaper, and just as good for you, but at a time when the better things are doing their best to get away from so many of us, it’s a very good thing to be able to afford to go to restaurants that employ a Peppier.