Naturally, it's possible to prearrange any sort of seat you wish, from a banquet area to a little bit of space at the bar. There seems to be no consistency, though, to the application of reservation policy. At Bredovsk˘ Dvůr, I watched a staff member pull a sign from prime window space and place it on a less inviting table after someone strolled in off the street and asked for a good seat. Zlatá Hvězda holds spaces for an hour, except during big televised sports events. At Hapu and Jáma, it's 15 minutes or you're gone. The always-busy Tex-Mex joint Cantina will happily cordon off every table if enough people call in. Others keep a few of the less desirable tops available for impromptu diners.

Folks in the service industry sometimes flare at the vagaries of reservation policy. Ludvík Bejvančick˘, manager at U Pinkasů, stops by a few favorite haunts after work. "In some, they've asked me if I made a reservation," he complains, adding, "if I don't have a reservation, they say there is no place." His solution? "I just walk away and don't go there anymore."

Restaurant and bar managers have a pretty good grasp on the numbers, reporting drop-out rates around 5 percent, for the most part. In other words, an overwhelming majority of guests who phone for a table show up and claim that table, so reservations guarantee a certain amount of business. But they also understand the pitfalls. "We know that if customers pass some sports bar they can end up there," says Zlatá Hvězda's Běla Novanská, referring to cases when the bar is fully booked, driving potential patrons back onto the street.

So reservation policy becomes a balancing act. "You have attractive seats, you have people who want food, you have people who want drinks," explains Martin Streško, bartender at Hapu. The goal is to reward high-rolling regulars, nudge beer guzzlers to the bar and create an upbeat mood. "There's a logic," he insists, "to reservation and seating." But does the business driven away through high booking rates hurt establishments in the long run? "I don't know," he replies.

Novanská is more opinionated. "The ones who come often to us know to show up one hour before big sporting events," he says. Zlatá Hvězda tightens its rules for popular games and may cancel a request just before kickoff — and you can't claim ignorance as a newcomer to the bar. "The ones who only come from time to time, not regularly, are not our customers," he continues. "We don't think we lose by that." At least it has a firm policy, though a bit hard nosed.

Most are perplexed by local oddities, such as when staff members shoo guests from a table hours before the reservation time. "I don't understand that business practice," says Max Munson, owner of Jáma. "We always try to say 'yes' in this industry." Then there's my recent experience at U Pravdů, one not uncommon at many other pubs in town. Sometimes, Bejvančick˘ claims, it's the fault of an ill-mannered individual. U Pinkasů requires guests to arrive within 15 minutes of their scheduled seating or else it throws the table open. "We already lost some waiters who broke this rule," he says.

A few people claim to know of restaurants that deliberately scatter reserved signs around the room, just to lend the appearance of popularity — a not-unheard-of gimmick. Mark O'Brien, owner of Three Lions, blames such ineptitude on the lingering residue of communism. "They were getting paid anyway," he points out, "so put the reserved signs up and you didn't have to work — allegedly."