A recipe for Waitress:
First, crack open a beloved indie movie with a tragic past, marred by the murder of writer, director, and supporting actress Adrienne Shelly. Shelly initially created the story of Jenna, a waitress who unexpectedly gets pregnant after a drunken night with her asshole husband. Jenna finds support in her work friends and regulars, particularly from the handsome new OB-GYN in town. It’s a complex work, sweet and tart. No one’s perfect. But there’s an optimistic hope for something better in this life.
After a critically acclaimed film run, tuck the story away for a while, then revisit the text with new notes and songs from Sara Bareilles, making an already tasty message unforgettably delectable.
Nestle Waitress within a renowned regional theatre, one revamped into an utterly novel experience. Set designer Robin Vest worked magic transforming Zach’s traditional Topfer theatre into a fully functional diner in the round. Onstage viewers perched on tiered tables or counters filling out the sides. They scooched to make way for performers. They sipped water and picked at pies. It seemed gimmicky at first, but the interaction was seamless. Director Cassie Abate expertly instructed her characters to play to corners and in profile, so no one got left with nothing but performer backsides. The movement felt remarkably natural. After a while the divide between main house and onstage audience disappeared. All was consumed by dynamic stagecraft.
Waitress has all the imperfections and deliciousness that comes with pouring your soul into creating something good for those you love.
Next, roll out the sound mixture. Knead the live band and vocal ensemble together until minor cuing errors smooth out and any uneven balances push flat into a warm tonal disc. My viewing started out a bit … lumpy. Some mics were hot. During ensemble numbers, particularly the layered intro song “Opening Up,” voices leapt out, like clumps not quite whisked into the whole. Some cues seemed to stutter, like ingredients clinging to a spoon before allowing themselves to incorporate toward greater connection. Music director Aimee Radics bravely led the musicians onward despite any slipups. After all, a pie crust with too much butter can still end up deliciously flaky. Most sins can be forgiven with a delectable filling.
So build that filling on the rich vocal stylings of Zach favorite Leslie McDonel. Last seen carrying Carole King’s mantle in Beautiful, McDonel gets even more chances to belt her brains out as Jenna. Bareilles’ songs ask performers to balance pop and Broadway, and McDonel delivers to the rafters during powerhouse numbers like “What Baking Can Do” and, of course, “She Used to Be Mine.” The supporting cast spices up her steadiness. Fellow waitresses Becky (Nyla Watson) and Dawn (Catherine Roddey) add dimension with warm zingers and the occasional wise advice. Watson’s sassy one-liners make way for a heartfelt glimpse into the nature of love, while Roddey’s hopeless naivete gets amped up in her chicken-fried accent.
Toss in more spices from across the flavor spectrum. Jenna’s male foils highlight opposition with the almost suspicious sweetness of Dr. Pomatter (Gabriel Bernal), versus the rough bitterness of husband Earl (Leland Burnett, who gets to channel every maligned, wannabe Creed singer in his solo number). A gingery zing comes with Charlie Turner’s delightful turn as Ogie, Dawn’s stalker/love interest. It is a match made in heaven, even if all his initial actions – coming to the diner and refusing to leave – scream GIRL, RUN AWAY. But Turner manages to make the terrifying lyrics of “Never Ever Getting Rid of Me” something extremely giggle-worthy.
Baked over the course of a night, Waitress should emerge as a solidly satisfying dessert. It’s handmade. There’s all the imperfections and deliciousness that comes with pouring your soul into creating something good for those you love. Like love, it’s rarely simple and straightforward. But if you choose to take a slice, you just might “bake yourself a better life.”
Waitress
The Topfer at Zach
Through July 27
This article appears in July 4 • 2025.


