Refinement

So now that my back-of-the house shenanigans are temporarily put on hold, I still have got another job and it allows me to practice the other side of the restaurant.

I've written a few posts about front of the house machinations, but as you can imagine it is just as if not more important than having good food. Restaurants, at the end of the day, are about hospitality. About making someone feel good and allowing them to have a great time with the people they love. Although exceptional food will draw people to your restaurant, they are going to eventually turn away if you serve it in an unprofessional or unfriendly manner. Customers can be difficult to please, but a lot of the time they don't ask for a lot, just a little attention to detail. If you give that to them they will love you, but if you neglect to do that it really leaves a sour taste in their mouths no matter how good the food. An important matter I learned from the film Gladiator. Please the mob or Russell Crowe will kill you.

I've been reading Danny Meyer's Setting the Table, which is a part-autobiography, part-business consultation book about the art of hospitality. It's a pretty fascinating read if you enjoy restaurants, and quite entertaining to boot, but the most important thing I've gathered from it is the following description of honest hospitality,

"Within moments of being born, most babies find themselves receiving the first four gifts of life; eye contact, a smile, a hug and some food. We receive many other gifts in our lifetime, but few can ever surpass those first four. That first time may be the purest "hospitality transaction" we'll ever have, and it's not much of a surprise we'll crave those gifts for the rest of our lives."

If you think about it and you take away all the pomp and circumstance around fine dining; all the fancy service rigors, and you just got that at a restaurant; eye contact, a smile, a hug and some food, then you would be pretty happy. (Well I don't know about the hug since there are so many people averse to unfamiliar human contact these days. We're probably talking about a metaphorical hug here. Unless you are an adorable grandmother, do not try to hug your customers. Unless they are regulars, European and/or smell attractive. Or if they seem irresistibly huggable [examples include chubby babies])

Okay, slightly off track. My point is, I've tried to catalog all the behaviors and all the actions that would constitute good service, and I've tried to perform them perfectly throughout a shift waiting tables. But frankly, it seemed difficult and so tiresome, and not necessarily effective. Of course there are some rules you must follow, but my fellow servers at Futami do just fine without any serious interest or training in restaurants.

So my thought now is that if I can relate every action to those first four gifts then I can not only simplify my actions, but also give off a sense of more honest hospitality as well.

The Importance of Hospitality

There are hundreds of little rules that constitute proper service. I feel that my adherence to these rules can make me a little cold and robotic in the dining room, which is a problem many fine dining establishments have. Despite clearing plates perfectly, decanting wine and delivering pitch-perfect menu descriptions, a diner can feel like it's a rehearsal with no soul at best, and pretentious and frigid at worst. I think the days of tuxedo'ed waiters calling everyone madame and monsieur are over. With the popularity of good food growing every day, it is more crucial than ever to eliminate all that snooty highfalutin business and make sure you can garner a wide fan base. If your kitchen puts out honest, good food then your wait staff needs to serve it honestly and goodly (I'm not getting spell checked on that word ... "goodly" is a word?!).

That being said though you still need to do your job. Danny Meyer likes to talk about his "51% Rule." Anybody's job in the restaurant comprises of 49% technical proficiency, and 51% emotional proficiency. The ability to read a customer's desires and make them feel welcome and nurtured is that much more important than being able to carry and serve plates properly. But as you can see, they are nearly even in significance. You still need to do the job right, or you risk leaving a bad impression, and losing an otherwise regular customer. The difference is that emotional proficiency can't really be taught, but technical proficiency can ... more on that later.

I don't really do restaurant reviews because a) I'm too poor to eat anywhere of real significance, and b) I don't feel qualified to properly critique another restaurant. But I do want to mention a few things about a restaurant I recently dined at. I was really looking forward to it, I had heard so many great things, and was about to shell out premium cash in the hopes of liking the food, and maybe getting an unpaid internship there. But a few mistakes have really made the memory of the place bittersweet.

Our server was friendly, a wholesome guy who didn't give off any airs of superiority or anything like that. The whole staff did a good job of seeming real and honest to form. But as soon as we had ordered we encountered a few missteps.

The table next to us was the only confirmation we got that there was a bread course before dinner. Bread courses are important in my opinion, because portions are often modest in high-end dining, so in order to not make your customers feel gipped with hunger, a bread course can help line their stomachs. Plus bread and butter is a simple yet delicious treat. A warm sourdough or baguette with some sweet cream butter, and a glass of red wine is one of my favorite things to eat. And because we were pretty hungry, we were not going to pass up on that. Unfortunately we had to ask for bread. If bread is complimentary then it should be just brought out, why would we have to wait 10 minutes for bread and then finally have to ask for it? If there is some baking fresh, then that is fine, just let us know. Otherwise, just bring it.

So we asked for it and it finally arrives, and it is some of the most disappointing bread I've ever had. Dry, crumbly, cake-like with no chewy gluten-ness or flavor. The butter was clearly straight from the fridge and could not be spread. I mean these are all little things that can do a lot for a diner. Good, warm bread and room temperature butter are not a lot to ask for and yet make a world of difference in flavor, and setting the tone for the food and atmosphere. Strike one, in my book. (There were a few slices of sourdough amongst the pile of Wonder bread that were decent, but it makes you wonder ... why such an oversight on the chef's part?)

Then appetizers come, and they are quite tasty. I will go on to say that I have no real gripes with the food at this restaurant (minus the bread), it was all well done, but the serving of it was not. And there is another, just slight oversight here. At fine-dining restaurants it is almost universally accepted that you can split anything, and the kitchen will split it for you. It is annoying to do in the kitchen, getting several apps fired split can really slip up your rhythm, but it really makes a big difference to your customers. Our waiter didn't ask us at all if we'd like to have our appetizers split, which probably makes him popular with the kitchen, but not so much with the customers. I didn't ask for them to be split, and wasn't even sure I wanted them to be so, but just going the distance to ask makes a big difference in my mind.

Another small thing that some cooks don't understand is the presentation of plates. I'm not talking about how pretty the arrangement of food is on a plate, I'm talking about bringing a plate to a diner. It has to be set down gracefully, the correct dish placed before the diner who ordered it without asking (There is nothing more unprofessional then going up to a table as a waiter and asking, "So who had the chicken?" You have to let a diner know you were paying attention to them), and most importantly, they have to be there when you bring it. The table next to us was a middle-aged couple and the woman got up to use the restroom. The runner came out at an inappropriate time, and instead of returning to the kitchen to wait, he set the plates down anyway.

Now they didn't seem bothered at all, in fact most people wouldn't be. But having a plate put before your eyes for the first time, something that sounded so delicious on the menu, and to have the aromas just barely waft to you as it is put down is a wonderful experience. Why would you deprive a customer of that? If I'm excited for the scallops dish, I want to see it for the first time delivered to me, to see my expectations realized by beautiful plating. I don't want my fellow diner to have to wait to start eating until I get back, I don't want my food to get cold at the table, I don't want it waiting there for me as if it were an afterthought of the staff. All the work the chef has done to make beautiful plating, and to deliver food at just the right temperature is lost. The diner comes back from the restroom and the only thought I can gather is, "Oh here's my food ... thanks for waiting for me."

Then a dangerous pitfall for all restaurants. Time. Too much of it between courses. When you're working on the line, in a hot kitchen, you barely have any perception of how much time is elapsing in the dining room. If you are crushed under the weight of tickets you aren't paying attention to how long a diner is waiting, you are relying on your wait staff and especially your expediter to do that for you. And sometimes dishes just take a while, especially when you're busy. The waiters have to mitigate the damage and try to make a diner feel cared for in the process. But instead we were left waiting without explanation. The restaurant wasn't crazy busy, and all I can wonder is .. what's going on? The waiter was not to be found, and even a passive-aggressive "look around," where diners will search the floor for their waiter clearly signifying a "what the eff?" attitude yielded no results.

When the food did come, we were pleased. I will defend the food, it was very good. Not mind-blowing but definitely 4-star quality. But all I can remember when I think of that restaurant were all the little mistakes they made. A more casual diner may not have noticed, but I do believe the overall experience would have been dampened for them. That is the power of subtlety, something I believe in more than anything else. A collection of minor and subtle events throughout a night will accumulate powerfully, whether positive or negative. Though I will admit that diners tend to notice negatives more than positives, all the more reason to always be on point.

It's the Little Things

I think people who know me well enough would say that I have a fair obsession with details. Little details and subtle actions in all aspects of life both concern and attract me. My room is clean and neat, but it has a purposeful and minor disarray to suggest that I am organized but not a machine. My playing style in ultimate is conservative and detail focused; I try to do all the little things right, and maybe I don't get the glory of the big play, but I know I am helping my team. When I slice a duck breast or ribeye steak to order I like to sprinkle a little sea salt on the bare slices, so that the juices pearl on the surface and the flavors bloom. I think decades of subtly feminizing the Asian male in media has ruined the American perception of them as viable men and mates. I think I could write a novel about the injustices I have perceived as an Asian-American, but to not risk sounding like a conspiracy theorist I'm just going to stick to restaurants...

Anyway, my point is you have to pay attention to the little things in the kitchen and in the dining room, because your care for details will pay big dividends in the long run. A few examples,

You bring all dishes for a particular course at once. You don't bring entrees while there are still appetizers on the table.
You never clear a plate until all diners are finished with that particular course. It's not that it's that awkward, but it does affect the pacing of the diners.
When you clear a plate from a table you never bring the plate above a diner's eye level.
You crumb or clean the table after each course, you bring new silverware and plates. It's definitely important to me to be able to have a clean tablecloth to put my hands on and enjoy coffee with dessert.

That all seems like common sense, that all seems like minor necessities, but this far from comprehensive list goes very far to make diners feel an overall dining experience was cared for. The real difficulty is that even if you did everything perfectly, a diner may not specifically notice. They will most assuredly feel like they had good service, but as I mentioned before it can seem soulless. And as I also mentioned, whereas a collection of positive service will largely go unnoticed, a single negative action will vilify you in the eyes of your diners. But mistakes will happen, you just have to recognize the opportunities to go the extra mile. You have to know when and how to either redeem your restaurant in the eyes of the public, or to make them recognize your heartfelt consideration for their experience.

He's Going the Distance

My favorite anecdote in Setting the Table is Danny Meyer's recounting of one of his first run-ins with a powerful NYC food critic. Through the restaurant grapevine and a little extracurricular research, he discovered that this certain critic disliked white wines that were served too cold. He also knew that this critic preferred Northern Italian wines. So on the night this critic was set to dine in, Mr. Meyer set aside all of his Northern Italian whites in to a malfunctioning wine cooler that kept the bottles a bit on the warmer side. But through some either bad luck or bad information, the critic orders a French wine instead. Knowing that this bottle was likely too chilled for the critic, Meyer runs to the cooler and attempts to incubate the bottle for a few minutes between his legs. As the critic is left wondering where the hell is wine is, and Meyer's loins begin to freeze over, he finally deems it acceptable and sends it to the table. Much to his dismay the critic finds the wine too warm.

Even though his efforts were in vain, you can appreciate the sentiment of a passionate restaurateur. He is going the distance to please his customers, and ultimately that is what restaurants are all about. Every restaurant is different, but every single one relies on a certain number of regulars. More often than not these regulars will either develop or have special needs outright. If you cater to them and meet these needs the first time, they will reward you with a lifetime of patronage. If you neglect them even once, you risk losing that customer's faith forever.

My mother is particularly good at this. For as long as her restaurant has been open the reviews say pretty much the same thing, "The staff's service is completely redeemed by the charming owner, Cathy Huang." I will be the first to admit that our restaurant's servers are less than hospitable. For some reason training Chinese people to smile and build a little personal connection with customers remains difficult. But my mother really goes the distance for her large list of regulars, and to gain the loyalty of first-timers. One of her most frequent and devoted regulars has a daughter who is severely, deathly allergic to a laundry list of ingredients. My mom has a set of woks and pans devoted specifically to her. My mom has the science of catering a condo development party down to a T. Every rich, Jewish real estate development on the North Shore of Long Island has a party catered by her at some point throughout the year. She knows to prepare a ton of easily prepared dim sum and dumplings for her customers during camp visiting weekends, so parents can take some microwavable Chinese food to their kids at sleep-away camp. She not only knows, but loves to nurture people and make them feel welcome. And that is the difference. Doing it is one thing, loving to do it is another. But as I mentioned before, emotional proficiency can't be taught.

You either love it or you don't. Restaurants aren't for everyone, but they can find the most unexpected people. The feeling you get from giving genuine care, and receiving sincere thanks in return is a rewarding one. Even if you are very good at pretending to care about your customers, eventually your disingenuous actions will fail you. That is why an ability to read and be empathetic towards others can't be taught. You have to want to do it, and your customers are keenly aware of the difference.

I'm an easy-going diner. I rarely have specific requirements. But I know some people do. I don't blame them. I sometimes get frustrated when they act like spoiled children, but that's my stubbornness reacting as well. I hope as I mature I will learn to emanate the kind of genuine hospitality my mother can. But until then perhaps I can fume in a kitchen and use my cleaver to take out frustration on some poor dead animal.

EP6