The Front Lines

They say that restaurants are a tripod. Balance and success depend on three things; back of the house, front of the house, and accounting. Some people may think one is more important than the other, and you may be successful because of one more than the other, but no restaurant can stand if one of these legs falls.

Back of the house seems obvious enough. The ability to deliver a product in a certain package, within a reasonable time frame for a volume large enough to make a living. I've discussed this in-depth across the entirety of this blog, and it's not something I want to focus on right now. Cook with love, cook it fast, cook it right, and people will want to eat what you have to offer.

Accounting also seems pretty straightforward. Keeping a well-organized eye on your expenses, managing your purveyor relationships, paying your bills on time, and fighting the eternal enemy of the restaurant; waste. Seeing as how my math proficiency stops at 10th grade algebra (seriously...), this may be a bit tricky for me, but I have faith my genetic disposition towards math will come through for me at some point.

Now, front of the house. That's a whole 'nother beast.

As almost everyone has eaten in restaurants, everybody knows the difference between good and bad service. But it's harder to tell good from exceptional service. It's almost intangible and it's very hard to quantify. Too lax and you risk losing technical proficiency and austerity. Too on point and you risk seeming robotic and soulless. Everybody will want something different, and it will be impossible to please everyone. But being on the receiving end of exceptional service, well .. it's actually so enlightening that I was amazed it even existed at such a level.

I note the front of house staff at Le Bernardin. A polished crew of more than thirty that performs like a unit. Friendly, but with authenticity. They weren't sucking your dick for money and telling you they loved every minute of it. They honestly gave off an aura of well-being and happiness, something that can only be produced, I think, by a genuine feeling of well-being and happiness. They were busy, constantly roaming the floor like a bustling hive of oenophilic bees, but you never felt like you were in the middle of a rush. They floated noiselessly by, and if you happened to need something, they ever so gracefully stopped their work to attend to you.

Plates were cleared without notice, the back waiter with the bread basket seemed to magically appear whenever we wanted bread, and wine was recommended sensibly (for us being general wine novices), and poured delicately. But yet it was casual, and friendly. It didn't feel like a temple of haute cuisine (even though it is), or a religious experience (which it might have been). It was fun and chill, and the customers ran the gamut from high rollers to recent college grads looking to get laid (I mean if he's picking up the bill at $135 prix-fixe menu, you gotta do better than an HJ).

It was an experience that I can't tie to any specific actions, but left me with a feeling of nourishment. I had an incredible meal, the staff honestly seemed pleased to have me, and I watched the highly choreographed dance between kitchen and dining room played out at a level I was woefully envious of.

(To top it all off, the manager had heard wind of my culinary aspirations, gave me a card [I'm not sure why actually ...], and gave me a tour of the kitchen. The little Asian girl on saute station was maybe two years my senior, was definitely a hundred pounds lighter and a foot shorter, but she was working it like an ice-cold boss. I would SO get in there.)

So how do you win front of the house every day?

I recently got a sage bit of advice from my dentist, of all places. He said, "The best restaurant in the world ... is the one that knows you."

And that's exactly it. Every diner is different. They might fall within a broad category, but they are made happy and satisfied by different things. Myself? I'm a very simple diner. I order off the menu, I don't ask for substitutions, I don't really like holding up the staff in conversation, and I don't send back food (even though sometimes I should). When I go to dinner it is to enjoy the company of my company, and I only ask the staff allow that experience with perfunctory and friendly service, rather than enhance it with anything else they might want to add.

But that's just me. A lifetime of being an awkward child has probably made me non-confrontational and surprisingly introverted at times. And I probably help the restaurant the least, because I never let them really know how they're doing. I walk out the door, I say "thank you" and either I come back, or I never do so again.

Clearly, I am but one type of myriad kinds of diners. You have those who are apologetic for their noisy children. You have those who are aggressive about their food allergies. You have those who are just blissfully unaware of how a restaurant works, and seem to do everything to make your life harder. You have those who are just downright pleasant, and you have those who are downright mean.

Treating every customer as an individual, as a special case requiring specific kinds of attention, is the first step towards winning the front. Knowing your customer, by building a rapport, or realizing that they want to be left alone, is the only way, and honoring their requests and making them feel cared for will always go appreciated.

Easy enough, right? Be a nice guy, care, show up, be friendly, remember faces and preferences.

Now do it with two hundred people in your dining room at once.

Not so easy.

I can cook you a perfect order of Sauteed Sea Scallops with Brandied Lobster Sauce, Israeli Couscous, Navel Orange Supremes and Red Bell Pepper-Mache Salad on command. Can I do it over thirty times in a night, in a few minutes, while balancing the rest of my orders? History has proven that I needed my sous chef to bail me out.

I can be an excellent waiter, I can get 20% every time on a night at Blu/Futami where having 30 covers a night is considered a lot. Can I make sure everyone is happy on a Saturday night at Pearl, where we just did 250 covers in 4 hours? I'm not so sure.

Quantity is a vicious counterpoint to quality. To achieve both requires mastery, plain and simple. On your best days, everything will seem to have gone right. But the fact remains that you can't please everyone, you just have to try your best.

It's very easy to be nice to a nice customer. I used to have nothing to say to these older, Korean War-era New Yorkers. But I've found over the past month, a surprising number of engaging conversations and pleasant exchanges, as opposed to forced smiles and polite laughter. I guess I've changed a lot since high school. I mean I still get touted around the dining room by my mother, that hasn't changed. But whereas I used to run and hide from an encounter with one of her customers, now I welcome the opportunity to make a meaningful connection with a loyal patron. Anyhow, it's the only way I'll ever remember the different Schwartz's, and Rosenberg's, and Rosenfeld's, and Klein's, and Grossberg's, and Grossman's, and Markowitz's and Feldman's.

But it is an epic test of my patience to be nice to an angry or nasty customer.

Let me preface; for every nasty customer we have, we have ten customers who are pleasant diners, and five customers who are dear regulars. But the nasty ones really stick out in your memory. They are curmudgeonly stubborn thorns that embed themselves in your state of mind. Every single one makes you feel as if you're doing a terrible job. Every single one makes you angry and tired, irritable and disbelieving.

I recount these anecdotes for the sake of entertainment, but in all reality my sometimes utter lack of faith in humanity feels justified.

Story #1

(Phone rings)

Me: "Pearl East, how may I help you?"
Woman: "Yeah I just picked up my take out, and you remember how I specifically asked for the low-sodium, Japanese soy sauce? Well you forgot it. You fucking forgot it and that is fucking rude. What are you going to do for me? I'm sick of you people doing this, and messing up such a simple request. How am I supposed to eat my sushi now, huh? Are you a manager? Are you going to fix this?"
Me: "Uh, ma'am ... I ..."
Woman: "You know what, let me speak to Cathy, okay?" (Customers try to pull this bullshit on me, not knowing I will pull the "mommy" card so fast in their faces)
Me: "Uh, ma'am, are you sure? I definitely put them in the bag, maybe you ..."
Woman: "Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I'm stupid? What is this you're trying to ... (rummage, rummage) ... oh."
Me: "Yes?"
Woman: "I found them."
Me: "What did you find, ma'am?"
Woman: "I found the soy sauce."
Me: "Oh ... okay."
Woman: "Alright ... I was wrong, good bye."

(Click)

Story #2

(A larger woman walks in, without a reservation, wanting a table for two. It's Tuesday, and even on a "dead" weekday we recommend reservations. The wait will be about 15 minutes. She sees a deuce get up, and the table is being bussed, she assumes that it is hers. As I'm coming back from the kitchen, the woman looks at me and signals to the table, and I nod telling her to please come and sit. Joanne, our hostess/manager doesn't realize and sits someone else down just as I'm getting to her. Hell breaks loose.)

Woman: "What the hell was that?!"
Me: "I'm sorry, it was an accident, we have another table coming up shortly, let me buy you a round of drinks."
Woman: "I don't want any drinks! What the hell was that all about!? That table was mine, was it not? Did you not just skip me? Who the hell is he, that he's so special!?"

(I give Joanne a pained look that screams 'You are killing me, woman')

Joanne: "I'm very sorry, Eric and I had a miscommunication, and I didn't see you there."
Woman: "What!? You didn't see me!? What, because I'm so skinny!? What are you trying to say!?"

(What?!?!)

Woman: "I've been coming here for twenty years! I can't believe this kind of treatment! Akd;jf;akjsdpJ#Ijlkadjaodij;ajg)(*$)(*#$!!!!"

Story #3

(A man walks in with his young daughter on a Sunday night, our second busiest night of the week. Nobody recognizes him, so we can only assume he is a newish customer. He does not have a reservation. His wife is in the car, they're asking how long the wait is, then deciding if they want to stay or not. Admittedly, our valet situation is kind of a mess. Too many old people driving slowly, and nonsensically coupled with a narrow parking lot, and the frequent traffic on Northern Blvd causes a lot of jams. There are about fifteen people crowded in to the bar area waiting for tables, and he goes unnoticed by Joanne a few times. Eventually she gets to him, and she goes to scan the dining room one more time to see how long the wait will be.)

Man: "What is wrong with the service here?"
Me: "Uh, is there something I can help you with?"
Man: "She keeps bypassing me, I just want to know how long the damn wait is!"
Me: "Oh I know, I'm very sorry about that, sir. It's just very busy, and she's trying, but unfortunately I don't know what the table situation is like."
Man: (to Joanne) "Can you just tell me how long the goddamned wait is!?"
Joanne: "Okay, it'll be a few minutes, they're getting up, is everybody here?"
Man: "Yes."

(Few minutes later...)

Joanne: "Okay, your table is ready, is everybody here?"
Man: "Hold on." (Dials on his cell phone) "Okay honey, you can come in now."
Joanne: "I thought you told me everyone was here."
Man: (rage level one appears in his eyes, looks at me) "You know she is really nasty."
Me: "I'm sorry... ?"
Joanne: "I can only seat full parties" (She moves on to another customer for a second...)
Man: "Are you fucking kidding me?! Alright, that's it, we're leaving."
Me: "Sir, sir, I'm really sorry, there's no need to yell, we're getting a table ready for you..."
Man: (yelling for everyone to hear) "NO! I'm not staying, and I'm telling ALL of my friends that this place has TERRIBLE service!"
Joanne: "Okay, I'm sorry you feel that way, sir, have a great night."
Man: "You have been incredibly rude to me tonight! You bumped in to my knee, I just got knee surgery, you know?? And then all I wanted to know was how long the fucking wait was!"
Me: (At this point he is trying to physically intimidate Joanne, a very tiny white woman, and I get from behind the desk to put myself between them) "Sir, please..."
Man: "This place is awful, and I'm telling everyone! What kind of business this?"
Me: "Apparently one that requires you to make a reservation on a Sunday night. I'm sorry, I can't give you a table on a whim."
(The man's eyes go bloodshot, rage level two has been reached, and he is considering attacking me. But Mr. Knee Surgery knows better, and that I would drop his ass like a bad habit if he tried it. Plus, I look sweet in black and my candy pink tie screams "WAR!")
Man: "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Me: "Someone who thinks you are setting a poor example for your daughter. Have a good night, dear!"
(I turn around and take a phone call, the man leaves, turns back in for a second as he is leaving, gets inches from Joanne's face and smolders, and curses "Fuck you." and leaves.)

Innocent Bystander to Me and Joanne: "It's okay, I'd still like to stay for dinner..."

All in one month! Quite an interesting petri dish of the human condition we have here, don't we?

Now, we are at fault for many of the incidents above. The mistake with seating the woman was avoidable, I just missed Joanne by a second before I could tell her I was saving that table. But her reaction seems unjustified. Really, why get so upset about this? I'm trying to make it right for you, I apologized, is it worth getting hot and bothered?

And the gentleman who got really mad, well ... I definitely should not have taunted him. But my "smile and take your bullshit" persona has limits. I can be saccharine sweet if need be, and I think I'm a pretty nice guy by nature, and I, like most nerds, try to avoid violent confrontations. But if I see an opportunity to be a snarky asshole with a good comeback, and I have a few inches on a guy... I'll go for it. (I know, really manly, eh?)

Some people are just miserable. These are just three snippets from a month of dealing with nasty customers every day. Like I said before, the pleasant ones far outnumber these uncouth diners, but they just don't affect your outlook the same way.

We are at fault often, as no one is infallible. But we try to fix it. In the words of Danny Meyer, words I will never, ever forget "The road to success is paved with mistakes well-handled."

The restaurant business is a fickle creature. You try to cut it in New York, the biggest and baddest city there is, you're going to get some rude customers, and lousy people who just want you to be as miserable and unhappy as they are. You can't let it get to you. It's out of your control. All you can do is end the story the way you want to. My mom gave me this pearl of wisdom years before I read it from Danny Meyer, "You never let a customer walk out angry. You have to end the dinner on your terms. If you lose one customer, you lose ten customers."

They may be unhappy, but only after you have tried your best to make it up to them. If they leave angry, all they will remember is that bitter taste of resentment, and it will keep them from ever returning, or ever speaking well about your restaurant. You have your staff put up the red flag, and you go personally, as the owner, as someone with the absolute power in the place, to make it right. At the very least, the customer will leave knowing you have tried your damnedest to earn their patronage back. You have to put aside your pride, no matter how much you want to tell these oft-difficult bastards to fuck off and don't come back.

Focus on what makes a dinner experience great. People will never look at Pearl East the same way they look at Le Bernardin, but they are perceptive and able to sense passion, generosity, and sincerity when it is there.

I don't know how to perfectly decant a bottle of red wine (well, I kind of do, but I don't do it very gracefully). I am not proficient at carrying a full tray over my shoulder through a crowded dining room. I can't wrap Peking Duck pancakes with spoons. I can't line up plates by the tens up and down my arms and still make it to the dishwasher in one piece.

But I know how to be genuine. I know how to be real. I know how to try hard. And I know how to work for the love, not for the money.

EP6