Honestly...?

Ok.  So as a manager of persons, service staff, kitchen staff, and yes, even customers, I am compelled at times to just say the following:  sometimes the customer is a jerk.  There.  I said it.  

And ya know what...it doesn't make me feel any better.  Ugh.

I have worked in the same restaurant, the same dining room for over 13 years.  I have fostered, created, loved on, hugged, kissed, and cried with our customers.  These people are like family.  They know my child, I know theirs. As for my staff, for over a decade I have worked with some pretty amazing people who have become some of my closest friends.  We have seen each other through the shitty times and have celebrated the miraculous. While they may not be my blood, our relationships feel thicker than water. 

It's been, on the whole, a truly amazing time. 

The last two nights of service have tested every limit and happy, sunny feeling that exists in my 5'3" frame.  

Friday night.  Long time customers.  Frequent regulars of one of my servers.  She knows their particular quirks and challenges and that typically makes for a better experience for both sides of the service equation.  However, when they walk in with a major chip on their shoulders, refuse to acknowledge her presence at the table (she walks away, rightly), proceed to wave hysterically at her while she services the table next to them, and then change every dish on the menu to suit their asshole ways, only to decide, after all that, that the menu items are just fine (thank you, yes we know) the way they are, (this) all makes me want to fire the customer. 

Can I tell you, dear asshole customer, that you made her cry?  Do you even care how much your shitty ways affect not only her, but the rest of us?  If you did know, would it matter?  

For the record, the next time, you won't get "your" table or "your" server.  You may not even get "your" reservation.  You should be fired.  Period.

Saturday night.  Very first customers.  Two, seemingly sweet older (80-ish) ladies walk in.  No reservation.  That's ok, it's early.  But that doesn't give you the right to the following: demand this table, that table, it's cold, now I'm hot, I don't see anything that I'd eat, can I have something free...blah, blah, blah.  Just gross.  Why are you out to dinner if all you can do is complain?  Honestly, we really want to make you happy. It makes us happy to make you happy, but really?  Seriously? Please, next time, just don't come out.  Or go somewhere that won't give a shit, won't try to please you, maybe then you'll get the picture. 

Again, you're fired.  I'm done.  Your $82 dollars is just not worth our collective wasted effort, the tears, the frustration and the extra glass of wine at the end of the night that I have to give to your server just to talk her off the ledge.  

Thanks, but we're good.

Not my evening...but still...

So a very dear friend of mine, a personal chef to be exact, had this very experience last night.

Let me preface this by saying that most of his events and dinners are executed in the customer's home where they have the luxury of their personal space and surroundings (nice, right?).  Typically, the customer/host is eager to engage with him as the chef.  He is there not only to cook, but also to teach, to engage, to provide the full experience of having a real, live chef cook for you in your home.  Sounds pretty sweet to me!

And if I do say so myself...he's a pretty likeable guy.  But I might be biased.

So off he goes to the hostess home, scheduled to arrive around 5:30pm for a 6:30pm dinner.  He sets up the mise en place and has the full  meal "AR" (action-ready for those non-kitchen folk).

Then he waits.  A really long time for the guests to arrive.  Like almost 2 hours.

When they do finally arrive, they proceed to compose the hostess's online dating profile with a concerted group effort.  Dinner doesn't seem to be even on the horizon of their brains.  Only the dating profile.  Seriously?

Finally dinner.  He kills it. Of course.  It's a home run.  They love everything, but I knew they would, he's that good.

He cleans up, packs up and out the door he goes.  Close curtain.

Ok, I get it.  She hired him to cook for the group.  Not to entertain them.  And I guess that's fine.  But to so blatantly ignore the timing of the evening, to essentially not care about they how's and the why's of what he has created, and ultimately to treat him like a second class hired servant is just rude.

People, be mindful of how you treat those in the service industry.  We genuinely want to make you happy.  We genuinely want to give you a little piece of us every time we cook or serve you.

It's why we do what we do.

No where but down the rabbit hole from here...

Where to begin...this blog is now a precious few months away from 14 years in the making. 

Do I start 14 years ago?  Or last night?  Decisions, decisions...undoubtedly, it doesn't matter...it's all the same.  The same customers.  The same issues. The same nightly drama. 

Mercifully, the restaurant business is a "leave it at the desk" type of career choice.  Wait a minute...did I just say "career choice?"  I don't remember actually choosing this crazy, fucked up, insane, and totally amazing industry. But it did choose me.  Of course, I didn't know it at the time of choosing, but ultimately, for the lot of us, that is for the best.  Otherwise, there'd be none of us to serve you food & drink & watch you flail miserably on the first date & listen to the big money pitch & awkwardly serve you and your girlfriend food as she bawls into her soup because you've been an ass & so on & so on...

So. What do you want to know?  The nitty gritty? Or the lovely, pretty accounts of beautiful dishes and magical foodie nights?  Or maybe a mix of both, as I see fit to divulge?  That, I will happily oblige.  Mind you, however...I'm not a writer.  This ain't gonna be pretty.  But it will be gritty, true, and, for the most part, harmless.  

So join me, if you will, as I recount the crazy, timeless, insane, and absurd tales of my restaurant life.