Liveblogging your table is ready
Jan. 19th, 2025 12:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
walkitoutThis is actually quite an impressive memoir. Not on writing style — memoirs often have very strange authorial voice — but on emotional insight delivered in a super detached way. Like a lot of really amazing people who have careers (decade or more) front of the house, he has a well-developed ethos of service. He has some earthy ways of describing it.
“As the master maitre d’hotel Guy Sussini of the Water Club always said to me, “Give zem zee beeg blow job.”
After describing his first and second encounters with Danny Meyer, C-A expands upon a question Meyer asked him in the first encounter (an interview that did not lead to C-A being hired, unsurprisingly): “What is more important, food or service?” Obviously, service. Duh. This is a book about working front of the house.
“We all want to connect, to be recognized, treated well; some of us need to be adored, “recognized” either as the movie star we are, or the billionaire titan of Wall Street, or that politician, cop, restaurant-industry professional, tailor, construction worker, teacher — all of us want to be made to feel special, to be known and acknowledged.”
C-A then goes on to explain how the magic is done, which is great and expands on further details which are also great and the book is worth reading, but mostly, I’m really struck by this conception of restaurant patrons. It’s not wrong. It’s just a different frame from how I’ve thought about things, and it is absolutely the most perfect explanation for MIL’s behavior in restaurants and why I have such a problem with it (not jus MIL!).
I’ve been going to restaurants with MIL now for over two decades (fortunately, not too many in a compressed period of time!). She is _the worst_ in restaurants. My sister can be a real problem if the restaurant is too fancy for her and it makes her uncomfortable, but she at least doesn’t ever insist on tipping and then leave such a low tip that I have to sneak a supplement. (I just don’t let people pay or tip any more if I’m at the table, with extremely limited exceptions. I don’t need the hit to my reputation as a customer.) As annoying as the stingy tip problem is, however, it is nothing compared to constantly sending things back (which SIL does, but I’ve eaten out with her only very occasionally, and with a tiny bit of luck, hopefully even more rarely going forward). On the most recent trip to Florida, I obsessed over restaurants in Pompano Beach, searching for one that was Nice Enough for MIL, but not Too Nice for sister, and had things on the menu that everyone would be able to eat and enjoy, and good drinks, but where the menu wasn’t so fussy that it would trigger MIL’s insecurities around not recognizing the dishes being listed. I landed on Beach House, which was amazing. It was really loud, but that even turned out fine, because my sister no longer tries to talk over loud in a restaurant so I just got to sit and enjoy the amazing view.
I was so worried about MIL sending things back, that I did something I hate when people do to me: I asked her for her order and then I placed it for her. I went over every element of her order, and asked her proactively if she wanted that part of it / how she wanted it cooked. And she didn’t send anything back.
It occurs to me that MIL goes into restaurants, pastes a smile on her face, and is deceptively undemanding in appearance. The server takes her order, doesn’t ask any questions beyond how she wants her steak cooked and moves on. And she doesn’t feel special at all. Since she wanted to feel special — because apparently this is why people go to restaurants! — she punishes the server for not making her feel special. She makes work by sending things back. And if she can, she’ll tip stingily. And she’ll complain to her tablemates loud enough for others to hear. It’s vile behavior. I fucking hate it. I dread it. And I had no idea what was driving it. I fixed it entirely inadvertently. I was so tired of it, I just meticulously eliminated any possible source of complaint and then waited to see what she’d do this time. She was, miraculously — or, apparently NOT miraculously — well behaved. I’m sure it didn’t hurt that not BIL was sitting next to her. She really likes to be seen in the company of a man.
Anyway. I get fantastic service in restaurants. I overtip. I always use a credit card, and almost always the same one I’ve used since forever. I make the reservation online. I’m clear up front about my dietary issues, I acknowledge they are unreasonable, if I’ve been there before, I note that we always have a great time, I specify nothing is a cross contamination issue (even tho that isn’t totally true, I manage that issue separately, through where I go to eat or what I order when I get there). So they 100% know who I am when I am being seated (I’ve been told this, and it surprised me) even if I’m not a regular, because restaurant computers keep track of everyone and I make it super easy for them to do so. _I’m there for the food_. I like a really light touch on service (altho I do find it frustrating when I’m waiting for the bill). This whole It’s All About the Service thing is … explanatory.
Back when Julie’s Place was still in business, B. used to rave about what a great customer I was. Openly. To other customers. It was awkward, but that’s always been my goal. I want the staff to see me and go, finally, someone who I know exactly how to please, and who won’t take up a ton of my time and energy, and it’s great to see a friendly face and be utterly certain that the tip will be worth it. The biggest hazard of being me is that bartenders who become aware of my existence in restaurants where the bar is good but not The Feature will sometimes reward my behavior in ways that mean I really should not order a second drink. I’ve had other, memorably odd interactions with servers who chose to tell me how successful I’ve been in my goal, which never fails to be anything other than awkward for me.
It says a lot about how relentlessly blind I am to other people’s perspective, that I only just now figured out how precisely mirror universe I am vs. MIL. She walks in looking all kinds of easy to please and creates a nightmare. I walk in looking like all kinds of frumpy trouble and create an oasis of enjoyment. Go figure.
ETAYA:
Soft open at The Water Club is all the crazy. (I avoid newly opened everything and give it a month to settle down before trying. I make exceptions when ordering technology and frequently regret it.) “This is where I learned another valuable lesson … no matter what anyone tells you … the most important person in the room is the owner and if he is taken care of perfectly, he rarely notices anything else in the room.”
Absolutely perfect summation of a lot of what was wrong with 1980s management culture and not just in restaurants.
“As the master maitre d’hotel Guy Sussini of the Water Club always said to me, “Give zem zee beeg blow job.”
After describing his first and second encounters with Danny Meyer, C-A expands upon a question Meyer asked him in the first encounter (an interview that did not lead to C-A being hired, unsurprisingly): “What is more important, food or service?” Obviously, service. Duh. This is a book about working front of the house.
“We all want to connect, to be recognized, treated well; some of us need to be adored, “recognized” either as the movie star we are, or the billionaire titan of Wall Street, or that politician, cop, restaurant-industry professional, tailor, construction worker, teacher — all of us want to be made to feel special, to be known and acknowledged.”
C-A then goes on to explain how the magic is done, which is great and expands on further details which are also great and the book is worth reading, but mostly, I’m really struck by this conception of restaurant patrons. It’s not wrong. It’s just a different frame from how I’ve thought about things, and it is absolutely the most perfect explanation for MIL’s behavior in restaurants and why I have such a problem with it (not jus MIL!).
I’ve been going to restaurants with MIL now for over two decades (fortunately, not too many in a compressed period of time!). She is _the worst_ in restaurants. My sister can be a real problem if the restaurant is too fancy for her and it makes her uncomfortable, but she at least doesn’t ever insist on tipping and then leave such a low tip that I have to sneak a supplement. (I just don’t let people pay or tip any more if I’m at the table, with extremely limited exceptions. I don’t need the hit to my reputation as a customer.) As annoying as the stingy tip problem is, however, it is nothing compared to constantly sending things back (which SIL does, but I’ve eaten out with her only very occasionally, and with a tiny bit of luck, hopefully even more rarely going forward). On the most recent trip to Florida, I obsessed over restaurants in Pompano Beach, searching for one that was Nice Enough for MIL, but not Too Nice for sister, and had things on the menu that everyone would be able to eat and enjoy, and good drinks, but where the menu wasn’t so fussy that it would trigger MIL’s insecurities around not recognizing the dishes being listed. I landed on Beach House, which was amazing. It was really loud, but that even turned out fine, because my sister no longer tries to talk over loud in a restaurant so I just got to sit and enjoy the amazing view.
I was so worried about MIL sending things back, that I did something I hate when people do to me: I asked her for her order and then I placed it for her. I went over every element of her order, and asked her proactively if she wanted that part of it / how she wanted it cooked. And she didn’t send anything back.
It occurs to me that MIL goes into restaurants, pastes a smile on her face, and is deceptively undemanding in appearance. The server takes her order, doesn’t ask any questions beyond how she wants her steak cooked and moves on. And she doesn’t feel special at all. Since she wanted to feel special — because apparently this is why people go to restaurants! — she punishes the server for not making her feel special. She makes work by sending things back. And if she can, she’ll tip stingily. And she’ll complain to her tablemates loud enough for others to hear. It’s vile behavior. I fucking hate it. I dread it. And I had no idea what was driving it. I fixed it entirely inadvertently. I was so tired of it, I just meticulously eliminated any possible source of complaint and then waited to see what she’d do this time. She was, miraculously — or, apparently NOT miraculously — well behaved. I’m sure it didn’t hurt that not BIL was sitting next to her. She really likes to be seen in the company of a man.
Anyway. I get fantastic service in restaurants. I overtip. I always use a credit card, and almost always the same one I’ve used since forever. I make the reservation online. I’m clear up front about my dietary issues, I acknowledge they are unreasonable, if I’ve been there before, I note that we always have a great time, I specify nothing is a cross contamination issue (even tho that isn’t totally true, I manage that issue separately, through where I go to eat or what I order when I get there). So they 100% know who I am when I am being seated (I’ve been told this, and it surprised me) even if I’m not a regular, because restaurant computers keep track of everyone and I make it super easy for them to do so. _I’m there for the food_. I like a really light touch on service (altho I do find it frustrating when I’m waiting for the bill). This whole It’s All About the Service thing is … explanatory.
Back when Julie’s Place was still in business, B. used to rave about what a great customer I was. Openly. To other customers. It was awkward, but that’s always been my goal. I want the staff to see me and go, finally, someone who I know exactly how to please, and who won’t take up a ton of my time and energy, and it’s great to see a friendly face and be utterly certain that the tip will be worth it. The biggest hazard of being me is that bartenders who become aware of my existence in restaurants where the bar is good but not The Feature will sometimes reward my behavior in ways that mean I really should not order a second drink. I’ve had other, memorably odd interactions with servers who chose to tell me how successful I’ve been in my goal, which never fails to be anything other than awkward for me.
It says a lot about how relentlessly blind I am to other people’s perspective, that I only just now figured out how precisely mirror universe I am vs. MIL. She walks in looking all kinds of easy to please and creates a nightmare. I walk in looking like all kinds of frumpy trouble and create an oasis of enjoyment. Go figure.
ETAYA:
Soft open at The Water Club is all the crazy. (I avoid newly opened everything and give it a month to settle down before trying. I make exceptions when ordering technology and frequently regret it.) “This is where I learned another valuable lesson … no matter what anyone tells you … the most important person in the room is the owner and if he is taken care of perfectly, he rarely notices anything else in the room.”
Absolutely perfect summation of a lot of what was wrong with 1980s management culture and not just in restaurants.