Tonight a man called and said:

I just got a call confirming my reservation for tomorrow night.

So I’m calling to confirm my reservation.

Uh. Okay.

I wanted to say, yes. The text confirmed your reservation. No need to call as well.

Also had a woman show up and said she had a reservation for Jane Smith.

I don’t have it.

She shows me her confirmation text.

I look up her reservation with her phone number.

She had cancelled her reservation at 4:15.

She insisted that she had not.

Luckily it was at 5:00 and I could squeeze her in.

Hi we have a reservation for 2 at the bar at 7:30.
If we come early so you have a cocktail bar we could wait at?

It’s 6:00.

Yes! We have a completely different bar for cocktails separate from the dinner bar.

WTF?

Every night people walk in to the restaurant.

I say hello. How are you?

And they walk up and say, hi we have a reservation for four.

And then go silent.

Uh. Should I guess your name?

Or they say John.

I have 17 John’s with a reservation. Do I have to guess which one?

Or they say hi this is Sarah Smith.

Uh. Would it be under a different name?

No Sarah Smith.

Are you sure?

Oh I’m sorry John made the reservation check his name.

Or they say hi we have a reservation for Sarah Smith.

Uh. I don’t have a Sarah Smith.

I swear I have a reservation. Here’s the text you sent me!

Could it be under a different name?

No. Sarah Smith.

How about Sarah Dumbowsky?

Oh yeah. I forgot. That’s my maiden name.

I could continue this for ten more pages with examples of people not knowing their names.

We were busy tonight.

Summer busy.

We did the same number of covers we’d do inside in the summer. Only they were mostly 2-tops. 76 of them to be exact.

Every deuce had a 90 minute turn.

And we were booked all the way up till close.

We did have many people show up without a reservation. We squeezed them in when we could.

So I was not surprised when at 5:45 three women walked into to the lobby without a reservation.

I recognized one of the womn from previous visits but I couldn’t tell you her name.

She comes up to the desk and says she and her friends are there for drinks and snacks.

At this point we’ve sat out complete first turn. The dining room is cranking.

We are full.

I explain that I won’t have anything free till 8:30.

She clearly doesn’t like this.

How about at the bar?

The empty stools are for a 6:30 reservation.

A table?

8:30.

She is rambling. And I’m becoming more aware that she and her friends are probably on their fourth or fifth drink at this point.

They are drunk.

They continue to push.

Can we go to the bar and then sit in the lobby. At the couch. Over there. Over here.

I’ve now decided they aren’t staying.

Even if something miraculously opens the answer is no.

Turns out two of the friends are visiting from Houston.

So finally the woman from here, asks if she can at least show her friends around.

I say of course.

The phone rings. I answer. She goes into the dining room.

I get off the phone and realize one of the friends has stayed behind.

She then drunkenly launches into a conservative tirade about how Portland is a shit hole. They pay homeless people to be homeless. We build high rise after high rise for the poor just like San Francisco. We give drugs to addicts on the street. And the city is festering with crime. (None of this is an exaggeration. She’s talking to my other host and I’m taking notes).

She then turns and says to me, hey look they are talking to the chef.

I realize the other two are standing at the food pass chatting with the chef.

Uh oh.

We are in the middle of the turn. He is fucking busy.

I head toward the pass and interrupt.

I hear him say you’ll need to check with him, meaning me.

They turn to me and say he says we can sit on the couch.

I say, you wait in the lobby and I’ll see what I can do.

I explain after they walk away that they are hammered and not getting served.

I go back to the lobby, prepared to shut the whole conversation down with your drunk I can’t serve you.

Instead i told them no one more time and they left.

I find out later that they’d slowed the whole kitchen down because new orders couldn’t be called while they were there.

Chef was being nice to them as he got farther and farther in the weeds.

Seriously.

I’ve been a GM for almost ten years.

Trust me when I say that the worst thing that can happen during a shift is….

Worse than a fire, which has happened.

Worse than a gas leak, which has happened.

Worse than running out of French fries, which has happened.

The absolute worst thing that could happen is the POS crashing.

This happened tonight around 7:15.

On a holiday weekend.

On the busiest Friday night we’ve had since before Christmas.

Usually it’s an internet problem.

Tonight it was a system wide Toast issue.

Truth be said the POS operated in its offline mode exactly as is was supposed to.

But.

It threw everyone off.

And for thirty minutes things got tough.

I never panic in an emergency. I go to my calm place. That’s what happened tonight.

Until I didn’t.

I might have lost my cool for about 94 seconds.

I might have snapped at an employee.

For the past 7 or 8 years my rule has been if I snap at someone inappropriately I buy them a drink.

Three minutes after I snapped, I took 20 bucks out of my wallet and handed it to the employee.

She wouldn’t accept it. But I tried to uphold my commitment to always do the right thing.

The POS was down for about thirty minutes.

Then all was well.

There was no real fallout.

Except for the dude at the bar who was angry because it took a bit to process his credit card.

He yelled at my host and told her he was never coming back.

Hmmmm.

Is that a promise?

Or a threat.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch.

Except our last reservation was 20 minutes late.

Then was slow to order.

Ugh!!!

We are going into the Valentine’s Day weekend.

We get at least two or three calls a day asking if we’ll be open on Monday.

And at least two or three times a day I get scolded because we are not going to be open. They can’t believe our owner would choose the happiness of his staff over the ability to make a buck.

I truly believe our chef made the right decision.

Meanwhile, it’s a 2-top weekend. We have 150 2-tops reserved over the next three days.

Anyone care to guess how many filets we’ll sell over the next three days?

Seriously.

Take a guess. I’ll announce the winner on Monday.

We do have Wagyu filet in house this weekend so I’ll include that in the count.

That being said. It’s the weekend of love.

Let’s hope everyone eats and runs because these reservations are stacked.

Happy Valentines everyone!

Two things have happened in the last week that prompted this post.

On Saturday a friend who’d worked for me the first season we were open at David’s reached out via text for a reservation, last minute at my restaurant.

She and her husband had unexpectedly found themselves without kids for the night and wanted a date night.

I was happy to help. All we had were bar seats, which is what they preferred anyway.

She confessed later, that she had stressed over reaching out based on a post I made here that I don’t even remember. I assured her that I don’t mind at all.

Tonight an industry friend, that I’m friends with on Facebook, reached out to get a reservation for his friend. This was someone I really only know professionally.

And I was happy to help.

So all of you out there in the internet world who read this:

Reach out.

Ask for the favor.

For yourself.

For a friend.

I truly don’t mind.

Seriously.

Just remember:

That I always don’t see texts after we start service, until the end of service.

I can only help if the tables are available.

If I say sorry, we don’t have anything, don’t take it personally.

And I am truly sorry if any of you thpught I’d be offended if you asked, that was never my intention.

So please.

Ask, ask, ask.

We work in a seasonal, tourist town.

Not unlike thousands across the country just like us. People come from all over the world to visit our little town.

The guests at our restaurant are part local, part seasonal local, part tourist. And they love, love, love our restaurant.

All of our guests, no matter where they are from want to know about us. Us the restaurant. And us the staff.

They all ask lots of questions. About the fire? The meat? Where we are from? Where we live? How we ended up here?

I tell the same stories over and over. But to be honest, who doesn’t love talking about themselves.

Along the way you make friends. Some superficial, others close friends who have been to your home and that you’ve socialized with. Back in my younger days I even got a few dates out of the conversation.

The serving staff and bartenders have the same experience.

Part of my job IS to stand and talk. To be the host welcoming people to our home.

The staff however has a job to do.

Tonight table 25 began a conversation with Jen, a server. 7 to 8 minutes later she’s still talking. They won’t let her get away.

By the time she excuses herself she’s now in the weeds. All of other tables need something.

I was a victim of this when working at the Hard Rock. Everyone wanted to know what it’s like to work in NYC.

The guest never realizes that the server is actually do a job. It’s not malicious. (Watching Frazier, and they said malicious as I was typing it).

So a bit of professional advice. Almost all servers, not all, like to talk to their guests. But as the guest, realize that Jen can’t stand there for 20 minutes just shooting the shit. Let her have a break to say, gotta go.

Extend the conversation over the two hours you are there.

Meanwhile, I have a few signals I give if I want to be saved. And my staff knows just to interrupt if something comes up that needs immediate attention.

We were busy tonight. Very busy.

It was also a very long day.

I got to work at noon today.

Did two hours of prep for a server/bartender meeting.

Had a difficult meeting with an employee.

Missed lunch.

Had pre shift.

And opened the doors at 4:45.

I moved tonight. I definitely got my steps in.

At the end of service I went to the chef and asked to get dinner. I sat down around 9:15 to eat which I never do. We still had several tables in the building. I usually wait till we are mostly empty to sit down.

People were lingering tonight.

Chef also has friends at the bar and he was chatting with them.

Around 10:15 table G4 came into the bar. We all thought they were leaving. Then we realized they were carrying their cocktails. They planted themselves at the bar.

Around 10:30 chefs friends got another drink.

Table G4 asked for drinks.

The bartender explained that we were closed, they were chefs friends and the bar had already cashed out for the night.

They didn’t mind. They just continued to hang out at the bar.

At 11:00 the chef and his friends say their goodbyes and they all leave.

Now it’s just me.

And the four people from G4.

I’m reading Facebook. Pretending not to notice.

Finally they stand up.

But they don’t leave. They stay and talk.

They finally left around 11:30.

They were very nice. But oblivious.

I got in my car at 11:45.

I pulled into the garage at 12:30.

As you know we cook with fire.

This means steaks cook differently than on your grill, or in your oven, or even in a skillet.

This makes cooking some of our steaks tricky.

Especially filets.

They are a thick piece of meat. The minute you start to cook past medium rare the outside starts to get charred. We highly suggest medium rare. If not we suggest butterflying, as you cut the meat in half and cook the thinner pieces. You can get to well done at this point without making it a hockey puck.

Fun fact:

When your server tells you that the chef suggests anything, believe them. They aren’t just being stubborn they know what they are doing.

Tonight a couple dined with us.

They ordered the filet. Medium.

The server suggested butterflying but they insisted it not be.

20 minutes later the filet landed on the table.

They cut into it. Immediately called the server over, said it was a hockey puck, that it was way over cooked and they wanted a new one.

The server returned to the kitchen with the offending steak, and showed the chef.

The chef immediately became annoyed.

I walked up at this exact time.

He was annoyed because the steak was a perfect medium on the inside.

Perfect.

Warm brown outside, pink center cooked through. No blood.

Like we could have snapped a photo and used it in a cookbook it was so perfect.

He told the server to tell them it was perfect. He will cook a new one medium rare, and to order it medium rare next time, or allow us to butterfly the steak.

I told the server I’d deliver this message.

So when the new steak was ready I delivered it and explained that the chef recommended either butterflying or ordering medium rare next time so that they’d get the meal they really wanted.

They were very nice, and enjoyed their new steak.

They finish their meal.

Pay.

Then they call the server over to tell her how rude I’d been. They are in the industry and didn’t need a lecture on how to order a steak. It was their first time there and found the whole experience lacking.

On their way out I could tell they were unhappy, but didn’t say a word.

I was super aware of my tone when I delivered the steak. I wanted to make sure I kept it light hearted. It is a tough message, but we want you to enjoy yourself and your food.

It’s also the the reason I did it and not the server.

As a manager, it’s my job to deliver bad news. It’s my job to say no. The employee should never be beaten up because of something out of their control.

Unfortunately, they left upset.

I am not looking forward to their survey response.

Speaking of a survey I got one tonight from a guest who said they loved me.