Tonight was the first day of Christmas Prelude in Kennebunkport. This is the second most popular Christmas event in America according to HGTV.

It’s a gathering of mostly adults who drink their way thru town over 2.5 days. When I worked at David’s it was a disaster. Summer numbers with winter staff I liked to say. More drunk people than you can count.

Being out of the middle of town created a very different, much better experience.

Except.

For some unknown reason the Prelude folks decided to host a block party tonight. And closed the road that connects Kennebunk to Kennebunkport. For 2 hours. Four with set up and breakdown.

This was probably super awesome for people staying in the lower village with nowhere to go.

It was not awesome for everyone else.

Why you ask?

Because it closed direct access for anyone going to the other side of town via car.

Say for example if you’re driving to my restaurant from Ogunquit, Wells, or say even Kennebunk.

At least 15 reservations showed up late tonight because they followed their GPS that took them through the middle of town. Except they got to Kennebunk and found the road closed.

Suddenly they were late.

You’d think this would be the worst.

But the worst was the Smiths.

They checked into their hotel. They went to the various events. Then around 7:00 started getting ready to leave for their 8:00 reservation at my restaurant.

Only it was then discovered that their car was trapped in the parking lot. They were told by the police, the fire department, the city works folks that there was no way they could move their car. Not till 9:00.

You’d think someone might have mentioned this but nope.

They called us several times asking for help which we could not do. I spoke to them the last time and told them that if they got to the restaurant by 8:30 we’d feed them.

They finally arrived.

Turns out they’d walked 45 minutes in 20* weather to get a car from a friend, then six of them squished, and they arrived frozen, grumpy, hungry, and annoyed.

Turns out by the time they arrived I’d moved them to the chefs table to make room for another party.

I was worried they’d be upset.

But.

This could not have made them happier.

Views of the kitchen. 30 feet from 15 feet of fire. They were warm in 10 minutes.

They kept calling me over to tell me how wonderful we’d made them feel. How special the night ended up. And how they couldn’t wait to come back.

All ended up well, but seriously don’t close the roads when it’s the only way to get where you are going.

I was a very picky eater as a child.

The only green vegetable I would eat was peas.

I didn’t eat lettuce until I was in high school and only then when it was swimming in 1000 island dressing.

There was so many things I refused to even taste.

God bless my mother. For all her faults she never forced me or my brother to eat foods we didn’t like.

Things weren’t much better when I became an adult.

Always safe.

Always cautious.

I remember eating portobello mushrooms the first time. I’d always thought I’d hate them. Turns out they are delicious.

But still I remained cautious.

Occasionally I’d be exposed to a food. Try it and learn that it wasn’t so bad.

Escargot.

Lamb.

Real salmon. Medium rare.

But still I remained cautious.

Then in 2009 I met a cute boy who liked food. Good food. Real food. Food that no one had heard of in Kentucky when I was growing up.

And for some reason I learned to stop being cautious and live adventurously.

At least with food.

I stared to try things.

Mussels.

Goat Cheese.

Real tuna.

Steak tartar.

Raw seafood.

Octopus.

Chicken liver mousse.

Oysters.

The list goes on.

There are only a few things I don’t really like.

Bleu cheese. (Although I did just eat pasta with Gorgonzola).

Olives.

And I’m not super fond of grilled scallops. It’s a texture thing.

And still, while dining out occasionally we continue to try new things.

I’ll always try it. I might not like it but I’ll give it ago.

Soooooo.

I started my new job in June.

Can you believe it’s been six months. And yesterday I made my 100th post.

Sorry. I was distracted.

When I started my job, there was much I needed to learn about the menu.

For example, the difference between a porterhouse and a t-bone.

How to pronounce chimichurri. I said it with an ah at the end not an ee.

And.

What blood sausage and sweet breads were.

Blood sausage is made with the blood of pigs, cows etc. It’s hard to find in the US but we get it through an importer in Miami. It’s also very tasty.

Sweet breads are made from either the thymus gland or the pancreas of a cow or sheep. The thymus when it’s a calf, or lamb. Pancreas when the animal is older.

They are delicious but the spongy texture will sometimes put people off.

Soooo.

This was a long way of saying we serve sweet breads and blood sausage on our mixed grill. It’s the jumbo combo of meats for my friends who worked at the Hard Rock Cafe.

When the dish is presented the runner explains what’s what.

And most of the time it ends there.

Occasionally panic ensues.

A couple of months ago, a woman tried the blood sausage. Thought it was delicious. Asked the server what it was and had the rest of the meal boxed up.

We are not surprised by this.

What is funny is what happened tonight.

Tonight someone saw that we had sweet breads on the mixed grill and asked if they could get it as a side.

They were very confused when the order was delivered to the table and it was not pastries.

The servers are often told not to include the sweet breads as the person is gluten free.

We all laugh.

But we don’t make fun. 10 years ago I would have thought the same thing. We encourage the guest to try them. But if they want them removed moved then we do it.

Let me say again, if you don’t think about what it is then it’s tasty.

As is steak tartar.

Tuna tartar.

Octopus.

Scallops ceviche.

Chicken liver mousse.

Chocolate ice cream.

As I’ve mentioned before we are not an inexpensive restaurant. However, we are far from super expensive. Check out some restaurants in NYC if you want truly expensive.

Every couple of weeks someone responds to our surveys with the comment that we are expensive.

Today’s comment was that our wine prices are too expensive for a local restaurant.

Which caused me to ask some questions:

What do they mean by local?

Isn’t EVERY restaurant a local restaurant for some one?

Is there a price guideline for local restaurants?

Does it depend on local to who?

Is 40 dollars really an expensive bottle of wine?

Is your wine list really expensive if you only have a six wines over $100?

And all of those are marked reserve?

Is it wrong of us to think when someone is spending money on a quality steak that they might want a quality wine?

I just looked at her receipt. She might have meant glass pours as that’s what they ordered.

Our glass pours are 10, 11, and 12 dollars. Not expensive by any measure. In Portland restaurants are charging $15+ a glass.

These are just a few of my questions.

So what should our prices be?

What kind of quality are you looking for?

Shouldn’t the wine quality and food quality match each other?

That’s all. Those are my questions.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts.

It’s been prep for the holiday week at work.

Next week is the big Christmas celebration in town. Pre-COVID tens of thousands of people came to visit in the first weekend after thanksgiving.

When I first worked there we discovered that it was a drinking occasion. Plastic cups, kegs of cheap beer, pizza served on paper plates. The last year we did this one bar did 7,000 dollars just in alcohol in 9 hours.

Long way of saying that I was tasked with decorating. This is the fourth restaurant that has given me this task.

At my last job I was given a ton of money to decorate. Fun fact, Xmas is expensive. The money did not go far.

This year I decided to keep it simple.

Decorate the tree the restaurant already had. Bring another tree from home. Simple decorations.

And I think the final result although simple was quite nice.

The best thing was that we added a very romantic two top next to the big tree which has become a favorite.

So if you want a romantic dinner for two next to the tree let me know.

Meanwhile since we are a few miles out of town we hope that people visit us not to drink but to enjoy an amazing dinner.

Tonight was a first.

We were busy. Especially for a Wednesday in November. Reservations stacked on reservations.

Lots of large parties. People dining out with their families, who did not want to cook tonight.

We sat an 8 top at 5:30. Four adults. Four teenagers. They were very nice. I remember making the reservation for the mother a week or so ago.

They arrived on time. Ordered on time.

Reservation was moving along.

Around 7:15 the server comes up to say that they are on dessert.

Perfect.

Dessert comes and goes.

And this is where it gets special.

They order another bottle of wine.

Pull out a deck of cards.

And settle in for the evening.

They stay for another hour playing cards and drinking wine. Luckily I was able to move things around, so it wasn’t a problem.

But in all this time I’ve never had this happen.

Who goes out to eat, and then plays cards for an hour after dinner?

Except in Las Vegas.

The server later shared that one of the sons pulled out dominoes, but the dad said, oh no. That takes too long!

Thank god it wasn’t monopoly!

On the eve of Thanksgiving I thought it might be nice to do a positive piece. Give a little thanks.

I have been a GM for 8 years. 9 seasons. I‘ve been employed by five restaurants. Each job very different. It’s funny, because when I interview I ask the person I’m chatting with what kind of GM they want. I know GMs who run the whole restaurant. Who run just front of house. Who have access to the P&L. Those who have no idea what their labor cost is. I know GMs who hire and fire. I know GMs who have assistants for that.

Each of my jobs has been a variation on all of these.

My first GM position is one for the history books.

Adam and I moved to Portland in May, 2012. I did a brief stint as a dining room manager. Very brief. So brief that it’s never been on my resume. I quit that job to take a very big lighting design gig that would have been several years of work. I worked for five weeks when the project shifted producers and the designer I was working with lost the gig.

It’s now October, 2012. I’m unemployed. I’m not worried. I’ll find something. October came and went. November came and went. I’m starting to panic. Adam is really worried. We are barely scraping by.

December comes and goes and I’m getting no responses to my resume.

Nada.

I’m really getting desperate.

After the holidays, we agree that at this point I’ll get any job. Any job at all.

I also take a look at my resume. It’s been basically the same for ten years. I re-work it. I drop my masters degree and my MFA from the page. They aren’t relative and might be the problem. I also drop the dates from my college degree.

They don’t need to know how old I am.

I start sending them out. And BAM I start getting calls. I end up doing four interviews with Panera Bread. I find out I didn’t get the job when they repost the ad. (To this day I email anyone I interview to say yes or no to their application).

I keep sending them out.

I do three interviews at Target to be a manager. No go.

Did I mention it’s now February and I haven’t worked since October? We now haven’t paid our rent in two months.

At the beginning of February I start applying for server jobs. I also apply at Sams Club to be a cashier. I am desperate.

Was called in for an interview at Sam’s club. I interview with a junior manager, who talks to me for five minutes and realizes I‘m smart. Two hours later, I’ve interviewed with the entire upper management team including the GM. They offer me a job.

I’m not super excited. But a job is a job. However there are hoops. Pee test. Background check. Start to finish a week plus. I jump through the hoops.

Meanwhile I keep looking. Sending out my resume everyday. Assistant restaurant managers. Cashiers. Servers.

I’m still waiting to hear if I passed the pee test and background check at Sam’s. I’m not worried. It’s been 20 years since I smoke pot and the last time I interacted with the police was a speeding ticket in 1997.

On February 15, 2013 I was waiting in the parking lot of Margarita’s restaurant to apply for a serving position. The restaurant opens at 4:00 and they were advertising for staff.

It’s about 3 minutes to 4:00 when my phone rang.

It’s the owner of a local restaurant who is interviewing for a dining room manager for his new venture.

He asks if I’m available on Monday. I say I’m not as I’m flying to Iowa to design a show. He says, will now work?

I explain that I’m not dressed for an interview but if he doesn’t mind I’ll come by.

I can still remember standing in the lobby of his restaurant. I remember, his manager Kim saying hello and taking me downstairs. I remember, shaking his hand.

And we started talking.

And talking.

And talking.

Three hours passed.

He told me he’d be in touch and I left.

I have to say I was reserved after my search. I wasn’t expecting anything at all.

The next day I fly to Iowa.

I design my last show for them.

The day before we opened, I’m about to leave for the theater when my phone rings.

It’s the owner. We chat for a couple of minutes.

Pleasantries.

Then we get down to business.

He says that he doesn’t think that I would be a good fit for dining room manager.

My heart sinks. But I’m not surprised.

He then says, “Would you consider being the GM instead?”

I have to admit that my breathe had been taken away. There’s a long pause.

He says, “it’s okay if you don’t think you can do it”.

I immediately say, no,no, no. Yes I can do it. It’s just not what I was suspecting.

We chat for five more minutes. He says to reach out when I’m back in town.

I call when I get home.

There are a couple of hoops to jump through.

One of the owners wants to meet me. This makes me nervous. What if she realizes he’s made a mistake???

The interview goes great.

I get the job.

I start on March 25, 2013. I have no idea what I’m doing but everyday I say to myself before I go in, fake it till you make it. Don’t let them know!!!

And miracle of miracles I put one foot in front of the other and survived. I put together lists, manuals, opening checklists.

On April 15th my management team started. I had staff!!!

What the fuck!!!

We interviewed that week for opening staff. I met two of my favorite people that week.

Laura Ray, who was a manager. And Katherine who was a server. Both still great friends.

On May 15, 2013 we opened.

We were busy from the start. And I instinctively knew what to do.

Did I make mistakes? Of course.

Did I do a lot of things right? Absolutely!

8.5 years.

So much has changed.

I’ve gotten better at my job every day since.

But to this day I’m still grateful that David Turin took a chance on me. He changed the trajectory of my life. And that path has continued to change with his help.

So I’m super thankful for David.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving!

A time for families who love each other to gather together at grandma’s house.

Or.

It used to be.

Now days, it’s a time for cranky people who don’t like each other to go out in public and share their crankiness with lots of other people.

Until I moved to NYC I’d never been expected to work the holidays because restaurants weren’t open.

Then comes the Hard Rock.

Open breakfast, lunch, and dinner for regular hours every thanksgiving. What could possibly be wrong with that?

As an employee you had to work either Christmas, Christmas Eve, or Thanksgiving. One of them. I always chose Thanksgiving. And every year it was a shit show.

First, not ever. In the history of the world. Has a restaurant ever prepped and cooked enough turkey dinners. By 3:00 or 4:00 you are telling people that they are eating burgers for dinner.

Second it only took one shift to learn that the people who eat out on the holidays don’t like each other. At all. In fact they might even hate each other. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Third, the matriarch takes it out on everyone that their family hates them.

Two years ago at RiRa a woman lost her shit because her 25 year old son couldn’t get carrots with his salmon. The carrots were for the turkey dinner. LOST HER SHIT.

So much so that she called the next day to complain about our horrible treatment of her 25 year old son.

She called from work, caller ID is a wonderful thing. When she began to threaten me, I ask if her employer knew she was using their phone to threaten people. She asked for an explanation. I explained that I had her name, her employers name, the phone number, and if she continued I’d call HR on Monday.

She hung up.

Whats fun now, is that people expect you to be open. They don’t even consider you might be closed. They leave messages, 10 for dinner on 11/25. 2 for dinner on 11/25.

They get cranky when I return the call saying we are closed.

As for my thoughts.

I think everyone should be closed on thanksgiving. Let your employees have the day.

And.

People tip like shit I the holidays. I made less on thanksgiving than any other shift of the year.

Stay home. An argue with each other. Don’t take it out on unsuspecting servers.

We are an upscale casual restaurant.

We are a steakhouse.

We are not a restaurant that caters to children.

When you go to Resy to make a reservation it specifically says that we do not currently have a children’s menu. We do not have high chairs.

No one should be surprised when they get to the restaurant and these two things are true.

So you have to know, I was pleasantly amused when a server comes to me today and says table 36 is upset because we won’t make their five year old a grill cheese.

When he explained that we couldn’t, they demanded to know why. He tried to explain and they want to know why we can’t heat up two burger buns with some cheese.

He said sorry, but no. We can’t.

They were very displeased.

They left unhappy.

They grunted at me when they left.

I’d suggest they open their own restaurant if they want to make the rules.

PS. They’ve eaten here before. So none of this was new to them.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been yelled at at work. That streak ended tonight. And wouldn’t you know it was in front of my new host, with no restaurant experience, who I told about difficult guests at his interview. It was his first day.

We got off to a rough start when the new host, who we’ll call Matt took the foursome into the dining room to seat them. He came back about six seconds later to say that they didn’t want a high top.

Before I followed him back to the table, I check and yes indeed they booked a high top.

I go to the table and explain that I can’t move them. There is only one table left in the restaurant and those guests booked it as a low table.

The older female of the two couples proceeds to protest. My husband is an amputee. He can’t sit here. I try to be considerate and explain that there’s nothing I can do.

The man protests to his wife and says he’ll be fine.

Great. Crisis averted.

I’m off.

Fast forward an hour. The server finds me to let me know that the woman and her son? had sent their steaks back. And that the woman is NOT pleased.

When the steaks are ready I take them to the table. She is outraged before I even set them down. It’s completely outrageous that the steaks were not cooked properly.

I apologize. The truth is every restaurant has recooks. Even the nicest, most expensive. We cook on a slow night 30+ steaks. On a night like tonight 150+. In the summer 250+. It’s going to happen.

Fun fact. I can count on both hands the number of times since I started that the chef has over cooked a steak. If he’s going to miss the mark, he’s going to get it under. I always joke he defaults to how he likes his steak.

The steaks tonight were under cooked. It took maybe four minutes to get them back out.

PS. They were a perfect medium rare when the server brought them back to the kitchen which is how they were ordered.

I set the steaks down and the woman launches into how I should be embarrassed to serve a steak like this for this price because the filet is so small.

She demands that I show her where the filet is on the plate.

For those who don’t know. The t-bone is made up of two parts divided by the bone. The strip is the larger piece, the tenderloin or filet is the smaller piece.

I explain that I can’t tell her that because to quote the server, she mangled the steak when she started eating it the first time. I say I have no idea because it’s been eaten and cut up. With a little more finesse then I wrote it.

This makes her angry. She proceeds to tell me there is no way she should have to pay our prices for this steak. Especially when it wasn’t cooked properly.

Ahhhh.

Now I know what she’s getting at.

She wants it for free.

That isn’t happening.

So I say, if you don’t want it, I can take it away.

At this point she becomes a petulant 4 year old. She demands I take it away. I pick it up and offer to get her something else. Chicken. A pork chop. Salmon.

She says absolutely not.

I walk away, as her son whose steak was also refired is chomping away.

When I get to the kitchen the chef asks what’s wrong. I explain.

He say’s, if she wanted a bigger filet she should have ordered the porterhouse.

More info:

The porterhouse and t-bone are both cut from the short loin. The back produces the porterhouse. As you move forward and the filet gets smaller it becomes a t-bone. I just learned 45 seconds ago that the filet of the T-bone only has to be 1/2 inch to be considered a t-bone. I wish I’d known this tonight.

Fun fact. A porterhouse costs more because the filet is bigger.

I digress.

I throw the perfectly good steak in the trash and go about my day.

Fast forward 30 minutes later.

I’m checking in with the host when the woman walks up to the host stand, stands about as close to me as she can and says, You should be ashamed of yourself.

For how you treated me, and serving that steak.

I ask what she means, as I took the steak away and offered to get her something else.

She tells me I smirked when I did it. I might have a little. Mostly because she was jonesing for free food.

I assure her that I did not I was just trying to figure out what she wanted.

She once again tells me I should be ashamed of myself.

She then inches closer and asks if she can have the name of the general manager.

I pull my business card out of my pocket it, hand it to her and say, that would be me.

She becomes outraged, throws the card at my face, says something I don’t remember and tells me like 12 more times I should be ashamed of myself.

She then opens the door to exit, turns one more time to say something, but I interrupt to say have a nice day and then she’s gone.

I breathe. Then I retreat to the corner to wallow in my shame.

In 13 years of dining out with Adam, either alone or with friends, we’ve never had a situation where we’ve had two reservations at the same restaurant. You know why? Because we talk to each other.

So imagine my surprise when Mr. Smith showed up with a reservation for three at 5:30, along with Mrs. Smith who had a reservation for three at 5:30.

And it’s for the same three people.

They would know they had two reservations because our system sends two texts day of. They would have gotten four.

And to make matters worse, they both insist they reserved three seats at the bar. They swear this.

Fun fact: You cannot reserve three seats at the bar under one reservation without calling the restaurant.

They agreed to be seated at a table.

Tonight they were reasonable. Over the summer Mr Smith verbally assaulted a host. This was before I started.

All is well.

Then:

The host gets a call early in the evening for someone looking for an 8:30 reservation. She explains that 8:00 is the latest we can do.

So at 7:50 two people check in for the reservation. I’m standing there when they come in. It’s a regular. The host greets them, and says she can get them seated.

As she walks them into the dining room the gentleman tosses his coat at the host doing his best Miranda Priestly imitation.

Fun fact: We have neither a coat check or coat rack. I’m not sure what he thought she was going to do with the coat.

She seats them.

Their friends didn’t show until 8:35.

35 minutes late.

They are told they have to order immediately because it’s been 20 minutes since the last order left the kitchen. Remember the fire???

I’d also told the server they could NOT order any of our cellar cuts.

Why you ask?

Because our cellar cuts are 2” thick. They take 45 minutes to cook to medium rare. It’s 8:45 when they finally order. We aren’t going to cook for 45 minutes at this point. We also aren’t going to keep a full staff for 45 extra minutes more importantly.

Their food goes out.

And all is good.

Except. They sit. And sit. And sit.

At 10:30 they ask to order another bottle of wine.

At this point it’s me, the executive sous chef, and the server left in the building. The last other guests left at 10:00.

I tell the server to apologize, but that they can’t have another bottle of wine.

To quote the executive sous chef: Read the room!

They leave around 20 minutes later.

We are there another 15 minutes while the server cleans up, cashes out. We finally walk out a little after 11.

All in a nights work.