You’re responsible!
You’re the one to blame!
It’s your fault!

Here is a question for everyone.

How should a restaurant respond when the following happens:

Tonight a guest ordered yucca fries.

She clearly said she wanted yucca fries.

The server ordered yucca fries.

Yucca fries were delivered to the table.

At which point, the guest says, what’s this? I can’t eat this! I wanted plain yucca fries.

At no time did she mention that she wanted her order modified.

She ordered. We brought her exactly what she ordered. But it was not what she wanted.

Do we get her a new one?

Do we charge her for the first one?

What should be our response?

Why should it cost us for her mistake?

Along the same line a guest ordered our featured dessert tonight. She took 1 bite and declared that this was not what she thought it was going to be. She sent it back and ordered a bread pudding instead.

The same questions apply!

Thoughts?

One of our last reservations of the evening was a 5 top, at 7:15. A five top is a big deal when it’s after Prelude in December. Especially for the server who scheduled to have them. It was 30% of her covers for the evening.

I was worried when 7:15 came and went.

I was really worried when 7:30 came and went.

At 7:35 I called to make sure they were coming.

A woman answers.

I ask if they plan to keep their reservation for the evening. She corrects me and lets me know her reservation is for tonight. I assure her that it is not.

She apologizes. I fix the mistake.

What I wanted to say is, did you notice when we sent you a text for the initial reservation? Did you notice this morning when you got a text asking you to confirm the reservation. Did you notice the text that said, You’re due at the restaurant in 30 minutes!

I double checked. The app confirmed the texts were sent. And it’s the right number because it’s the one I called you at.

I did not say this. I told her I looked forward to seeing her on Friday.

The server who didn’t wait on them was very disappointed in their night.

Can we chat about paying the check.

This one comes up way more than you’d think.The Jones’ have reservation for a party of 8. Mr. and Mrs. Smith come in first. They check in and let the host know they want to pay the check. They hand the host a credit card and that should be it.

Right?

Six minutes later the Johnson’s check in for the same reservation and they let the host know, that THEY want to pay the check and try to hand them a credit card.

The same thing happens two more times.

At this point we have four credit cards and four requests to pay the bill.

What do we do?

My rule as a server and NOW as a MANAGER has always been whomever asks first gets to pay.

It’s a steadfast rule. No grey area. The rule is the rule.

However, it’s never that cut and dry.

I’ve seen guests almost come to blows over this.

I’ve also seen server’s verbally abused because they followed my rule.

And I don’t bend. You give your card first. You pay. You want to fight about it. Fight with your friends–not my staff.

And do you know who is the worst about all of this?

People who don’t need the money. People who have more money in the their pocket than most of my staff will ever see in their life. It’s always the rich folks. And I want to smack them and say give the 800 bucks you are trying to spend to someone who really needs it, and stop being a child.

Meanwhile, if you do this, stop it!

The easiest, always the easiest thing to do is to split the check equally among everyone. Four couples, split by four. Easy. Peasy.

But for the love of god don’t be mean to the staff because they told someone before you that they could pay first.

Welcome to my Ted talk

Over the last three days we’ve gotten several surveys back with complaints about the food.

This never happens. Our food is fucking awesome. Very rarely does the chef really mid the mark with something. I can count on one hand how many times since I started.

The common denominator in all of the complaints is not taking the chef’s recommendation on how to order the food.

The skirt steak: Gentleman complained that it was tough. Couldn’t cut through it. Either make sure it’s tender or don’t serve it.

A skirt steak is a very thin piece of steak cut. It is prized for its flavor over its tenderness. Our chef recommends no more than medium rare. Any more and the steak starts to get tough. This gentleman ignored the advice of the server and ordered it medium well. He was disappointed. The chef was not surprised.

Of course it was tough. He ignored the chef.

The pork chop: Guest complained it was undercooked. Was angry that it couldn’t be cooked more.

Many. Many. Many. Restaurants will cook pork to temp. Many.

We do not.

Our pork is cooked through and then finished on the grill.

The catch.

Our pork is cooked using a method called sous vide. French for in a vacuum. This is sometimes called low temp, long time cooking. Basically the item you are cooking is sealed in a plastic bag, and then placed in water. The water is heated and kept moving using an immersion circulator. The desired temp is set on the device and then the food is cooked slow over a long time till the center is heated to the desired temp. The cooking time can be over several hours. You literally put your steak, turkey, pork chop in a bag, in water then cooked for several hours.

When it’s reached the desired temp the item is usually finished on the stove. For example Adam cooks steak this way, then sears it on the grill on in an iron skillet. Perfect medium rare on the outside. Delicious char on the outside.

At one of my last restaurants we cooked turkey this way. Finished it in the oven to brown the skin.

We cook our pork chop this way.

However.

This cooking method, cooks the food through. It won’t dry it out. It also leaves the interior on turkey and pork a little pink. The meat is at a fully cooked temp, but the meat looks rarer than it is.

We got complaints about this at my last restaurant. And clearly this man was angry about it. And we won’t cook it more because in no time at all it will be dry. Trust me, it’s the most delicious, moist pork chop you’ll ever eat.

Filet: Guest called his well done filet a hockey puck.

A filet is sometimes two inches thick. To cook the center to well done the outside is going to be charred. To a avoid this the filet is often butterflied which cuts the meat almost in half so it’s a flat thinner piece. It’s not much better this way.

Some folks refuse to let us butterfly the steak. Some are unhappy that when the steak comes out well done it’s dry and tasteless. Because. The filet has very little fat. There is not far to keep it juicer. Want medium well, we’ll done? Order a New York strip. A ribeye.

All three times the guest was unhappy because they knew better and didn’t take the advice of their server.

So the moral of the story: ask questions if you don’t know the item or recognize the description. Then listen when the server gives you advice. The advice comes from the team who wrote the menu. They know how the item is supposed to be cooked to taste the best.

And don’t get angry when you don’t listen.

In 2013 I got hired to be the new general manager of a brand new restaurant in a coastal New England town.

This town is not unlike the other 100’s of coastal New England towns spread up and down the coast.

The town is made up of tourists who do day trips, as well as those who vacation for weeks at a time.

It also has summer locals who have vacation homes scattered around town. Some of the summer cottages are modest two bedroom condos. Some of them are multi million dollar beach affairs with stunning views of the coast.

Our little town also has a decent year round population that is spread along the economic number line. Average families with 2.5 kids, two cars and a dog. As well as average families with 2.5 kids, a private jet, two yachts, and a personal chef.

With the town residents whether real locals, summer locals, or locals for the day there are certain expectations they all bring to the table.

So.

When I started as the GM of my little restaurant, I was warned in the ways to keep the locals happy. Local discounts. Holding tables, and barstools for locals. Secret menus. Special reservation rules. We were told to keep them happy or we wouldn’t survive.

Myself, my boss, and the person who headed the company we worked for discussed these ideas for weeks as we prepared to open. What to do? What to do?

What I kept coming back to was how do we know who real locals are? License plates? Drivers license? Residential address. Business address? What about people who work here but don’t live here?

Is it based on how much money you have? Are the Smith’s with their yacht are more important than the Clark’s who drive a Camry.

I was new to being a GM but I was vocal in projecting that ALL if our guests should be treated the same.

ALL equal.

I won out.

Not only that.

We were all in agreement that we should not take reservations. We could ultimately seat more people, and make more money if it was first come first seated.

We lived by these policies for five summers.

All of this seems no nonsense.

What we didn’t count on was how coddled some of the residents had been by the other restaurants in town.

Certain people were treated like royalty.

So when we opened we were called regularly for reservations. Our staff would explain that we didn’t take reservations at which point they heard a lot of:

Don’t you know who I am?

But I’m a local?

But I live on Marshall Point Road?

But I’m Mrs. Grant’s assistant and I assured her that I could get her a reservation.

This is when they decided that our $14 dollar an hour host wouldn’t do and they’d ask to speak to me.

I was very practiced in saying NO after five summers.

No you can’t have a reservation.

Yes I know who you are.

I hear Marshall Point is a very nice street.

This was made even more complicated by one of our owners who was small of stature that felt that throwing around his ability to skirt the rules made him feel bigger. He’d call at 6:45 saying we were to seat his friends the next available table, although there were people, regular people, who’d been waiting for over an hour.

As I became more and more comfortable saying no I became less, and less, and less, and less popular with a lot of the locals.

They loved the restaurant. The loved the food.

They hated our policies, and especially the person tasked in keeping them enforced.

In fact, we actually had a group 15 or so regulars call a meeting with me to discuss their treatment in the restaurant. They were unhappy that they were being asked to leave our oyster bar on Saturday nights after happy hour, even though they had spent 1,000’s of dollars over the last few weeks.

They even brought a spreadsheet.

I had to explain that yes, they might spend a 1,000 dollars. But they took over the space, took pride in being so obnoxious that no one else would sit in the room with them and basically got a private room with no fee. And that although they might spend 1,000 dollars, that if they weren’t there the room would ring 3,000+. So it was actually better for us not to have them.

They never returned and were not quiet about how they felt about me. In fact my current chef, had the same problem along with several other restaurants in town with these folks.

This has been my long way of saying that lots of people in town did not like me.

That being said, I had tons and tons and tons of people who loved me. Some of them are friends on Facebook, some have been to my home, some I’ve visited their homes. We’ve met for drinks. Had dinner together. They are true friends.

When I started my current job I was worried about my reception. I don’t even think I said this to Adam. When you’ve been the enemy, will they want you back.

And I started and the summer progressed and except for one asshole on my second day, they’ve all been kind. They’ve all welcomed me.

However, I’m not unaware that they like me now because the rules have changed. I have not changed. I’m the same, it’s just that I can help them with last minute reservations. I can squeeze them in when there is no room. I can add two chairs to their reservation when friends show up unexpectedly.

I’m useful to them.

This all came up today because one of my favorite regulars, apologized for her friend’s behavior when they were in last week. Her friend had pulled me over to complain about her meal a week earlier. I listened and as I said last night, said all the right thing.

So tonight I was apologized to for her behavior. I mentioned that I knew she didn’t like me from my last job and this was confirmed. She even mentioned to my regular how much she used to dislike me, but now that she can call and leave a massage and get a last minute reservation turns out I’m not so bad.

I assured my friend I didn’t care. This was nothing I didn’t already know. And that it truly said more about her than me.

I thought about this exchange on my drive home.

And it made me sad. Sad that there are people in the world who only like those in their life who can provide a service for them. How shallow their friend pool must be. How truly sad their lives must be.

I’m thankful that I don’t look for what my reward will be when I’m kind to someone. I’m grateful that I am nice to people at work every day with no expectations beyond their having a good time.

Something I realized tonight:

Sometimes it’s nice to have grown up without economic privilege.

The Saturday of the first week of Prelude is the busiest of the two weeks.

At 3:30 today I had four reservations at the bar available at 7:45. Two large tables available. One at 5:00. One at 8:00. And one four top at 7:30. It’s the most booked I’d ever seen us.

The phone was quiet all afternoon. Surprisingly so.

Until 4:00.

Then the ringing started.

My favorite few phone calls.

Woman calls for six people. I offer the 5:00 and 8:00. She’s not sure it will work. Says she will call back. I let her know that I can’t promise anyone will answer. She says we’ll hear back from her. I probably have a message from her tomorrow afternoon.

Another gentleman calls. It’s 4:30. Wants to know when we open. He’s in the parking lot. Wants to come in now. We don’t open till 5:00. Lets me know he’s coming in as soon as open. I ask if he has a reservations. He says no. BUT. He tells me has cash. Lots of cash. Ready to spend it.

I explain that if he doesn’t have reservations we can’t seat him.

He assures me repeatedly that he has cash to spend.

I apologize but say there is nothing I can do.

He’s not happy.

Then there was the gentleman who called for a reservation at 6:30. For four people. I explain that we don’t have an opening for four at 6:30.

He then explains that he knows Jason, a server. He lives down the street. He owns a business. He’s friends with Jason. Also Jennifer. And he comes there often. And. And. And. And.

There really is nothing I can do.

Plus you can never get a 6:30 reservation for four.

Never.

Plus. I’ve never heard of this guy.

He’s not happy with me.

Plus. Just like on Valentine’s Day.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Wait till 5:00 on the 14th to make your reservation and then be mad at me.

A failure to plan on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.

The first weekend of Prelude is in the books!

Whew!

Tonight went off without a hitch. For the most part.

Last night we had five ladies asked to see me on their way out. They were unhappy with their burgers. They were dry and not very flavorful.

I said all the appropriate things. Thank you for sharing. I’ll speak to the chef about it. I wish you’d let me know sooner.

I checked in with the server who assured me they’d never said anything.

I also inquired as to how they were cooked. Medium well, and well done. And I found out from the chef later that all of them were ordered with no sauce or sauce on the side.

No wonder they were dry.

Tonight we had another instance of a foursome who were angry they were seated at a high top. They insisted they be moved to one of the five short tables that were opened.

As always I explained that they’d booked a high top. I could not give a short table to them and disappoint someone who made the short table reservation.

She doubled down at this point. It was not her fault. It was our fault. She’d called dozens of times and been told several times that they’d be moved to a short table.

I asked her to be more specific.

She’d called and left messages and no one returned her calls. When she finally spoke to someone they assured her if something opened up we’d move her.

At this point I explained that every message that gets left is returned. By me. I also assured her that since I returned the calls I would have never promised to do something IF things changed.

She continued to double down.

I finally interrupted and explained that the only table we had for them was the one they’d been shown to. I told her to let us know what she decided.

They stayed. And had a wonderful time.

They couldn’t help telling their server how horrible I was.

The other thing that happened last night was that two different groups made reservations for two tables of four.

For the life of me I can’t understand why they don’t call the restaurant for help. It says on the reservation site to call the restaurant for parties of six or more. It’s not complicated.

They could have called, gotten an 8 top reservation and everyone would have been happy.

I’ll end by saying I got several compliments about how I moved around the dining room, how I helped and how I really owned the space. It’s always nice to hear.

I also got several compliments on the staff as a whole because of how they worked together. Helped each other. And seemed to be enjoying their jobs.

We have a great staff!

A week ago I posted about the difference between a porterhouse and a t-bone.

The next day at work during pre-shift I shared my findings with my staff. Telling them the differences, why people don’t understand it everything they needed to know.

Tonight my 16 year old food runner comes up and says, thanks for the lesson on t-bones last week. Table 35 just asked the difference and I told them all about it with tons of confidence.

My work here is done!

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.