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.

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.