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.

If you are over the age of 2, and definitely if you are over the age of 60, you don’t get to make fun of people.

Tonight I sat a party of the older gentlemen who pronounced their happiness over finally eating with us.

About 60 minutes into their meal I checked in with their server to see if they were happy.

She said they were but that they had been unrelenting with jokes about her name. Constant.

I’m sure they thought it was in good fun. But it is not a mutual power dynamic.

She has no idea how you will respond if she says something, or gets me involved. In some restaurants the manager may take their side. I’ve seen servers fired for less. You may not tip her. May leave a bad review. You might make up false allegations.

I’ve seen all of these thing happen.

All because grown ass men are treating people like children.

So the moral of the story is: leave the teasing to people you know. And absolutely don’t tease people about their appearance, name, sexuality, etc.

It’s not fucking cool.

My first Dear GM question:

Last night I ate out with my family at a restaurant we frequent regularly , we order well and usually have a couple of bottles of nice wine. My sister is friends with the owner, she’s probably there at least once a week, eating at the bar, etc..

We split several dishes between us. Restaurant is smallish and so is the excellent menu.
Among other dishes, my sisters and I ordered a duck bucatini & strip steak.

The waitress brought 2 plates of pork Bolognese. We told her that wasn’t what we had ordered and that we don’t eat pork. She returned with the same plates of Bolognese and we insisted again that we had ordered the bucatini and told her to take the Bolognese back. We wanted bucatini.

I eventually told her not to worry about it; everyone has that kind of moment. We ate the strip steak.

When she returned she brought 2 plates of bucatini. We were surprised, but figured it was a lovely and generous gesture since everyone else had finished their meals by this time.

Then the bill came: we were charged for 2 bucatini.

What to do?

We called the waitress over and went over it all. She got angry and walked away, saying “fine, “* I’ll pay for it, myself!*”.. She was having a bad night. Another person on the wait staff came by and said that although we had gotten the 2nd plate in error, that our “bellies were fuller”.

They ended up taking one of the bucatini off the bill, and we increased the tip amount to cover any charges the waitress incurred. However the whole thing left a bad feeling after an overall pleasant evening.

The waitress wouldn’t look at us as we left although she had been our server a number of times and we knew her by name.

We had clearly misread her 2nd error as a lovely gesture.

What do you think?

My response:

Hello.
First you did nothing wrong. While I do NOT agree that the guest is always right, mistakes do happen. Any good server, manager, or owner knows this. The key is to own the mistake and not to make excuses for it, blame it on someone else, and to immediately seek a solution to the problem.

For example, if you ordered a medium steak and it comes out medium rare, alert the server and have them ask the chef to give it a little more fire. It should take no more than 7 ir 8 minutes to get it back. And don’t be afraid to send it back. In all my years, no one sabotages the food. If you went to Macy’s and bought pants that were too small would you be afraid to take them back? You should always get what you ordered.

Something to remember in this scenario, especially in more upscale establishments is that the food is made to order so if the reverse happens if you ask for medium rare and it comes out medium well. Be prepared to wait. This is especially true during slower periods. When the restaurant is busy, they probably already have a version of your dish being prepared for someone else and they bump that dish to yours and start a new one for the guest who hasn’t gotten their food yet. But know that it is possible your replacement may take up to 15+ minutes.

If you do wait for 15+ minutes it is the restaurant’s discretion as to whether any discount should apply. I usually base my decision on how long you waited, how bad the mistake was, and whether additional apologies are needed. Not every mistake warrants the same response. I will say that I tend to be more generous to people who are gracious. If you are difficult, challenging, or rude in any way I am way less likely to extend any extra generosity. The truth is if you ordered it, and consumed it, ultimately you should pay for it. Just like at Macy’s if they deliver the wrong item, they usually don’t let you get the replacement for free.

As for the server’s response: Servers are a delicate bunch. Their jobs are hard, stressful and not for the weak of heart. Trust me. I waited tables off and on from 17 until I was 45. The whole situation would have gone differently if she’d just replied, “Oh no. Of course, I’ll get that corrected and bring what you wanted right out. However, there is a sense of pride that rests in a lot of hospitality workers and they have an undeclared need to be right. I’ve seen server’s die on this sword, when a simple let me get that corrected for you would have sufficed.

By the time you asked for the item that you didn’t order to be taken off the check the manager should have been involved. You could have described the problem and it’s truly a 15 second fix. They brought you something you didn’t order. You ate it. You’d be surprised how often this happens, especially if you know the chef, manager, owner, it’s not uncommon to have items brought to your table as a surprise.

It’s also a myth that servers have to pay for their mistakes, assuming that the owner isn’t unscrupulous. Mistakes are made every night. The cost is built into the price of the items you do order. The server’s attitude speaks to her own performance and nothing you did. She should have owned the mistake, had the manager remove the item, come back to the table and apologize. However, she’s been my co-worker and she’s worked for me…servers who take everything as a personal affront to their abilities. I have to admit in my 20’s I might have been the same. It was never my fault. As you age, you discover that taking the higher road is actually easier. It results in less stress and ultimately keeps everyone happy.

Truly, it was probably not you she was responding to. It’s the two ladies who came in for lunch and tipped her 5%. It’s the older couple who complained about the music, the air conditioning, the French fries and the coffee. It’s the business man who ran his hand down her backside as he bent over to get his napkin. It’s the owner who yells when mistakes are made and doesn’t allow for their staff to be human. I’ve talked about getting beaten up as a manager, but if I’m the leader, the serving staff are the soldiers on the front line. They take so much abuse that anyone who has never served would understand.

It was all of these things, none of them your fault. I love that you chalked it up to her having a bad day. I love even more that you tipped well, in spite of the events of the evening. Hopefully, she’ll remember that when you and your sister return.

When you sit down in a restaurant they hand you a menu. The menu has a list of the items the chef has offered. And next to each item is a price.

At that point you look at the menu and decide whether you can afford to eat there. We are the exception, but 99.99999% of the time the menu is available on line. You can decide this before you make the reservation. Before you are seated.

I bring this up because over the past three weeks we’ve gotten several surveys that praise the food, praise the service, praise the ambiance. Then they rate the restaurant a 60% because we are expensive.

And yes. We are expensive.

But. However. Wait a minute.

Compared to whom?

In our little town we are on par with most of the other upscale restaurants. Compared to steak house serving our quality of product we are actually below market value. Significantly below market value. If we were is Boston you could 25+ more to each of our items. Plus. We are not ala carte.

We are NOT fancy like Applebees with the bourbon street steak and the Oreo shake.

We are not fancy at all. Five times a week someone calls to ask about dress code. Without fail I say formal. White coat and tails. Evening dresses. Then I explain that unless you are eating at a hotel resort no one in Maine is formal. Shorts. Jeans. Suit. Your choice. At David’s a boat pulled up once and three girls in two piece bikinis and flip flops were seated for lunch on the deck. We are fancy like Becky’s with a steak and cheese and whoopie pie.

Yes. Not everyone can afford to eat at my restaurant weekly. But we are located in a tourist town, with amazing food, stellar service, and the space looks magazine worthy. The community is wealthy. So we want to be their weekly dinner. We want people on vacation looking for one stellar meal to come to our place. And when you want to celebrate your 50th anniversary. We are your spot of choice. We also want to be your neighborhood spot for a beer and a burger.

So yes, we might be your special occasion spot but don’t give us a 60% because of that. Be grateful we ARE your special event spot.

Don’t complain that we are not fancy like Applebees. If we were you’d be at the restaurant down the street.

Hi all.

I took the week off from posting as I convalesced on the couch. I spent the week moving from the bed to the couch and back to bed.

I was bizarrely surprised at how little pain there was and but how fucking tired I was.

After 6 days of being bored out of my mind I went back to work today.

It felt great to have a reason to wake up, get dressed and go somewhere. It also felt nice to see people again.

The reception I got today was wonderful.

From guests and staff alike. But mostly staff. I genuinely felt as though they missed me. Which has not always been the case at restaurants I’ve managed. Lots of hugs, and expressions of love.

The shift went great no grumpy people. No one yelled at me. No recooks. No unhappy staff. All was good.

Except that by 8:00 I was exhausted. I was super happy to sit down at 9:00.

The only other issue was that I had not had pants on in a week. And turns out my belt sits at the line of scars across my tummy. So they were irritated all day.

And.

I stand up at my desk at work. And the edge of my desk is at the same level as my belt which is the same level as my scars. My tummy was tender when I left.

However.

I have two days off to recuperate and then I’ll be back to it on Wednesday.

Thanks again for the well wishes.

I’ll be back to posting this week.

Missed you all!

I have a healthy number of superstitions in my life.

I have to brush my teeth before I shave.

I have to put my right shoe on first.

I have to do the cat treats in a specific order.

When I was designing my office had to be put away and my drafting table had to be spotless before I could start a project.

I never shaved after tech started until opening night. Never.

As a GM I have others.

I have to have coffee first thing upon getting there.

I say hello to say everyone in the building while the coffee brews.

I say goodbye to everyone at the end of the night.

One of my most important is to never say it’s going to be a slow night.

It jinks the night. Business might not be there but there’ll be a ton of mistakes. We’ll run out of French Fries. We’ll find out at 5:15 we are out of CO2. One fun night years ago, we ran out of propane. It’s hard to cook food when there’s no propane.

So I prefers the term quiet. It will result in an uneventful night.

So I said this at work one night last week and my server who is a nurse, lets call her Stephanie, because that’s her name said, oh no. And proceeded to tell me that nurses NEVER say quiet on the floor at the hospital. It was destined to cause total chaos. Every nurse knows this.

When I got to the hospital today I was the first patient to arrive at 6:00 am. However by 6:15 the place was hopping.

So when I was put in my wheel chair to be taken down to meet Adam Beckworth, the place was deserted.

So I said to my nurse, Wow! It’s so quiet now.

There were yelps from the whole nursing staff. Who followed up with NEVER SAY THAT!!!!!!!

My nurse explained they were between what I’d call seatings. It would be busy again soon, and as they were short staffed saying quiet would result in chaos.

And off to the elevators we went.

And this post is courteous of the Hallmark movie Hearts of Christmas.

They had a retiring nurse coming in to work the night shift and said she always liked that shift because it was so QUIET.

I heard all the nurses from my surgery today gasp.

I love writing these posts.

It reminds me of how much I loved writing my old blog 10 years ago.

I grew up being told I was a bad writer. I also never enjoyed adademic writing. Therefore I avoided writing at all cost.

I barely got out of English 1 freshman year of college.

I put off finishing my master’s degree because I didn’t want to write my final paper.

I chose my MFA program because it was good. You have no idea how happy I was to learn the thesis was actually your final production, it’s documentation and the thesis was only 2 paragraphs.

I just tried to look up my MFA thesis. It was called “What I Learned During Happy Hour”. It was 2 paragraphs on the value of bonding with your classmates. I just tried to look it up but I don’t have access.

So in the early 2000’s there were a number of blogs I started reading. As I was finishing grad school I thought it might be fun to record my adventures. So I started a blog about my life and my return to NYC. I wrote religiously until we moved to Maine.

I’d sit at my desk and write about the city. My design gigs. Many, many, many posts about waiting tables. Eventually about the man I met. Fell in love with. And started a life with.

When we got to Maine we became caught up in life, Facebook had taken over by then and my writing fell by the wayside.

Along the way though, I learned that I had a voice. I had a style of writing that wasn’t formal, had a casual tone to it and good or bad I enjoyed it.

Fast forward to today. I have really enjoyed writing these posts. I find myself spending more time writing than I do on Facebook reading posts.

The most challenging part of the writing is deciding what to write. Sometimes it’s right there. I wrote the first sentence snd 20 minutes later I’m done. Sometimes, like tonight, the voice inside my head is quiet, and I have to struggle to find a post.

I have no expectations from these posts. As I have said before, it’s my outlet for venting. It’s my therapy. It’s my ability to stay sane in the insanity that is the hospitality industry.

I have committed to trying to post daily. Mostly because I want it to be a habit. Part of my day like brushing my teeth, or feeding the cats. Something I’m obliged to do, even if I don’t feel like it. Especially when I don’t feel like it. I’ve learned this from my friends who are accomplished writers to which I have many. Write every day.

So I write every day.

So good or bad. I enjoy it.

And I thank you all for coming along for the journey.