Sign Language

Nothing makes a customer feel more important than a gesture of appreciation from an operator

By Margaret Sheridan, Senior Editor -- Restaurants & Institutions, 5/15/2003

Nothing makes a customer feel more important than a gesture of appreciation from an operator.

In Chicago, the complimentary after-dinner drinks that arrived from an old-school restaurateur made his establishment a favorite. Rather than interrupt a table with a visit, he always nodded to guests in acknowledgement. Decades before, the arrival of one family at a spaghetti house in Detroit meant extra meatballs and spumoni from the owner. Even today, hearing a hostess or maître d’ greet my party by name is reason enough to return.

A chef or owner’s visit to a table is never expected and always appreciated. How in the heat of battle, I always wonder, do they appear so calm and glib in conversation? Cruising the dining room is a love affair for some and honorable duty for others.

“Working the room is my social life,’’ explains Doug Zeif, co-owner of Brasserie Las Olas in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. When he and his partner bought the 300-seat restaurant last October, they agreed to learn customers by name. If the kitchen gets hammered at lunch, Zeif often pitches in as expeditor. During one such onslaught, a local celebrity requested Zeif’s presence tableside. A teenage guest in the party was eyeing a job in restaurants and wanted the owner’s opinion. Ever the obliging professional, Zeif appeared at the table, complete with career advice—and rémoulade stains on his shirt.

Making the rounds of tables is part of owning a restaurant and helps foster an intimate dining experience, says Paul Grosz, chef-owner of Cuisine in Detroit. When kitchen and service are operating smoothly, he often circulates among diners. But after Detroit media last year heaped kudos on Cuisine, the dining-room stroll became a little intimidating. “Customers got out of their seats to greet me. I could see them coming from the corner of my eye,” Grosz says. “The first couple of times it happened, it was scary, even a little creepy.’’

One chef puts himself in his diners’ place. “Customers come for privacy; they come to be catered to and to make conversation among mates at the table,” says John Wabeck, executive chef of Firefly in Washington, D.C. A reserved fellow, Wabeck prefers not to be interrupted when he dines out. His rule at Firefly is never to stop at a table unless invited. To ease his shyness, the chef discovered that answering questions about the operation’s wines keeps conversations with customers on track. It should: Wabeck created Firefly’s wine list.

A recent experience reinforced my admiration for chefs and managers who make working the dining room appear effortless. At the farewell dinner for a group of ski campers at Silver Star Club Resort in Kalona, British Columbia, Canada, Food and Beverage Manager Greg Smith worked his territory with skill. Not only did he make sure glasses were topped off, but he listened politely to seemingly endless ski tales from the eight campers, with no hint of boredom. Then, with one slight hand signal, he silenced the filibuster with a motion of “next round on me.’’

We’ll be back, Greg.