A Tale From Two Cities

By Patricia Dailey, Editor-in-Chief -- Restaurants & Institutions, 5/1/2004

This is a snapshot of two restaurants, one a Chinese place in New York City’s financial district, the other a bustling hotel dining room in Washington, D.C. Both easily claim fine dining as the industry segment in which they fit most comfortably and both operate in roughly the same tightly pinched business environment, one in which smart management and strong customer counts make substantial contributions to bottom-line performance.

On a recent visit to the Manhattan restaurant, when its pretty little dining room was desperately quiet and populated by roughly equal numbers of staff and guests, a prospective patron’s query if a few appetizers and a cocktail would be sufficient to grant a table was met with a halting hand and, plucked rather unexpectedly from the roster of welcomes, a discussion of laundry bills. Did she, demanded the front man, know how much it cost to clean the nicely starched and pressed tablecloths. The implication was that the meal would barely cover expenses for dry cleaning and hence the patronage was not especially coveted. (A table was somewhat reluctantly made available; it sincerely is hoped that that $23 pre-tip tab left enough profit to clean the cloth.)

Fast-forward a few weeks to D.C., where the appetite was similarly small but also accompanied by a potent “Sunday brunch” thirst. The drink order was cheerfully recorded, the server dispatched to duty. As time ticked along, it became clear that not quite all was well and in this case, it was explained, a key cocktail ingredient had run empty. Not to worry, though, it surely would be elsewhere in the property, just a quick vault through the corridors. So as not to let a thirst go unslaked while the drink component was sourced, a reasonable facsimile appeared for the interim.

As it unfolded, the product couldn’t be had in house, but word came that, undeterred, this front man had dashed several blocks to the nearest store, hurried back with goods in hand and dispensed the drink. Then he poured himself a sample and, with a little interested prompting, explained why he loved the restaurant industry—and by inference, why he had just gone shopping to satisfy the needs of an unknown guest. The implications here, poles apart from those conveyed by the first operator, were of hospitality at any cost and unbound desire to deliver on the promise of customer service.

From the perch of an informed observer, the restaurant industry rarely is a fast track to big cash. Business and market pressures conspire to squeeze, strain, contort, diminish and drain coffers, with real estate, food and labor costs, health insurance and energy among the expenses that hungrily gnaw at margins.

The thing is, though, as toweringly important as the money is, making and managing it is secondary to the service component of the business. Providing a genuine sense of hospitality is the cost of entry into foodservice, the only chit that legitimately allows operators to participate in the game. Without it, even the most bookishly skilled managerial hands ultimately end up idle, with nothing to gesture to but empty tables.