How far to go in making up for bad performance
A personal story about guests in my restaurant that didn’t accept my response
In my second post I referred to connecting with restaurant guests that are just not your kind.
This post is about when this attempt fails.
All wires are down.
They hate you.
Now what? Here’s from my own experience.
About Mistakes
So this post is about when something tackles your team performance during lunch or dinner. A plain mistake. Human error. You know the usual suspects. Double booking. Showering a concentrated veal sauce over a new black Valentino dress. One Brunello too much on the check. A missing jacket in the wardrobe.
True hospitality professionals consider these situations luck.
This is where you start playing on Major level. This is where you’re challenged with a unique opportunity to transform a beast into the most committed follower of your tribe. Just stand straight, confront fury in the eye, and overwhelm and tame it with all your love and professional hospitality. Maximum overdelivery in your adequate response will create a raving fan on an emotional level a regular flawless hospitality experience could never have touched.
The Textbook Response
This all sounds very logic, and perfectly aligned with all hospitality guru mantras. These offer you many ways to fill in this overdelivery. With the right tone of voice, words, attitude, swiftness, surprise, warmth and love, not even a rat crawling under a shirt will come between you and your guest.
It is all about deep learning in how to deal with mistakes or accidents in your restaurant. This will get you back up with any guest in basically any possible situation. Just start reading Danny Meyer and you’re halfway through the process.
Yet, of course, there is always the 0,01% where even the seemingly perfect game plan unthinkably collapses. The guest just won’t cool down. It happened to me once. Here’s how.
My personal story of a mistake
Three senior guests walked slowly into the room, smiling. There was happiness all over them, having finally arrived after an hour’s drive at thé place for stewed lake eels, a local dish all three of them grew up with and which they cherished in their most beloved memories.
Thumbs were already up as they took their seat at a nice quiet table in the full restaurant. They gazed at the moonlit waterview. I welcomed them and also smiled, happy. This is what makes you tick as a restaurateur. A winning table, a table of which you know their positive energy will vibrate all through the restaurant.
The place was fully booked, with a lot of prior phone and online requests for the lake eels. The lake season was in its last week, actually it was the last day, so everybody came to close it in style. And although there was a poor eel catch the day before, we managed to get us a fair share at the market.
There was plenty for everybody. At least so I thought. You know where I’m going now.
Code Red
As the three seniors were well underway in their dining, having finished the two first courses with growing satisfaction and in what seemed like an eternal smile, the kitchen suddenly waved me the code red flag.
No more eels.
I steamed to the kitchen.
Impossible, count again!
Again, no more eels.
They initially counted 23 servings for the evening, the three seniors with their late entry had numbers 21, 22 and 23. Well, there was actually only 20. A false count. I instantly turned my head to the corner table. A graceful lady was pushing her fork through the last bite of serving no. 20.
No more eels. I plunged my abdomen with air and calmly set my view on the restaurant. The three seniors. Smiling again at me, with their main course in 15 minutes due, approaching their height of excitement.
Combat Mode
I entered hospitality combat mode.
This means directing every blood cell towards your target, control your thoughts and breathing and bend every joule of energy into positivity, clarity and, of course, love. Every response coming to your mind then will be genuine and coming from a sound heart. And will therefore always be adequate. With this I trusted my gut response and approached the three seniors.
Without any talking about the weather I explained the situation, slightly bowing and being as calm, humble and sad as I was, taking 100% responsibility for this human error, without mentioning any further detail of how, who and what (this is, by the way, VERY important).
Their initial response was shock and disbelief. Then came disappointment. Before anger took root, I offered them an alternative serving of our top main course at the time, one which best approached the flavour of the lake eels. And no charge for dinner. They hesitantly accepted the offer, worth ± € 150,-.
My biggest financial gesture ever to guests so far. And by far.
Smiles were however still more than a mile away.
From that moment on, I went full throttle in giving them all hospitality I had in me, not by being omnipresent but by just gently and lovingly seeking to find their sweet spot and regain their trust and connection.
This strategy seemed to work. At some point during main course their smile returned. They unanimously loved their main course (or so they claimed), their chat flowed again and the energy was heading back on track. I sighed from relief and shifted back my gear.
Unexpected Fury
Meanwhile the dinner shift was approaching finish. The other staff, most of them unaware of the earlier code red situation, discussed dinner in the kitchen. It was business a usual. I remained at my post to guide the last table.
One of the three seniors nodded as our eyes crossed. A request for the bill. I slightly tensed as I approached and politely reopened dialogue about their experience, again cautiously referring to the earlier major inconvenience.
Out of nothing, as if the bell rang, they went from calm to fury. As if their eyes were suddenly painted black. Anger was all over their table. One of them stood up and spoke out in muffled rage as he pushed his finger towards my chest.
The chatter, the loughs, the so-called positivity; it was a masquerade, a pause for sheer anger. Now the curtain was up, this was their moment. I stood mesmerized. All three agreed that this was a disgrace, pure contempt and without embarrassment. To let people drive for over an hour, with prior notice and affirmation, for that specific dish for which they had waited years to enjoy.
Nothing about the response. Nothing about their total dining experience. Nothing about our effort. The tirade took about a minute. Then they left some change on the table for staff and headed for the wardrobe.
Now what?
At first, while the head senior was preaching his words, I was trying to redirect my strategy. Wow. Code red again. Plan B. Time short. Need them on board. Offering another dinner? Sending them the first eels of the new season? Giving them an extra present?
None of that. I snapped. A first time experience. It was time I pulled my curtain up.
The limit of hospitality
And then, for the first time, I realised that even hospitality has its limits. A limit which you can stretch out as long as you like, or love, but there comes a limit. A limit where your genuine and wholehearted response was all you could give. If even then your guests willingly choose to leave the connection and shared energy down, it is time to cut the chord. And if you leave the chord intact, even then, you cross the thin line where providing hospitality becomes pleasing at all cost, where facilitating becomes subordinating.
It is in hospitality that these values are most dangerously intertwined. Lines must be drawn but they can’t be paved with cement. So how and where to draw the line?
My Response
For a person too soft and kind like myself, this question is not easy. In the given situation, with my snapping thunderous mind, I tried best to manage my temper as I handed them their coats. Keep your dignity. Shout! Stay friendly. Shout! Their behaviour is their problem now. Shout!
SHOUT!
Ultimately this was the only time in my career so far where I came very close to a shout to a guest. As I walked them to the door, one of the seniors again threw me that it was ridiculous they didn’t have the eel. That pulled the trigger. I followed them to their car, with highly raised voice, explaining to them in very clear words what our response was, and why, asking them if they were also human, if they were also able to make mistakes, and how on earth we should have responded other than the way we did. And I closed with the nearly shouting remark that from which universe they were, walking away from a FREE dinner with such dedain and contemptuous behavior(!!)
Calm
I regrouped myself in time and waved a smiling goodbye, leaving my curses in my left pocket.
The seniors left the parking lot looking past me, gazing at the moonlit waterview. The night was full of stars.
Next day, one star transmitted back onto my screen. A devastating one star review. I closed my eyes and lifted my shoulders.
If this is how it should be, so be it. I took my learning. It made me wiser.
Now I know at least ONE of my limits:
OUT OF STOCK: POSITIVE RESPONSE LIMIT
IF WE:
- Walk a thousand extra miles in service
- Offer an alternative serving AND dinner free of charge for the table
- Worth over € 150,-
- Take continuous punches of contempt
- While staying over 100% friendly and hospitable
- While keeping up all available meditative techniques for managing temper (also worth a kudo if you ask me)
AND THE GUEST CONTINUES TO CONTEMPT AND OFFEND, THEN WE…
Well, this answer might be different and specific for each situation. And as it is difficult to answer, it is even more difficult to draft a set of guidelines or principles on this topic.
Many questions remain.
In my example: was I correct? Should I have responded otherwise? Should we (and every other restaurant) have a set of guidelines on the limits of hospitality and the adequate response to guests crossing the limit? I am of course not talking about any physical response here…
I’m curious what you think. I look forward to your wisdom.