I grew up in a restaurant family. My great grandfather on my dad’s side started this celebrated dinner house in 1946, and thereafter it had a central role in our family’s life. My first job at fourteen was polishing liquor bottles in the bar (where I secretly developed a taste for single malt scotch). From there I worked as a bus boy, a waiter, a manager, and ultimately, coming full circle, I became a bartender.
By contrast, my dad never seemed to be working at all. I’d look on as he mingled with diners, mostly making idle chit chat. With strangers he’d walk up to their tables as they ate and ask them how their meals were. At the tables of regulars he might sit down and share a drink, maybe even roll some dice. It was a fantastic excuse for a job. Or so I thought.
It turned out that my dad had the most important job in the place. His endless conversations with patrons clued him into changes he needed to make on the menu. He was quickly able to comp a round of drinks if customers received slow service, nipping their frustration in the bud. They would often tell him how they’d heard about the restaurant, and possibly mention an upcoming party they were planning and did the restaurant do banquets? (answer: of course!)
My dad knew his regulars intimately. It wasn’t unusual to see him uncorking a Special Reserve bottle, pouring a round, and then bouncing ideas off of them, knowing they would give him candid feedback. To be a regular was to be part of the extended family. Some of those folks spent the equivalent of a mortgage payment each month at the restaurant.
It didn’t work when somebody less engaged tried it. The restaurant had an artless manager who tried to do the rounds, but rarely got further than “How is your meal?” before moving on. My dad actually enjoyed breaking bread with his customers–they were guests in his house. And it was largely due to this deep sense of connection, the fact that customers felt listened to (and entertained), that kept the restaurant in business for sixty years.*
* The restaurant, Lou’s Village, was sold to a real estate developer last year

Restaurant owners are a brilliant example of how to take care of your customers. My fondest memories of my favourite restaurants all involve an animated passionate and considerate host: a little Italian place where the waiters sang opera to you as they served you your meal, that cheeky free dessert wine that capped off a perfect meal, the evocative description of the ingredients in each dish… these are what makes a certain restaurant special, and much of this can translate into other industries… the credit card company that refunds a late fee because you are important to them, the coffee shop attendent who always remembers your order, the sales assistant who genuinely wants to help you find that special gift… these are the experiences that create loyal customers.
Leith, those are some great examples of what I’m talking about.
As customers we are so often on guard against the manipulations of cynical profit seekers. Successful restaurateurs cultivate loyal customers in part because they they allow us to lower our guard, trust in the business and be seduced by its charms. And who doesn’t want to be seduced?
Those restaurants which lacks such administrators like your father will definitely result in a failure. Knowing about the need of the customer and taking care of them its not an easy job. In fact its an in build talent. Why don’t you have continued your fathers restaurant?
Danny Meyer, of Union Square Cafe fame, has a new (and good) book out on the subject, specifically about how lessons learned in his restaurant business translate out into other businesses as well: Setting the Table: The Transforming Power of Hospitality in Business. Recommended. He seems to be on a speaking tour as well, or at least was last month.
It really does make all the difference. Getting to know your customers and sharing a smile is a big part of any job dealing with the general public.
I used to work at a Cafe in an upper class supermarket and had regulars come in every week that would ask me what i’d been up to and we’d have a conversation of how i was doing at college, etc, and i used to give them extra little bits with their food or drink because i know that ultimately we’re losing 10p-£1 on each transaction but the amount they spent in the coffee shop and in the overall supermarket every week more than made up for the tiny loss on each transaction and ensured that they kept on coming back for the conversation and special treatment.
Another example i remember one night when i was working was a couple came in with a young child and ordered a hot chocolate and other food. They went and sat down and accidently knocked the hot chocolate onto the floor. Now i could have just cleaned it up, been mardy and said “bad luck” but instead i was pleasent to the couple and after i’d cleaned up the hot chocolate and glass i took them another cup over for free. Once again, we probably lost £3 or whatever on the transaction but the customer remembers the helpful staff at the supermarket and keeps on coming back to spend more in store.
The wastage figures probably added up to quite a bit (we always managed to meet and reduce wastage goals) but the amount of money being spent elsewhere more than made up for it.
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