Refired rules

Well, I guess it’s obligatory to wish everyone a happy new year. So, happy New Year.

But we’ll see whether this new year will be a happy one for those of us in the restaurant industry on the East End.

Last winter everyone celebrated the unexpected upswing in business the twin forks saw as the recession cast a pall of relative frugality across the nation and the usual winter globe-trotting was set aside in favor of quiet Hamptons weekends. But now we’re into a different sort of climate, one that is not so much shaded by whimsical penny-pinching as completely chilled by sweeping changes to spending habits.

The summer was okay, but the fall was painfully slow. The holidays were decent in the reservation books, but the whole season seemed to foreshadow that when the depths of winter set in—and it looks like it’s going to be a deep winter—there will likely be a lot of empty seats in dining rooms. Numbers are already well below targets and sure to go lower.

But let’s not dwell on such dour subjects. Lets do something that makes us all feel better: pick on someone!

I would be remiss in my duties as a restaurant industry observer if I did not weigh in on the dinner service manifesto offered by writer and soon-to-be restaurateur Bruce Buschel in his serial blog on the New York Times website, “The Start Up Chronicle” this fall. His now famous (or infamous, depending on how you received it) list of 100 commands for the servers that will staff the restaurant he is opening in Bridgehampton this spring drew more than 2,000 comments from readers and has been the focus of, or fodder for, almost every industry observer in print or the blogosphere since. He’s been patted on the back and jabbed in the jaw so many times by fans and critics in the last two months that he must feel like a piece of veal paillard. Here’s a couple more of each for good measure.

First of all, let me start by saying that Mr. Buschel is a smart guy with a clear, if a bit fantastical, vision of what he wants his restaurant to be. His goals—a fine-dining restaurant with impeccable service offering only seafood, no also-rans intended to keep a single non-fish eater happy—are lofty and probably unrealistic but admirable. (After all I was just noting in a recent column we have a shameful shortage of true seafood restaurants out here).

But what’s unfortunate is that Mr. Buschel very obviously doesn’t have the restaurant chops to have compiled this list himself—not even close—and yet he doesn’t mention where he found­—or from whom he appropriated—these tidbits of refinement.

His lack of real understanding is clear very early on: “[Rule #] 5. Tables should be level without anyone asking. Fix it before guests are seated.”

Uh, right, no kidding. Of course, anyone who has ever actually spent a night standing up in a restaurant on active duty instead of sitting in one knows that a wobbly table is, roughly 99-percent of the time, the result of a customer sitting down and immediately shifting the table to their liking, thus dislodging the shim, Shove-It, folded napkin or matchbook that had been keeping it level and stable. Thanks for the tip Mr. Buschel—might I suggest you try bussing tables at a real restaurant a few nights, or years? (One of your duties would be to balance a table after you set it.) There’s nearly a dozen other instances on the list where Mr. Buschel’s inexperience is innocently, and arrogantly, on display.

So, I think Mr. Buschel should have given credit to the veteran restaurant managers he clearly cherry-picked his professionally persnickety points from. I bet I can name at least two of them.

That said, with a nod to those managers, and also to Mr. Buschel for seeing the merit in their points, I will say that almost all of the rules he chose are good ones, some of them very good and very subtle admonishments. Most are not the sort of rules you’d need anywhere but in a true fine-dining establishment, of course, and in such an environment many of them are remedial points even a first-summer Hamptons waitard would know: Don’t clear till everyone is finished; polish glassware; touch only the stem of a glass and the handle of silverware.

And with his list rife with such empty instructions as offering a “warm greeting” and not upselling bottled water, I was surprised not to see some real basics of sharp service like: serving from the left and clearing from the right; taking the orders of, and serving, ladies’ first; fastidious removal of debris (straw wrappers, drink stirrers, discarded garnishes) from the table; ensuring that side dishes come with a serving utensil; pouring coffee at the table; and moving the butter knife to the B-and-B plate when a steak knife is marked.

Still, some of Mr. Buschel’s rules are the sort of instruction that, if applied consistently, show a refined attention to detail: Don’t touch customers; ask if they want white wine kept on ice or on the table; ask if the customer wants coffee or an after-dinner drink with dessert or after; warn guests who order two dishes that have the same ingredients; continue being as attentive after the check has been dropped or paid as you were before.

In the online discussion boards he took his biggest lumps for the suggestion—wait, rule—that waiters should not introduce themselves by name. Waiters and customers alike berated him for being a curmudgeonly fascist who would stifle the charm of his staff with such commands. They’re wrong, he’s right. A waiter is a servant, not a new friend. If the customer wants to be friends with the servants, they can ask the waiter’s name (I don’t think Mr. Buschel was suggesting one demur from supplying his or her name if asked). Not telling someone your name shouldn’t be the slightest inhibition on your charm. But, come to think of it, don’t be so damn charming either. You’re a servant. not a suitor: be cheerful, not charming.

I tend to agree, though, with some of the critics who picked on the rule forbidding servers from injecting their favorite choices into the ordering process. First of all, a good waiter’s “favorite” dish should be the one that presents well and has received consistently rave reviews from other customers who ordered it. When you’re at work as a server, you’re just that, not a diner, and what you like should be the thing that makes your customer happiest. Therefore, your favorite should be the dish they will be most happy with.

A skilled front waiter needs to be able to steer a customer, particularly when there is an appropriate opening. Don’t scowl if a customer orders a mediocre dish without hesitation or second look at the menu—it’s between them and the chef at that point—but if a customer is waffling a bit and one of the dishes is markedly better than the other, you’ve got to wave that flag.

I also personally disagree—though this is a very small point—with the notion that a server should not upsell by telling a table that there’s only one or two of a particular special left. If you know there’s only two orders of cioppino left and you see a customer’s eyes light up when you describe it, you should tell them the opportunity may be limited and if they say they want it, you tell the chef to make sure your customer gets what they want.

So that’s my two cents on Mr. Buschel and his, or someone’s, list. I think it was a neat idea that he, personally, was unsuited to explore, but kudos for him for having the chutzpah (and conceit) to put it out there.

I feel a bit bad for Mr. Buschel and his future staff, since that list is going to put them under the microscope of one of the world’s most self-important populations of know-it-alls, who will be studying up before dinner to see how many of the rules they can catch the staff violating that first summer. And I would guess that poor Mr. Buschel—who thinks he’s had it so tough jumping through the hoops of the Southampton Town building department—is in for a very rude awakening when he finds that restaurant customers come equipped with hoops of all sizes no one could codify. I relish the thought of talking with him come, say, 8:49 p.m. on July 10, 2010, when his rules, crafted in the comfort and canned serenity of an easy chair and laptop are scattered to the four winds by the waist-high weeds that started sprouting on the first sunny Saturday in June.

But he seems fairly well aware of what he’s getting into, so good for him. Still, I feel like applying for the job, just to witness it.