Restaurant Confidential
by Jan Hostyn
I stared down at my plate in confusion and sighed. My celebration brunch with one of my lovely daughters was not going as planned.
Yes, the deconstructed crepe with assorted roasted veggies I had ordered was sitting right there in front of me, but the soft-poached egg that should have been oozing luxuriously over everything was nowhere to be seen. The egg had arrived minutes earlier. Only it was hard-poached, not soft. And eggs with hard yolks do not ooze, they just kind of sit there.
So back to the kitchen my order went.
I thought I would be presented with a complete plate once my order returned: crepe, veggies and soft-poached egg. When our server reappeared only moments later, it was with exactly the same plate. Only this time it was completely eggless. With a perfunctory ‘your egg will be out in a bit,’ she promptly disappeared.
There was barely time for me to open my mouth, let alone to allow any words to escape from it.
Now, I like to think of myself as a tolerant diner. Both of my daughters have worked in the restaurant industry, and I put in some time during my high school and university years as well. I am all too aware that, despite everyone’s best efforts, mistakes happen. And I’m also all too aware that throwing an ornery, unreasonable customer into the mix doesn’t help matters.
So, I do my very best to be tolerant and understanding.
But sometimes, things get to be a bit much. This just so happened to be one of these times.
Trying to flag someone down was futile. The restaurant was exceptionally quiet, and there was no one to flag down.
So I simply waited. I really wasn’t keen on eating the crepe and veggies without the egg.
This whole scenario was made especially infuriating due to the presence of a little note, tucked neatly beside the menu, stating: “Menu modifications of any kind will not be accepted. Our menu is meticulously planned and every ingredient has a well-thought out purpose.” Okay, fair enough. But by expecting me to eat my crepe and veggies without the soft-poached egg and then eat my egg separately, at the end, all by itself, well, weren’t they messing with their meticulously-planned menu?
Five minutes later a soft-poached egg arrived in a little side dish to join my cold crepe and veggies. I politely informed our server that the rest of my dish was now cold. She simply said “Oh, I thought you wanted to eat at the same time as your daughter.” Fair, but she didn’t ask me first, and my daughter hadn’t started to eat yet, either. She was having overnight oats and her oats were in no danger of getting cold—they were already cold.
And then, poof—our server promptly disappeared again.
Yes, I could have run after her. And yes, I could have demanded to talk to management. But I was disillusioned and tired: tired of trying to communicate, tired of being ignored, tired of the whole situation. Rather than ruining my daughter’s and my outing completely, I ate my mostly-cold brunch.
When our server did reappear some time later to clear away the dishes, I gave it one last try. My reward? A blank stare. Then she plunked down the bill and sauntered away.
I ended up emailing the restaurant after the fact. Voicing my concerns during the actual incident hadn’t led anywhere, and I wanted someone to know about it. It wasn’t so much about the food, although that was part of it. There was just such indifference on the part of our server. If someone like that worked for me, I would certainly want to know about it.
The response I got back was much more customer-friendly than the experience. It was also very much appreciated—without it, I don’t think I would have ever frequented that restaurant again.
That wasn’t my only less-than-ideal restaurant experience. There was also the scone and the no-you-can’t-have-more-raspberry-jam incident (well, incidents). And the everything-that-could-possibly-go-wrong-did incident: overcooked salmon followed by replacement salmon on a salad that was way smaller than the original, followed by an almost completely raw cookie. And others.
Try as I might, resolving those issues while we were actually at the restaurant in question simply didn’t work.
While it’s not often that I will email a restaurant because of an issue, it does happen. And I always try to be polite when I do it.
The good experiences vastly outweigh the bad, though.
And once in a while you’ll even be met with a truly exceptional experience.
That was the case at Corso 32 recently. Most of our experiences there have been overwhelmingly positive, but this one truly went above and beyond. And it got me thinking: I take the time to reach out to a restaurant when something goes horribly wrong, but I never make that effort when an experience surpasses my expectations. I do let our server know how happy we are and I tip well, but that’s typically where it ends.
Somehow that seems wrong. I mean, if we can take the time to complain, why can’t we take the time to express our pleasure and let someone know exactly what a spectacular job they’ve done?
So, I reached out to Corso 32 to let them know just how much we enjoyed our evening and why. And it felt really good. Way better than complaining.
Far too often we simply expect the positive and put a great deal of focus on the negative. Not that we shouldn’t expect a positive experience when we go out: we are investing our time and our hard-earned money, after all. But expressing our pleasure makes other people feel good too. Everyone likes to know when they’ve done a good job. And after all, positive feedback is said to be much more powerful than negative feedback.
So next time your dining experience falls a bit short, by all means, do your best to try to sort it out. But by the same token, if something is truly exceptional, try letting the restaurant know. Not only will it make you feel good, it will make other people feel good too. And the world needs more of that.