Making my reviewing rounds in the past few months, I was given the worst seats in the house at Corvo Bianco (a dark, remote corner) and at Brasserie Cognac East (an awkward mid-room table for two when there were numerous better ones available).
I was left for dead by vanishing sommeliers at Juni and haughtily lectured by an earth-firster somm at Bill’s, who pushed an unfiltered wine on me after I’d made clear that I hated it.
I was served bone-filled salmon filet and cold branzino at Greenwich Project, and other cold dishes meant to be hot, just about everywhere.
I was subjected to up-sell shticks by waiters who might have trained as used-car salesmen. (“Wouldn’t you like to upgrade your tomahawk steak to tomahawk and surf?” — an American Cut lobster addition which would raise the tab from $135 to $185.)
And at a certain other steakhouse, I got the fattiest cut since the brontosaurus age — just minutes after the manager had warmly greeted me and shaken my hand.
You’re thinking: Poor Cuozzo! The rough life of a restaurant reviewer!
But if this is how they treat a critic, what’s it like for ordinary customers, whom the house presumably has even less interest in treating properly?
The obvious answer: Lots lousier. Blame it on job-shifting restaurant staff, front-of-the-house and back-of-the-house, who no longer have any loyalty to the house.
I’m no anonymous critic. I long ago ditched fake-name credit cards. I nearly always reserve in my own name, often using opentable.com.
That I encounter at least as much amateurish, clueless or downright hostile service as I did in my “anonymous” days speaks to the current state of restaurant staffing. It makes it easier to write funny reviews, but it’s nothing to laugh about when regular customers are treated worse.
Managers, hosts, waiters, sommeliers, chefs and cooks care about their place when they have no immediate plans to bolt. It’s in their interest not to leave a reviewer with a sour taste.
It’s common sense: A snarky review not only hurts business, it wounds a restaurant’s caring employees and turns off other critics from giving a place a second chance.
But today, eatery employees seem not to respect even their bosses. Many start a new gig with an exit strategy already in mind. One unmentionable reason: The legal crackdown on “management” employees (which can mean just about anything) misappropriating tips from lowlier staffers makes it harder to make the bucks that some once took as their due. In the new climate, all it takes is the hint of a better deal elsewhere to lure them out the door.
The whirlwind has owners pulling their hair out. A friend who runs a small uptown bistro laments, “There’s nothing we can do about it. We can’t hang on to people.”
Some are outta there even before a review runs. In early days at Andrew Carmellini’s Lafayette, a 3-star favorite of mine, I spotted a sea of new faces every other week. Some were so green they didn’t know how to set silverware on the table. (Things seemed to finally settle down.)
It isn’t just about professionalism, but about making customers feel at home. Good luck toa diner who expects a warm “Welcome back” from faces they know.
Another reason for the chaos is the hemorrhage of the most talented employees to the mushrooming corporate-hospitality world of hotels, institutional catering and banquets, “consulting” firms, private functions, sports arenas and even ships.
The growing number of restaurant empires with far-flung operations — like Michael White and Ahmass Fakahany’s Altamarea Group and Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group — generates high-paying executive positions that don’t require standing on one’s feet all day in a steaming kitchen or on a crowded dining floor.
Who wouldn’t want to be home by 7 at least sometimes rather than working until 2 a.m. every night? Who wouldn’t want the security of a salary rather than erratic tips? Or have medical benefits which only a very few, super-successful restaurants can afford?
In the past year, I’ve seen top-flight managers, maitre d’s and waiters bolt their restaurants to join Madison Square Garden, Orient Express Hotels (which owns ‘21’) and David Burke Group.
Others are propelled by their own rock-stardom to launch ventures removed from the daily grind. In a wine-mad age, sommeliers — whose long-time presence once defined a place as much as the chef — are especially susceptible.
One of the city’s finest, Fred Dexheimer, left BLT Restaurant Group to set up his own wine-service firm, Juiceman Consulting. As more of his skill level flee the floor, the result is the sort of fiasco I experienced at Arlington Club, where Dexheimer did make a brief cameo in the early going.
On a more recent night, the somm-of-the-moment was off and the guy sent to help us knew nothing about the list and had never heard of Priorat.
So if you like the staff at your favorite restaurant, get used to doing without them — and to receiving worse treatment than a critic who’s at least paid to put up with it.