Don't Remove My Plate Before I'm Finished Eating!
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“Penelope, table five is demanding to see the manager. They’re really pissed. I mean REALLY pissed.” As I peek over her shoulder, to get a visual read of the irate guest, I can clearly see the older gentlemen is very upset. His wife is attempting to calm him, motioning him to sit down, but he will have none of it. His table napkin had fallen to the floor and the veins in his neck are now protruding, as he stands waiting for me to approach. He has already caught the attention of other guests. This does not look good!
“Ok, Kelly. Give me the nutshell version, fast! What happened to upset him so much?” She instantly puts her hands on her hips to begin her defense. I look straight into her eyes and say, “Remove your hands ifrom your hips mmediately, lock them behind your back, and talk fast.” She obeys, standing at ease with hands locked. Meanwhile, I continued to maintain a full metal jacket of eye contact with the gentleman who is watching us intently.
“All I did was remove his entree platter.” I ask, “Was there food still on the plate?”
The question seems to bounce off of her, “Well, yeah. I think. Maybe there was a little bit left. I’m not sure.” I shoot her an ominous low hanging set of brows, “But I’ve told you all, at least a thousand times, never to...”
She cut me off with, “Yeah, right. I know what you’ve told us, but it’s too late for that now, what do we do?”
“Get back to your other tables. Make sure you stay away from table five until I fix this. Are we clear, Kelly? She responds with a guilty-as-hell, “Yes”.
I turn to the POS system to collect my thoughts, meanwhile printing a copy of their order, allowing me to study what I will have to comp. My mind has already started calculating the degree of damage. I know I will have to stretch the service recovery further than normal, since table five has galvanized the attention of so many other guests. This unnecessary and inexcusable gaffe will cost the house in damage control. I approach the gentleman with a soft smile, “Good evening, sir. I’m Penelope, the manager on duty. I understand that our server removed your plate before you were finished.” I was careful not to add one extra word, so he would know exactly where I was laying the blame.
He melted almost instantly. As his anger began to subside, I could see he seemed to appreciate my sincerity and that he wasn’t met with any resistance whatsoever. I listen intently to each and every word, without interruption. He began with, “Why don’t you people train these servers? I just don’t understand what the rush is, to take away plates that still have food on them. They don’t even ask us. You must have a dozen empty tables in here. Why must I be rushed through my meal in order to satisfy a food server’s time line? A meal that I am paying for quite handsomely; I’m a businessman! I eat in dozens of restaurants every week. Every single one of them commits the same exasperating and infuriating crime. Like what? I’m supposed to hold the plate down with one hand while I eat with the other? My dinner has been ruined and I’m sick of outright badly trained servers. Oh, what the heck? You people are pathetic.” The decibels become almost a soft whisper as he sits back down. We both know that I am about to begin my dance of reconciliation. He has giving me my cue. I bow ever so slightly, more so as a respectful overture. It is an unmistakable signal that I am beholding. I owe him, he no longer owe us. These are the rules of engagement. He is intuitive enough to respect my tenor and obedient body language, but he does it silently, so he doesn’t seem like an easy push over.
I respectfully retort with, “Please, allow me to perform some magic. I want you both to leave here having enjoyed a lovely evening.” The trigger word is “please” - few, decent people can refuse it. I continue to maintain a soft, soothing, non-begging voice. I can tell he gets it, even though he shakes his head and is waving me away. He expects me to decipher his body language into the unwritten code - of derrière kissing. I shall, I will and I do!
Smart wives are my best ally! “Honey, give Penelope a chance.” She is deliberately coining my name in order to personalize. She is coding me that she wants this to work. I don’t wait for an answer and proceed with, “Allow me to start you off with a very fine, imported French wine that is from our private collection. This will give me time to prepare something very special. Tell me, do you have any allergies with seafood?” I’m interrupted by his wife with, “But we’ve already eaten, Penelope.”
"Yes, but Sir did not finish his meal. You can take whatever you don’t finish, home with you. I’m also ordering up a very special dessert as well.” I receive no resistance. I choose seafood deliberately because it's expensive and I want them to know I’m pulling out the big guns. "Excellent! No allergies?"
I switch servers and order the wine. An ice bucket instantly appears and I head for the kitchen, where the real body armor resides. Thankfully, Maria, our petite Chef from Goa, is on the line tonight. Maria is the commander of our ship and well-versed with Code Reds. We discuss an assortment of special off the menu items that will recapture our guest's trust. Maria starts snapping out orders, causing a unified rumble in the kitchen, while I return to the guest to check on their wine.
The first hot platter arrives and their eyes are literally popping! “How is your wine, sir?” He is well pleased and asks me for further details on the exact origins of the wine and birth date. “Will you allow me to select a lovely dessert wine when you are finished?” He nods in approval, as I stand by and monitor the gathering of their empty plates in preparation for dessert. A number of heads turn, and I hear several "Oooh’s" and "Aaah's" reverberating from behind me as two magnificent desserts are carefully set down before them. He turns and gives me another nod, and I know it's time to withdraw. Redemption is at hand for our "mea culpa". I return to the kitchen to thank the staff and give them a quick update. I watch as our guest signals for his check. They seem very pleased that the check has been waved, as was to be expected. He glances in my direction and winks. The server returns with a four hundred dollar tip.
None of this service recovery is possible without an ambient, stellar and experienced work crew that works in unison as a team. Problematic guest encounters test the resolve of everyone and can only make us work better. I repeatedly caution my crews about removing a plate from a guest without asking for permission, or with at least a diligent attempt to read the guest's wants and needs properly. I believe it’s a combination of inexperience and laziness; nothing that can’t be learned without practice.
Most mistakes are avoidable to be sure. Removing the plate before a guest has finished is a major complaint from diners.
We sincerely hope this post helps to shed some light on the issue, since so many people write in to us about it.
Cheers,
Penelopi & Gabriella
(c) 2010 ptsaldari.posterous.com : PTsaldari Group Inc. | The Art of Serving Well | Serve Me Well Inc. All rights reserved. This article originally appeared on ptsaldari.posterous.com blog authored by PTsaldari. This article may be shared and reprinted as long as this entire copyright message accompanies it. Email: ptsaldari@gmail.com
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Don't Remove My Plate BeFore I'm Finished Eating
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