Do You Dine and Dish?
And, yes, I meant dish. Things go wrong at restaurants all the time. But do you say something? Find out what happened when we did. Plus, 'Wicked' news, remembering Pee-wee, and more.
Recently overthinking…
…whether to remain anonymous at a restaurant following a poor experience…
A few weeks ago, I sent my parents to a restaurant I hadn’t yet been to. This was risky, seeing as they are in their 70s and tend to be crotchety. My Mom is quite forgiving and will taste most dishes and take whatever seat no one else wants at the table. My Dad, on the other hand…not so much. It should be noted, however, that I tend to take after him when it comes to Big Opinions about restaurants, so here we are. He created a monster, but I feed it, for lack of a better term, by doing what I do and eating what (and how) I eat, which is to say generously, purposefully, and judiciously. But I digress.
They were coming into Manhattan from Long Island to see a show and finally wanted to dine somewhere that wasn’t Avra. (There are thousands of restaurants in Manhattan, and they continuously eat whole dorade served by the pound, with a side of green beans and tomato, or something like it, every…single…time. No disrespect to the famed Greek spot, but come on!)
I chose to direct them to a new-ish restaurant that my brother and I had booked to dine at the following week. I figured since it was known for seafood, which our family is also known for (distributing), and its chef had a pedigree of not only working with a lauded restaurateur, but winning the premier reality cooking show competition, Top Chef, they’d be safe.
Friends, they were not safe. I won’t relay their entire list of complaints, but they included a chipped glass, a bartender with a chip on his shoulder, fishy swordfish they sent back (and waited a very long time to receive again), and “chocolate mousse with seaweed flakes—oy,” said Mom. “I’m OK with different,” she added, “if it’s tasty.”
Ouch.
My brother and I decided we still wanted to go. Restaurants have off nights all the time. Plus, we consider our palates to be—how shall I say—slightly more adventurous. We’d watched Top Chef and salivated over the chef’s Quickfire and Immunity Challenge wins. We wanted to see and taste it all for ourselves, so we kept our reservation.
My Mom, meanwhile, fired off her complaints via Resy’s post-meal survey that they automatically send via email if you book with the platform.
I do this, too, actually—especially if something was off. It’s non-public facing feedback, and having worked in restaurants myself, I know how important it is to grow from mistakes during the first year, not to mention that as a journalist with a smart palate who’s had the great fortune to discover, research, and dine at some of the world’s most exquisite restaurants, I believe my feedback can be valuable. More often than not, someone from the restaurant replies, which I find admirable. It means they care. Or, at least, are pretending to.
Lo and behold, my Mom received a response:
I truly apologize for your recent experience and appreciate you bringing these matters to our attention. Please know that we value your feedback immensely and will address these issues with our team to prevent them in the future. We would love the opportunity to make it right and exceed your expectations on your next visit.
Whether or not it’s a templated soundbite, the fact that they sent one at all speaks volumes. Would my parents be going back? Likely not. Is it because they live on Long Island? Possibly. But mostly they’re a “fool me once” kinda crowd.
Ironically, our reservation was for the very same night she received their reply. Should she tell them?
On the one hand, if we went in without letting them know, we’d have our own unique experience to judge with zero influence. This is why food critics remain anonymous when they dine at restaurants: to maintain objectivity and be treated like every other diner so the public can trust their review in the hopes of then receiving the same kind of hospitality.
On the other hand, it’d also be interesting to see if and how they would make good on their word to course correct, especially for some Joe Shmo, non VIP diners. (As far as I knew, they didn’t know I am a journalist who often writes about restaurants.)
We decided to tell them. My Mom wrote:
Thank you for reaching out. Though I might not be returning, it just so happens my son and daughter had plans to be there tonight. The reservation is Lieberman at 7:30. They insisted on keeping the resy despite our experience. Thank you!
She didn’t hear back before we left, but we knew almost immediately that they’d received the message: Not only did they sit us at a round corner booth, arguably the best table in the house—something that rarely happens to Liebermans on the first go; this is a story for another time; it’s A Thing—but they treated us like royalty. First, the manager came over. Then we had what felt like four different servers. Even the chef himself presented the first of the two dishes they comped for us. And let me tell you, friends: It was a real showstopper.
This was not your average seafood platter, and when we chose not to order it ourselves (for $47/pp), they took it as an opportunity to prove that it may have been a mistake. They were right. Rather than basic pieces of shellfish meat served with expected dipping accompaniments, each bite served in its respective shell was more elevated than the last, from a scallop sitting in XO sauce to a mussel covered in a sort of crispy rice puff. Whatever it was, I wanted more.
Overall, was the restaurant one of the best I’ve eaten at in some time? No. (And The New York Times agreed. It didn’t make their list of the Top 100 in the city this week.) Was it worth going, and possibly even going back to? Yes. Do I think they still have some kinks to work out? Also yes. Service was friendly, but there was too big a lag time between courses. One minute they were on top of us, then nowhere to be found. That said, they were not rushing us out of there as so many other NYC restaurants are wont to do these days. Whether that was an issue of the kitchen being backed up, the restaurant itself being big enough to accommodate a non-influx of diners, or them just channeling the French is unknown.
Still, we left full and eager to try a variety of other dishes, including the lobster roll at lunch and the bar-only fried crab sandwich. I’d also return for the seafood platter alone, despite it not being enough to fill me up for $47. Perhaps, I relayed to Mom, this is the ideal pre- or post-theater snack with a drink at the bar!
The best part? We learned that they use our cockles! The ones I traveled to New Zealand to harvest back in December! The ones I popped open at Smorgasburg back in 2018 and hope to dabble more in today! Their take, a clams tagliatelle with Calabrian chili, was our second favorite of the night—and this was before we’d known they were “our” littlenecks. (And, no, it was not the other comp’d dish. That was an extra dessert.)
The whole ordeal felt serendipitous, as I’ve been looking for a chef to collaborate with on the final piece of a cockle project I’m working on. Were we brought together by a small hiccup that could blossom into a beautiful partnership? Time will tell, but I’d like to hope so!
This brings me back to the anonymity and today’s overthinking conundrum. I’m sure by now you’ve noticed that I haven’t named the restaurant. (Though, I’m also sure I have a few astute gourmand readers who may have pieced it together. Hi, and respect!) First, let me ask you:
The way I see it, my not revealing the restaurant here, in this space, does no one any favors. Sure, maybe they save face for a bad night “reviewed” by a couple of average diners, who are (or should be) no less important than anyone else. But, again, mistakes happen at restaurants all the time. It’s why most critics not only dine anonymously, but 2-3 times at a single spot before publishing a review.
IMO, they made up for it by not only responding to my Mom’s complaints, but also by then addressing the concerns and trying to do better. Many places wouldn’t even bother. To me, this is a positive reflection of their commitment to success, and I’m betting other “average diners” will feel the same.
So! The next time you find yourself east of Fifth Avenue on 26th Street, pop into Time and Tide and tell Chef Danny I sent you. And be sure to get that seafood platter and the clams. :)
Bon week-end, friends! xx
Clickable
On racing, fatherhood, and chasing unfulfilled dreams. | WaPo (gift link)
Selfless grandparents to the rescue. | The New York Times (gift link)
Fro-yo, aka “indulgence without punishment, goodness without suffering,” is back. But is it better than ever? | Grub Street
What went on BTS of the new Pee-wee doc. | Vulture
This interview with SATC queen Candace Bushnell needs a good edit, but there are some solid nuggets. | Interview
Nicole Kidman seems cool. | Allure
Don’t cry for me, the Solo Diner. | The New York Times (gift link)
Nostalgia for summer vacations of yesteryear. |
Not all protein bars are created equal. | WaPo (gift link)
Remembering Lucille Roberts, a gym that “fused fitness with feminism.” | The New York Times (gift link)
Watchable
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