Menu Changes. or: what to do when history repeats itself.

I don't have to tell you that the economy of your country, city, town, continent, family has tanked.
I don't have to tell you anything about it. You know.
I don't have to tell you to hold onto your job. You have. As long as you've been able to.
I don't have to tell you not to spend your money on frivolous items. You either have or you have not; either out of need or need to rebel.
I don't have to tell you how many restaurants have closed, how many cooks and chefs and pastry chefs are out of work.
I don't have to tell you that if you love, really love a restaurant, you may want to become a regular.
I don't have to tell you that if you really love a chef or a pastry chef's work, you should tell everyone you know to go eat at said person's workplace. You know.
I don't have to tell you the power of positive press is far quieter than the power of negative press. Whether you rant indignantly on Yelp, or feed a piece of barely true gossip to Eater, or pan a place on Chowhound, or talk doo-doo on your own blog/Twitter/Facebook about a particular place,
you play a part in the wild fire that will surely consume said business.
I don't have to tell you anything. You know why? You know.
You're smart.
You read as much as I do.
Probably more.

I don't have to tell you what happened on September 11, 2001. I don't have to tell you that the Internet Bubble, based on money which did not exactly exist, but which was generating thousands of businesses to be born, and invite more people than could even fit in San Francisco & beyond to move there, and displace thousands more, burst. At about the same time as September 11, 2001.
O yes. It was a fun year. A great time to be working in a luxury industry making food people neither needed nor could afford.
I lost my job of 2 years that year. After that I was unemployed for longer than I have been since I started working, at age 14. I witnessed over 6,000 restaurants close in San Francisco. In one year.
You probably remember that time as well as I do.
I know you remember what you were doing that day.
And if you lived in NYC or the Bay Area, you remember the recovery time.
It took years.

It is for these memories, these reasons, these experiences, which I still feel, still know, viscerally, that I remain forever grateful to have a job, when I have one.
It is for these memories, these reasons, these experiences, which I still feel, still know, viscerally, that I have grown.
It is for these memories, these reasons, these experiences, which I still feel, still know, viscerally, that hope to always know perspective, even the smallest amount, is utterly important.

Because

a little perspective

goes

a long way.

When it happens all over again. History is only important, if you can learn from it.

There are very few restaurants that do not have to worry. About food costs. About labor percentages, about inventory, rent, the economy, holidays, weather, natural catastrophes, equipment, vermin, waste, stealing, lawsuits, worker injuries, etc. Very few. Not none, but probably less than a percent I'm guessing.

Everyone thinks it's so much fun to be a chef. So creative. So nifty. So delicious. So exciting. So glamorous.

And they're right.

Some of the time.

The rest of the time they're wrong. Very wrong.

Because sometimes the most creative things you're doing is

• figuring out how to cut costs without firing your entire staff
• changing your menu overnight because none of your purveyors will deliver to you because of outstanding invoices
• working every station even though the kitchen is composed of 6 stations in the layout of a 3 bedroom house
• juggling a myriad of medication to take while working sick
• offering every kind of 'special' that will attract every kind of diner at any price point you think all of these people can or will want to afford
• filching your numbers to reflect what the owners want to see
• keeping your management away from the bar where you know they're drinking away any of the profits you might otherwise be barely seeing
• figuring out how to serve food you worry is going off but can't afford to throw out
• shaving ounce after ounce off of your plates of food in ways diners won't notice so you don't have to raise prices, which diners always notice
• keeping your body alive on 3 hours of sleep, no food and coffee as your only imbibement
• switching arms, hands, wrists, because your primary one is so injured you can no longer use it well
• and
• p.s. you don't have health insurance
• even though
• you work in one of the most physically challenging indoor workplaces you know of

Menu Changes.

These words are a stand in for other words.

Menu Changes mean a variety of things. A menu changing is a symptom. Menus Change because they have to.

After September 11th, 2001, Menus Changed. In order for restaurants to stay afloat, they had to lower prices, drop expensive proteins, lay off extraneous staff {ie pastry chefs}, ask the staff that stayed to take pay-cuts & do twice the work.

A lot of Menus Changed and many restaurants started making Comfort Food. The United States needed comfort. A lot of it.

So tonight, when I was asked to change my menu, radically, I understood. I didn't like it, but I didn't stomp my feet and say, "It's not fair!"

I understood its implication. I know its history.

I had my "reactionary, emotional, angry" self tempered, calmed {silently} by my 'Grounded Self,' and I took the order as a challenge.

For I am only one of millions who has [had] to Change Menus. Change plans. Change on a dime. 

Change Menus. Get grateful. Turn challenge into lesson. Know life is full of lessons. Have perspective. Calm down enough to see the forest through the trees.

Because you know what?

Changing Menus is changing directions is life changing, and

the only thing you can rely on is change.

Comments

[Athen]

Tough love, friend. You've got it by the kilo. xox

[Brooke]

You are an inspiration to me. Thanks so much for sharing your words, and saying more eloquently than I ever could the things people need to know/remember.

[Ellen Mandel]

change! sad to think the beautiful desserts I just ate and loved may not be there the next time----but excited that there will be new beautiful desserts the next time! xoxo---ellen

[Laura]

Gosh, your post resonated so much. I have been out of work for almost 18 months, one of many pastry chefs biting the dust after the economy tanked. I have a job lined up starting March 22. I am not happy about the menu, or the concept of the restaurant, but I need this job badly, I want it badly, so I will have to bite my tongue, swallow my pride and keep on smiling.

You are not along and I feel your pain, the physical as well.

[devvon]

amen on the owner/bar comment.
-devvon

[Y]

Great post. As always.

[Mark Mendez]

When you care, when you have passion for what you do, when you decide to do things the right way, in other words non shoemaker, you embark on a long and very difficult journey.

Caring means more stress, more work, more drama, more bullshit. This is the price we pay. I have done every single thing listed above. I have made menu changes that I didn't feel 100% about.

Recently I had to let some of my staff go because of business being slow. I have known some of these people over 8 years. I don't think I have slept right in a week or so. I knew in my mind this was the right decision for the business but my heart wouldn't go along. Making these choices are never easy, in fact they often suck.

But the ability to overcome these obstacles, embrace the bullshit, and truly excel are what great chefs are made of, isn't it? I hope so, I keep telling myself that. Being over 40 I don't take everything so personally anymore, sometimes good things come from adversity, sometimes it just pisses me off and I shut down.

But I know that I have done great things when pushed to change or adjust what I do. The process an be a bitch though. I love your blog.

Mark, your words are moving and I thank you so much for being brave enough to set them down here. Do we think this business is different from any other business because the bonds we form with our chefs/cooks/dishwashers/diners/FOH is beyond what the bottom line says on our P&L? I'm sure there are plenty of industry's like ours-- where sweat and tears are married long after the vows, but something about making food & feeding it to people is intensely personal, intimate & humbling.

I hope you set your words on 'my pages' as often as the spirit moves you. I think it's so important that other chefs say what their experiences are here! Thank you for making the hard choices and continuing to care and being honest in all of it. ~ Shuna

[Beth]

Let's hope you can weather the storm. I absolutely love your blog! Your writing is inspiring, thoughtful, and interesting. In the meantime, I will be eating at 10 Downing frequently and telling every person I know to follow suit. Shuna talks, we listen.

Beth! Wow, thank you so much for this comment. I am humbled & grateful. I hope to weather the storm as well-- at this restaurant & beyond. ~ Shuna

[ellabellie]

Well said and poetically so. Keep the beauty in your food creations that just shimmer I am sure. so glad you went to England, that was a beautiful trip you had.

[GG Mora]

Your capacity to make poetry out of adversity and the mundane is breathtaking. Which is why I keep coming back. (You have a way with beauty, too.)

We're all doing what we have to do these days; here's hoping it doesn't become the status quo.

[Londoner]

Shuna

I think as a worker in a disposable industry the only thing you "can" rely on is change is highly true. I think this profession can kill your spirit. And it takes a very well centered person to really do the job well and still be kind and creative and nice to work with. I don't know many chefs who don't wanna get out once they've reached the top of their game. You can't recycle chefs, once they're gone, they're gone and they take their skills with them. I've gotten out and I am so glad I did.