Light Snacks Will Be Served

The Customer is Occasionally Wrong

I’ve been waiting to write this post for a long time. It is not intended to nip at the heels of diners, or to generate sympathy, or even to encourage other restaurateurs to stand up to their clients. It might make some people angry, or indignant, but my intent is not to provoke.

I’ll begin by saying this: I really like people. All kinds. I’m comfortable on the floor, talking to strangers. I enjoy spending time with my customers, and over the past year many patrons have become friends. Without them, my restaurant is a sad, empty husk.

But let’s consider an altruism  altrustic aphorism that is rammed down our throats from the first time most of us take a job in the service industry: The Customer is Always Right.

Ah, the limitless possibilities of infallibility.

I used to preach this very line to my staff, and I danced around the subject once here, in the story of the lady in pink who only ate pink things. While it’s best to bend over (backwards, mind you) for customers in most situations, there are times when one is asked to bend a stretch too far. There are some customers that are, in fact, wrong. I assume they know this, because entering a place that serves food does not exempt one from societal norms. I’ll give you a few examples:

If you throw a birthday party for 23, order water and a few salads, and sneak in 3 bottles of rotgut rum in your pants to drink under the table with your friends that is wrong. You know it is. And you should expect to be thrown out when we catch you, but we won’t. Because we are masochists.

I bet he doesn't play the violin

If you do not eat any animal products, and you waltz into a restaurant and dourly demand a meal without any animal products, when the cuisine cooked in that restaurant’s kitchen is built on a foundation of seasoning that comes from animals, this is not right. It’s like going into a guitar shop and demanding that they sell you a flute. Really, I have nothing against vegans. But my restaurant does not sell what you seek. And it is not your right to demand for us to do so. (Still, we probably will, and especially if you call ahead, because we are masochists).

If you storm into a restaurant to demand a table, at 830pm on a Friday night, with two escorts in tow and a rented luxury car parked in plain sight outside, thinking that this will aid your chances of getting a table without a reservation, it won’t. And if you force the owner to ‘call your butler’ at your 5-star hotel while he is busy serving perfectly nice people their dinners, well, that is not right. If you then throw coins in anger at my staff, and spit on the floor, and threaten to burn down the building, well, that really isn’t right either. And you can fuck off, because we’re not that masochistic.

Right now, as you read this, you might think – oh, this is just bitterness. Venting. Catharsis. Whinging. Well, perhaps, but I’m trying to get somewhere. I’m trying to make a point.

The Customer is Always Right is Occasionally Wrong. It encourages people to act in bizarre and uncouth ways. Ways that they would never behave in someone’s home, or grocery store, or library. 

What the wrong customer does is affect the dining experience of respectful guests in a negative manner. Whether it’s backing up the kitchen with a ridiculous order; shouting and cursing in midst of dinner; berating staff so that they’re afraid to do their job; or taking up all the tables so that they can surreptitiously sip booze that they snuck in, in their pants. It fucks up a machine we spend a lot of time tuning. It gives bad people an unfair advantage – they get all the attention while perfectly civil people are ignored. And that is selfish.

Last Friday I had probably the weirdest night in terms of service since we opened at Soul Food. But the thing was, after all the problems had subsided, I looked up at the bar and in the dining room and felt a surge of contentment. Like a glance of warm sun in winter. A regular offered to buy me a beer. People smiled and chatted as they ate their meals. My staff breathed a little easier, and things returned to normal.

And as I hop and skip from one cliché to the next, I’ll admit it. This is why we do it – for that feeling of satisfaction we get when others are happy for what we do. It's a relationship.

And this relationship of trust and respect is what's right about customers, and about us, the guys on the other side.

 

A Brief Note on Perspective

It has been a long time since I last wrote.

Six months and five days, according to my brisk calculation.

But no matter. We’ve much catching up to do.

In the past six or eight months the restaurant that I dreamt up here and at my posts at The Atlanic has become a reality. Soul Food Mahanakorn now hums with commerce and conversation and sometimes chaos; and after one year of work I finally have found enough time to sit down and reflect on what has passed.

This is an exercise in writing, to see how well my memory serves me, because ultimately I’d like to put these collective ramblings into a book. Recipes cross-stitched in the manic fabric of opening one’s first restaurant. Or something like that.

The greatest change that I’ve experienced over the past year has been one of perspective. Not only how I interpret the spatial relationships between customers and servers, or workers and owners, but really, how I view the world. As a writer, I used to look in from without. Now, that has been flipped 'round. 

A few weekends ago, sitting outside a bar I frequent after our service dies down, in those hours where waiters and bartenders and managers spill out onto streets full of people who are several hours ahead of them in terms of merriment, I was talking to a few friends. Most of them were writers. We traded stories. Of recent trips, political bullshit, drunken nights, single lives. I can’t remember what we spoke about, specifically. But as I said my piece, which I’m sure involved a tale of horror or surprise or (rarely) satisfaction within the four walls of my place of business, a friend said this, “Dude, I don’t mean to be a dick, but why don’t you tell a fucking story that doesn’t have something to do with your restaurant.”

Two things:

One, when someone says “I don’t mean to be dick” they are most likely being a dick.

Two, he was right. I had nothing else to talk about. I had been locked up on one of three floors, 47 square meters each, for a year. I hadn’t gone out into the world, but the world had come to me. And smiled sweetly, or threatened to burn my goddamned shop down, or had thrown up all over the wall behind the toilet or gotten engaged at table three as what became their favorite song played or had simply paid and vanished.

I had shuttled back and forth between those other realms of market and living room and bed, but really, this last year of my life has been illuminated in the dusky light of carefully dimmed halogen or the fluorescent and flinty steel of the kitchen. It has a soundtrack, of familiar songs I know not only words but of stories to.

It was all that I had to talk about. And so I went on. 

I will here, too.

 

 

A Day in the Life, Part 2

Thanks to my neighbor Tuan for this look behind the scenes.

I like the idea..

"Of you blogging at the bar," she said.

The only problem is that I haven't had too much time to do that. In fact, yesterday I wasn't at the bar, I was behind it, because my bartender decided to sleep in very, very late. Like all day. 

Tonight I went to a poetry reading at my friends' bar/restaurant, WTF, just a few blocks away from my shop on Sukhumvit Soi 51. I escaped the restaurant for exactly one and a half hours, for the first time, since we opened in early September. The night was inspiring in the way that sharing art should be -- the place was alive with a certain generosity and ease. And then, after about forty-five minutes, I became very uneasy. I had been away too long, and I needed to get back. I quickly sipped my beer, stepped out into the cool Bangkok night, and walked briskly back to the bar. And here I sit. Blogging. Thinking. Swimming in my thoughts.

I might just write a poem about all this.  

 

Dancing With Compassion and Good Sense

A few folks have asked me what was the greatest challenge I've faced while opening this joint. I might make a joke about the ghosts in the space or the drunk electrician whose creations are still coming back to haunt me (on Thursday, 45 minutes before service, the circuit breaker caught on fire). There was water. There were smells. Yeah, all that.

But you can control those things. What I can't easily control are the relationships between myself and my staff, and their relationships with each other. To gain the respect of my staff so that they value their work and their own very particular contribution to this restaurant is by far the greatest challenge I've faced. It's not always -- as some would lead me to believe -- about being kind. One also needs to set examples. I'm learning that.

The most difficult thing I've faced personally is how to balance compassion and understanding with good business sense. This is a fascinating and frustrating place to operate a business; maintaining a working relationship with someone can sometimes, at least in my own experience, force you to bend your own boundaries of right and wrong.  

But service and kitchen work are also jobs that demand great professionalism and care and attention to detail and ridiculous hours and for all that rewards people with a pretty crappy salary. So sometimes, to keep everything from falling apart you need to let a few things slip. But in this elaborate dance between figuring out what is right for me and what's going wrong behind my back I've had to trust my instincts most. The thing is, I haven't. I've been conned a little and lied to a bit and accepted far more of that than I ever thought I might. (I do not think this is unique to Thailand, sensitive netizens. I think it is unique to the restaurant business. So please, relax your angry fingers.)

In the end, my gut has always been right. I knew the designers of the restaurant were incompetent fools. I gave them a second chance, and for my generosity they screwed me. I knew that a former staff member was a corrosive force, yet I let him stay and corrupt the culture of my place. And now I wonder when I'll really, truly trust my instincts. Now is a good time to start, I suppose. 

Woke Up, Fell Out Of Bed (a day in the life file)

Hey Everybody. So I'm sitting here at the bar, as the guests chatter. I'm spotlit in the corner by the specials board which makes me feel like a decorative object, and I'm wondering when the heck it'll be late enough to have a beer. I've learned a lot of things in the five weeks that we've been open, and one of the more important things is that just because you feel like you ought to have a beer in your bar doesn't mean you really should. Wait it out. Hold on. Keep an eye on things. Drink some water, fool. 

I thought I'd write a post today about today. Or any other day. Because I have fallen into a routine. 

A few weeks back I was drinking beers and bitching with another restaurant owner/chef (as we are wont to do). That chef has some pretty successful Thai restaurants around the world, and with sharp and cynical insight he said something that perfectly summed up what it's like to run a restaurant. "It's like running on a treadmill, you just keep sweating and running and growling and you never go anywhere but there." He's right. Really. It's all very stationary.

Each morning I wake up and look at my numbers. If I'm feeling brave I break them down and try to figure out what they all mean. Then, there are calls to the accountant. And the lawyer, on occasion. Then I make menus if we're doing a special menu for someone. I cuddle with my dog for awhile, stare into my empty fridge, suck down some coffee and head to the restaurant. Usually won't see my house for another 12+ hours after that.

I'd forgotten how empty empty restaurants feel. It's eerie being downstairs in my dining room so I usually head up two flights of stairs to the kitchen, where I can hear the clop-clop-clop of the stone mortar making paste from herbs and spices. I am met with the smiles of my five cooks - and then I hang with them. Sometimes, I show them tricks, like how to make yogurt for the samosas. Sometimes, they show me tricks, like how to wrap a fish in a banana leaf. 

That's Nym. She makes really good salads, and has an incredibly sweet smile.

Next comes my favorite part of the day -- my trip to the market. I gossip with the fish monger gals at On Nut market, sticking my fingers inside the gills of sea creatures, smelling bags of crabmeat, and still staring with wonder as a coconut husk becomes shreds of coconut, like snow, and then how that becomes the thick, fatty, luxurious cream that drips from the stainless steel press. At the market I wander and wonder about what to cook. Sometimes its a free-range chicken soup with herbs. Today I bought some gelatin and made coconut panna cotta with crispy/sweet/salty candied peanuts. Sometimes I just leave it to my team. They are pretty good now.

Then I return to my shop with seafood and whatever else, peel off my sweaty tee-shirt, put on something with a collar, make a playlist perhaps, feed the ghost outside, look up at King Rama V's photo, and wonder how busy we'll get.

Then, I open the door. Showtime.

I'm Back

Sorry for the sabbatical. I was busy opening a restaurant, as you probably know. That restaurant is about a month old now, and this weekend we were busy. At some points, very busy. And at others, terribly, frighteningly, fuck-everything-up busy. And you would think that that might make a new restaurant owner happy. But really, it makes me worry. Most things do these days.

Another thing that I worry about is how to keep up this blog. The good news is that I have internet in my shop, so when I have downtime I can drop by here and blog about my new life. I'm still considering how I should go about doing that -- and I'm thinking about writing recipes, ideas, and stories about what goes on here at Soul Food Mahanakorn. I might bring you in the kitchen. Or onto the floor. We'll see. But don't go away. I'll be back soon.

Well, We're Open.

You expected a triumphant post? A coming-of-age tale? Too busy for that now.

So how about this: we're open, and we'd like to serve you sometime. Soul Food Mahanakorn is located at 56/10 Sukhumvit Soi 55, directly opposite the Grand Tower Inn, and very close to the BTS stop. I'm off the the market now to pick up coconut cream, herbs and fish. Today I'll be working on some seafood dishes, so expect a grilled fish and a seafood curry in addition to our regular menu, which I've posted below. That menu will grow, as we do. Hope to see you soon. Thanks for reading. Jarrett

              Soul Food Mahanakorn

Good ingredients. Honest cooking. Serious drinks.

Drinking Snacks:

Mieng Kham: Butterhead lettuce leaves, chopped limes, chilies, fried garlic, peanuts, ginger, shallot, herbs, grilled pork jowl and tamarind Jam. Wrap it. 150

Prawn Satay: Tiger prawns marinated overnight, char-grilled and served with sweet cucumber relish. 120

Chan Kao Chicken Wings: One-bite chicken wings with Sriracha chili sauce and pickled ginger. 120

Southern Thai Samosas: Minced chicken, cumin, spring roll wrapper, mint and yogurt dip.110

Dips

Nahm Prik Two Ways:: Northern Thai dip w’ char-grilled green chilies, Dai-style roasted tomato salsa, or pork and tomato naam prik ong (choose two). Served with raw vegetables, quail eggs, pork rinds. 150

Salads

Yam Makrua Yao: Sour, smoky Bangkok classic with hard-boiled duck eggs, mint, coriander, bacon. 140

Som Tam Thai: Our secret recipe of thick, crunchy papaya with dried shrimp, peanuts, fish sauce and coconut sugar. Served with organic red sticky rice from Surin. 90

Meats

Gai Tawt Hat Yai: Southern fried chicken, served with spicy and sweet sauce and watermelon pickles. 140

Nahm Tok Moo: Issan-style pork, marinated in fish sauce and tossed in a fiery dressing with herbs. 120

Curries

Gaeng Hang Lay: Burmese-style curry with dried spices, pickled garlic, ginger and braised pork served with ginger pickle and organic brown rice on the side. 150

Gaeng Om: Lao/Issan curry with grass-fed beef, chilies, pumpkin and dill, with red sticky or brown rice.  140

*We use organic and sustainable produce whenever we can, our food is MSG-free, and everything is made in-house.

 

 

 

Do The Tighten Up

We've had to close for a few days to fix a plumbing problem that I expected to have to fix. Old Bangkok shophouse plumbing takes some ingenuity to sort out. But that's a good thing, because it gives myself and my kitchen team time to think and get all of our systems in place. 

Yesterday we cooked all the dishes that will be on our limited opening menu. We made the final measurements, weighing each portion, costing it out, plating it, photographing it, eating it. We'll do the same thing today (well, the cooking and eating parts anyway) and tomorrow while the space is repaired. Afterwards, I took my crew to a local bar and we drank a few bottles of whisky and talked, and the mood was calm and relaxed. We feel like family now.

I don't want to trod on kitchen cliches, but after two months of working with these people, 7 days a week, I really have an attachment to them that I've never felt in other work situations. They put it all out there. They get frustrated by me and I am occasionally dissatisfied with them but no matter what Bun and Eck and Ken and Nym are there, waiting for me in the Klong Toey market, or smiling at the grill when I arrive at 10am. They wai (bow) politely each night at 1am when they're dragging out the garbage, and do it all again the next day. I have so much respect for their work ethic, their trust in me, and their belief in the promise of our little restaurant. Those four people make me incredibly proud. 

On that note, here's a few things we've been working on:

Burmese-style Gaeng Hang Lay (Pork belly curry w' dried spices), organic white jasmine rice.

 

One-bite chicken wings fried with lemongrass and lime leaves, Sriracha sauce, pickled ginger. 

Nahm prik two ways: Roasted green chili salsa and sweet pork and tomato salsa served with quail eggs, pork rinds, okra and baby eggplant.

Beef Short-rib Khao Soi (curried noodles) with lime, chili, shallot and pickled mustard. Off to work. 

Long and Sometimes Promising Times

 

Anyone who has opened a restaurant or bar knows how long those first days are. People who haven't do too. But it doesn't really hit you until you're in the midst of it, cooking and plating and shaking drinks and checking orders and getting feedback and dealing with staff coming and leaving and quitting and paying and paying more and praying that someday it'll all pay itself back. That's where I'm at now. I need to sleep, but here are a picture of the food from tonight, on our fifth or sixth test run, and a glimpse of the menu. It's coming along.

 

(we're not ready yet, but we're getting there...)