2009 A New Chapter Begins

Disclaimer: This blog is a chronological story that outlines some of my past struggles and triumphs over the years with building a successful restaurant. If this is your first visit to my blog I suggest starting with the oldest post for a better understanding and more enjoyable read . 

After 7 years of ownership, the ship (Avalon Restaurant) had finally stopped sinking, but the water line was still around my neck. I needed to continue to improve the overall dining experience and get more people in the seats, especially midweek. My menu, for the most part, was French influenced, Mediterranean, 1980s American continental, with an occasional Asian twist. In other words …confusion cuisine. I recently ran across an advertisement the restaurant ran around 2005 that read “casual fine dining featuring regional and southwestern dishes as well as Asian, European and Cajun selections” The ad made my wife and I laugh so hard we almost peed our pants. Why was my restaurant so dead back then?  I now know that taking a better look at ads like this would have gone a long way to answering questions like that.

Sometimes a firm grasp of the obvious can be as startling as a swift kick in the boys. I was never a firm believer in “the customer is always right.” I was, however, a firm believer in “the customer is always right as long as they loved my restaurant.” Everyone who complained was dumb, annoying and didn’t know a damn thing about food. But, I was desperate for more repeat business so I decided I would ask my few customers what they wanted and what would bring them back more often. Once I got past my egomaniacal anger and confrontational attitude, I learned the customer isn’t so stupid. Asking them and then listening to their answer and then giving them the dining experience they would enjoy most…could prove to be quite fruitful.  The overwhelming response I got from customers was that they loved the Mediterranean style food we created (seafood pescatore at the time was a big hit), they said Atkins (low carb diet) was passé and they wanted pasta again. Customers also said they would like attentive service, but in a more casual environment.

The Philadelphia dining scene was changing thanks to restaurateurs like Stephen Starr. It wasn’t just about the food anymore; it was a combination of food, décor and concept. The ambiance and food, in combination, needed to create a feeling of euphoria.  Restaurants were becoming hyper focused, featuring local ingredients and very specific regional cuisines. The décor of restaurants was becoming more elaborate and was designed to match the chef’s style and his food. The customers, who now had a large internet audience, were becoming amateur food critics. As your customer was leaving you wanted them already thinking about whom they would bring next. You needed them to leave the restaurants ready to be ambassadors – like a walking vocal billboard promoting your restaurant.  This was easier said than done-- but done right it was super effective and potentially viral.

I didn’t have the budget to start a major restaurant make-over. But I was savvy and I had the advantage of being an hour outside the city.  This made for fewer restaurant comparisons and a much better opportunity to generate that “wow” factor. I decided to take off the tablecloths, pledge up the tops and set the tables naked. I added a giant cheese display to the middle of the dining room  and threw away the old leather bound menus in exchange for simple menus printed daily, on recycled paper. I flooded the place with candles, changed to more edgy music and dressed the servers in blue jeans with bistro aprons and a t-shirt with nicely printed logos.

The biggest change was going to be the menu. This was my first attempt at writing my own menu and I wanted it to reflect authentic Italian cuisine. I wanted to include lots of homemade pasta dishes so that the restaurant would be known for making unique fresh pastas. 

As we were about to start our new more modern Avalon concept, I stressed to the staff that rustic casual was not an excuse for sloppy. We still needed to maintain beautiful presentation and top notch service. I let everyone know that we would be under scrutiny, as no one else was doing anything like this so far from the city. I told them we had come so very far in 7 years and this was our chance to really stand out. Everyone seemed excited!

Molto Mario and my most Ballsy Decision Yet!

Disclaimer: This blog is a chronological story that outlines some of my past struggles and triumphs over the years with building a successful restaurant. If this is your first visit to my blog I suggest starting with the oldest post for a better understanding and more enjoyable read . 

My bi-polar roller coaster ride continued for years. Ups and downs, daily struggles and the almost financial ruin was felt weekly. My chef had moved on and a few others chefs came and went. Some stay for a short jaunt while others lasted a year or more. Through all of this I finally discovered a silver lining…my innate ability to taste, transform and pair flavors. I was actually quite good at it -- it came naturally.

I started spending more time dining out and experiencing the feel and concept other restaurants. I enjoyed talking with many other chefs and tasting their foods. I remained very close with my old chef and we would frequently head into Philadelphia and bounce from one restaurant to the next. Sitting at the bar having a drink or two and trying as many different plates at as our fat bellies could fit. I started to see a whole other culinary world and I was getting hooked.

I invested more time and money into my new-found interest. Each morning my day would start with a cup of Joe and a reading from my cookbook du jour.  My collection of cookbooks and my insatiable thirst for knowledge continued to grow. I needed more. I seemed to be drawn to flavors of Spain and Italy. My financial situation didn’t afford me the opportunity to travel and experience this cuisine on native land….so I turned to Mario Batali (on TV, that is). My DVR went into overdrive and I recorded every episode of Molto Mario I could find.

I would sit and watch all the different shows as much as time would permit me. I was so intrigued by Mario’s vast knowledge of Italian traditions and micro regional cuisine. I wasn’t watching for recipes as much as I was watching for a new-found understanding of how the Italian lifestyle worked and its direct correlation to the cuisine. It was my new obsession to learn as much about  Italy as I possibly could without visiting the country and Molto Mario was a wealth of knowledge crammed into a half hour.

Meanwhile, I started noticing my latest of many chefs was burning out. Now was the time. Scared shitless and not very confident I made my most ballsy decision since deciding to buy a restaurant….I was going to take over the kitchen!

Smoke and Mirrors

Disclaimer: This blog is a chronological story that outlines some of my past struggles and triumphs over the years with building a successful restaurant. If this is your first visit to my blog I suggest starting with the oldest post for a better understanding and more enjoyable read . 

I was about as clever as they come…or so I thought. The game of manipulation lies and bullshit can quickly become consuming and very dangerous. I began to live and breathe all the bullshit I was spewing. Non-fiction becomes muddled with fiction, invincibility sets in and you become superman.

My marriage was solid, business was getting better and my kitchen was running great. The new chef was kicking ass, the line cooks were falling in line and the customers were happy. The menu was streamlined, cost was down and everything was going to be just fine.

Did it really matter that a few lawsuits were being thrown my way for some outstanding purveyor bills? Absolutely not! I was living in the moment and the moment was good. So what if each week a new major financial issue came up? I would prioritize the issue, finagle my way out of what I could and paid what was most pressing.  The best part was no one had any idea what was going on. The staff was very complacent and anytime I couldn’t pay them for a few days or they couldn’t cash a paycheck, I always had a valid excuse (it was the fault of someone else).

 

PRIORITY ALERT! Phone company just turned off the phone…no problem pay the bill, get it back on…tell the staff and customers it was a billing mistake. PRIORITY ALERT! Electric company shut us off.” Just use your imagination John”…Gas leak we have to shut down for a few days. “Pay the bill, get power restored…move on.  No one was the wiser because I was so damn clever.

While at work one day I was approached by one of my line guys. At that time a line kid, just 18 years old. He was a giant, gentle teddy bear who stood 6 foot tall, a body builder who also dated one of the kitchen line girls. He was very quiet, usually kept to himself and did his work. This particular day his demeanor was going to be a little different. Without really knowing it at the time, he was going to say something to me that would have a profound effect that I would never forget.

He pulled me aside to chat about some issues. I don’t remember what the argument was about (Probably me not paying him or his girl on time or a bounced paycheck), but things became pretty heated. This wasn’t the first time I had a heated debate with an employee …but it was the first time that I was exposed for the con-artist I was. As the argument started to settle and nothing was being resolved he said a line to me that to this day we still joke about. “John Brandt-Lee, you are all smoke and mirrors” and he walked away….Wow so astute for young man…dead on. This super hero just got his ass kicked with some verbiage kryptonite! I guess I wasn’t as clever as I thought or maybe my staff was that much smarter than I gave them credit for.

The Interview That Changed My Life

Disclaimer: This blog is a chronological story that outlines some of my past struggles and triumphs over the years with building a successful restaurant. If this is your first visit to my blog I suggest starting with the oldest post for a better understanding and a more enjoyable read . 

One week after the chef announced that he was  moving on and  promised to help with the  transition, he left me all alone --  on a Friday night. “No call/ no show,” as we say in the business. It’s common in the hospitality industry, but to this day it still boggles my mind. Although it was stressful at the time, I now realize it really wasn’t that big of deal. The chef was useless in the kitchen and didn’t have a good work ethic. Work ethic is something that you either have or don’t and usually can not be taught. He didn’t! After he left us in the lurch, I utilized the staff I had to pull off the weekend the best I could and began my hunt for a new chef.

I placed one ad in the Sunday paper and received about 100 resumes. I started weeding through the deluge of applicants not really knowing what I was looking for. I narrowed the field down to what I considered the 5 best and brought them in for interviews.

I was about the worst possible interviewer. I had limited knowledge of food and how to run a kitchen… let alone a restaurant. I picked what I believed were the best two candidates to come back and cook for me. The first one came in and looked to have what I thought was some nice ingredients. I was excited and invited another friend who was a chef to sit in on the meal and help me judge. I knew we were in trouble at the first course. The chef came to the table to deliver a raw tuna appetizer. As he put the plates in front of us, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The tuna was served in a bowl that had a fishbowl for the base and a live Beta fish swimming around in it. I felt like troglodyte eating raw fish while watching its cousin swim in a cage. Needless to say this wasn’t the chef for me.

The second chef came in on another day and prepared a very solid meal. Although I didn’t feel any real social connection with this person, his skills were good and I believed he was the best choice. Just as I was about to hire him, , I received a few more applications and one did stand out. The name was familiar to me. It was chef that my old chef had spoken about often and I knew he was highly regarded. I figured what could it hurt? So I brought him in for an interview.

He was very refined, charismatic and extremely knowledgeable. We hit it off instantly.  He asked me questions that no other chef had asked. He was the first chef to ask about the kitchen and if he could take a tour. Walking around the kitchen he opened and inspected every refrigerator and freezer. In a very thorough but thoughtful and informative manner, he pointed out many of the former chefs short comings. . As he continued his probe I saw him shaking his head in disgust as he found boxes of quick fix mixes and containers of instant bases. He informed me that my former chef worked for him for years and he was very disappointed in how he handled his kitchen. 

He finished his tour and we sat back down to chat some more. He told me he had been cooking for years and mentioned some big name French chefs he worked with. He was trying to impress me but I had no idea who they were. He said he was in the middle of a rough divorce and that he had been bartending for the last two years. He was ready to get back in the kitchen and thought that a suburban restaurant would be a good fit to ease back into the scene. I told him my story and how I was stuck in a difficult situation. Then he said something to me that I will never forget. He said “I am not interested in being here long-term. I can only guarantee I will be here for 1 year. But, I will bring you into the kitchen and teach you what you need to know so you won’t get screwed again.”

I had a really good feeling and I decided to have him come back and cook and for my wife and me. He prepared a five course tasting. I don’t remember everything I ate that day, but I do know it was food I had never tried and any ort(remaining crumb)left on the plate was only because I missed it. I remember eating scallops, lobster and oxtail. I remember flavors and textures that blew me away. I remember for the first time being so excited about food I wanted to explore more. I remember the start of new-found passion and a relationship that would grow from applicant to chef to mentor to best friend. Needless to say I was totally enthusiastic about hiring him and beginning a whole new journey.

Screaming and Yelling!

Disclaimer: This blog is a chronological story that outlines some of my past struggles and triumphs over the years with building a successful restaurant. If this is your first visit to my blog I suggest starting with the oldest post for a better understanding and more enjoyable read . 


 Fighting a customer in a full dining room had to be the epitome of my frustration -- a frustration that would push me to do some really stupid things. With the chef leaving, my wife pregnant and the restaurant’s first-year anniversary looming, things were looking pretty grim. Every dollar coming in the door was as important as the next. So I decided to no longer honor gift certificates that had been sold by the restaurant’s prior owner. I had accepted his gift certificates for the first year I was open and I felt that was ample time for someone to redeem them. We received no money from the old certificates and I couldn’t afford to give away any more free meals.

It was Saturday night and we had a full house. A server came up to me and said they had a table trying to pay their check with an old gift certificate. I told her to explain to the customer that the gift certificate was not ours, it was from the prior owner and we gave everyone a year to redeem theirs. I said to tell them we were sorry, but unfortunately we could no longer accept them.

The server already had accepted the gentleman’s gift certificate and his credit card to pay the balance of his check. She went back to the table to explain the situation. The guest became irate and asked to speak with management.

My wife, Michelle, approached the table and tried to explain our reasoning for not accepting the certificates. She explained how we received no money for the certificate and that we simply couldn’t afford to take the loss any longer. He didn’t want to hear it, and berated her for embarrassing him. He then proceeded to lectured her on how we accepted the Avalon name and we have to honor all that comes with it. He said he owned businesses in the same town as us and he would never treat a customer this way. My wife, wanting to keep peace, offered to split the difference, stating that we would honor the gift certificate at half its value. This just made him more irate and he absolutely refused to pay anything additional.

I was in the kitchen when my wife and the server came to me and explained what was going on. The server still had the gift certificate and the credit card, so I wrote down the gentleman’s credit card number in the event he left without paying.

I am only 5’5” and I have a severe Napoleon complex. My nickname is “Pesce,” as in Joe Pesce, and I am about to tell you why.

Just as I was writing the credit card number, the customer came through the kitchen doors and said, “Give me my credit card, you little shit.” That was all it took. It was a like a light switch went off. A year’s worth of frustration just boiled over. My chef quitting, constantly robbing Peter to pay Paul, too many sleepless nights, no money, a pregnant wife and now an arrogant customer was calling me a “little sh*t” in my own kitchen. I lost it.

I grabbed the 6-foot man by his shirt, pushed him the through the double swinging kitchen doors into the full dining room and slammed him into a wall. I went off -- he received all my pent-up aggression. The full dining room fell silent and my kitchen staff came running out, scooped me up and carried me off. Everything was sort of blurred and moved in slow motion; it was like being in a movie. Fortunately my staff had grabbed me before I punched him. All I remember of the actual fight was me yelling, the fear in the man’s face and his wife screaming. 

I never received a dime from that table. The man from the table called the next day to try and reason with me. He wanted to pay his bill (less the gift certificate). I refused his money, telling him we would have to agree to disagree. I never saw him again.

This was just one of the many stupid moves I would make over the years. I don’t adhere to the policy that the customer is always right, but in this case I pissed off a table over a $75 gift certificate and ended up with no money. I embarrassed myself in front a full dining room and sent four customers out my front door with a bull horn screaming, “this place sucks!”

Floundering & Prophecies

Disclaimer: This blog is a chronological story that outlines some of my past struggles and triumphs over the years with building a successful restaurant. If this is your first visit to my blog I suggest starting with the oldest post for a better understanding and more enjoyable read . 

 Confused, overwhelmed, exhausted, fat, tired, in debt and just plain looking like shit… I didn’t know where to turn. I had done everything my chef asked me to do.  I brought the right people in for training, I worked very hard to make this place successful and yet I continued to struggle. For the first time I had no real sense of direction.

 At this point the restaurant was opened 6 days a week and my only day off was Monday. My wife’s verve and ability to stay true to the course hadn’t wavered. Her faith in me was immeasurable and she was always there for support.  We had three children who had sacrificed so much and I was about to ask for more….Sunday brunch. Eggs, bacon and pastries…how could we go wrong with that.

I can safely say that I had not one fan of this decision – not family, not staff. After lots of convincing it was time to open up for our first brunch. We had a simple menu that was a combination buffet and sit down ordering.  You could order appetizers and entrees while enjoying a buffet table of pastries, fruit salads, and breads. 

I was there at 7:30 a.m. excited and ready to go. The staff was instructed to arrive at 8:30 a.m. and brunch was set to start at 10. I spent an hour or so creating a beautiful buffet table with multi level displays and fresh cut flowers. As the rest of the staff slowly arrived, most were late and partially hung over, but functional -- everyone except the chef. When he finally arrived he looked pretty banged up and not ready to cook at all.  The biggest indication was when I  found him fast asleep on the dirty kitchen floor. I nervously laughed and woke him up. Looking back I find it hard to be believed that I was that submissive with this chef. I had balls of steel and never did I take someone’s shit. But when it came to chef, my lack of restaurant knowledge created real insecurity. I later found out he and some of the servers were out partying pretty hard ‘til 3 a.m. He showed up at one of the server’s houses at 7 a.m. still drunk. He hadn’t slept and asked her to make sure she kept me away from him.

But, the show must go on and with the helf of my other “inmates” – it did. The first table was seated and I noticed it was a well known, local French chef. He had somewhat of a celebrity status in the Philadelphia area and was considered one of my competing restaurants. I informed his server to make sure special attention was given and service was spot on. It was important to me that a good impression was made. My ego could really use a boost and a well known restaurateur and chef giving the nod of approval was just what the doctor ordered.  As I stood at the table saying hello, my hung-over server grabbed his bottle Dom Perignon champagne and proceeded to open it. As she “popped” the cork the champagne started spewing everywhere. She stood stupefied, like Hermione just hit her with a spell in a Harry Potter movie. The now clearly annoyed French chef quickly reacted. Grabbing his glass and holding it under the now fountain of champagne in order to save any he could. Over a quarter of the bottle had spilled to the floor before  the champagne geyser stopped. It was the ultimate in embarrassing moments. As I stood there red in the face I tried to make light of the situation with a nervous laugh as I helped clean up. The chef gave a smirking “it’s ok” smile (which was clearly a “ leave me the hell alone” smile). I felt the pit of my stomach rise to the back of my throat and with my tail between my legs I headed to the kitchen. As if spilling his champagne wasn’t bad enough, we were now going to serve him food that the inmates prepared --since my chef was basically propped up in a corner of the kitchen and useless. At the end of the meal he was somewhat polite. He never said anything bad, but was clearly not impressed, at all. I am sure it made him feel quite elated to go into his competitor’s restaurant, have his champagne dumped on the floor in front of the owner and then be served sub-par food.  I sat thinking to myself, “Could  life really get any worse than this?”

Brunch wasn’t the answer.  If I had a bigger budget for advertising (any budget really) and the ability to sustain food and labor losses for a few months it could have been successful. Unfortunately I was not in that position and my already profusely bleeding restaurant took another hit. Another small vein was now bleeding weekly. Suffering from costly additional payroll and wasted product.

And then, another prophecy:  My chef gave his 2 weeks notice and my wife gave me 37 weeks notice – she was pregnant.

Relieved, Excited & Scared

This is my story of owning a restaurant from Day One. It starts back in 2002 and includes all of my heartaches, triumphs, ups and downs, sacrifices, financial struggles and more.

So I knew that The Philadelphia Inquirer’s food critic had been in the restaurant, but had no idea what he thought, or how many bells he would give the restaurant. I felt relieved, excited and scared. A few weeks later, I was in the restaurant on a Saturday morning doing some clean up. The phone kept ringing with people making reservations. I was confused, but happy for the business.

Then, a colleague called to discuss my review in the paper. I didn’t know that it was coming out that day. And the bastard wouldn’t tell me what it said! I dropped what I was doing and ran to the nearest drug store for an early copy of the Sunday paper, but no luck. Two stores later, I finally found it.

Hallelujah! We earned two bells, the equivalent of “very good.” The worst thing it said was that we were young, stiff and we tried too hard. There were a few nods to the food and a couple pokes (every review has to have a poke.) For the most part, it read very nicely and was enough to entice new business.

I was relieved, I was excited and I was scared. From what I heard, a review like this meant a restaurant would be packed for weeks. Every night would be like a Saturday, for a month. This was just the economic boost we needed.

I thought all my hard work was finally going to pay off. The entire puzzle was now in place: new menu covers, new menu items, re-designed dining room and lots more staff. I had experienced at least one super-busy holiday failure and I had a professional consultant properly train my waitstaff. This was my time to shine.

Well, the clouds must have been out that day. Although the review did bring in business (more than we had ever seen), only a fool could truly believe that one review and a month of increased business was going to erase an entire year of failure. By late October, the review buzz had died down and business was back to normal (my kinda’ normal, read previous posts to understand.) Dinner business was so-so, we stopped serving lunch and each month I struggled to keep the lights on.

It was 4 a.m. on a Sunday when my cell phone rang, and I knew this couldn’t end well. It was one of the tenants who lived above the restaurant. He said there were people inside the restaurant and it sounded like a party. Since the restaurant was alarmed and monitored, I knew it was someone with a key and the code. I arrived only to find my drunken chef, a few other line cooks, a bunch of girls from a bar and multiple lines of cocaine laid out on the kitchen cutting boards. It was at this moment I knew my new idea -- Sunday brunch -- was going to be a problem …