Watching the buzz of 20 people in the final hours before a
restaurant’s opening night is a funny thing.
It’s a bit like watching the birth of a much-anticipated firstborn, combined with the heady euphoria of your first housewarming party. In other words, it’s total chaos.
We’re here so C can shoot the food and interior for a press release. It goes out tonight. Can you imagine the pressure? The food, the
interior, it all has to be perfect. C has the easy job tonight.
Two dozen bodies, each moving to the tune of his own drummer
in a quest to get everything in top form. The nervous energy is palpable as waiters and bussers and bartenders swerve to avoid each other, as tasks are done once and sometimes again.
In a moment, the rhythm changes. Someone puts Marley on the
system. The tempo picks up, but the edge is softened. The energy is still there,
but it feels somehow like a long and evenly expelled breath.
A momentary crisis. Vacuous silence as the boss explains, in a calm voice that belies a pounding heart, that this cleanser? It can’t be used on that surface -- that custom surface. The damage is corrected and this crisis, at least, is averted.
The clink of bottles as the bartender perfects his abode.
Metal against metal as he sets things up as he wants them to be, his mise en
place, if you will. Hundreds of backlit bottles glow against the far wall.
There’s Hangar One, of course. But in this town, that’s almost a given. No, the
Second Age of the Cocktail demands small batch bourbons and artisanal tequilas.
Think Black Maple Hill 23-Year and Don Julio 1942. These people take their
spirits seriously.
People in whites pop out of the kitchen occasionally for a soda or to tell the boss something. Rarely do you see these folks at the front of the house, so it seems a bit out of place. Until you realize that tomorrow? They will be the nervous system of this joint. There is no restaurant without a kitchen.
The sun’s going down now. As beautiful as these chandeliers and fixtures are during the day, there is no comparison to how they glow now. To use a crude but effective analogy, it’s like watching a perfectly-bred working dog who has just been given his first job.
Our numbers have grown as the entire staff starts to come in for their first taste of the menu. Things are slowing down, but the bartender? He’s moving. It’s his show for the moment as everyone waits for Chef to enter stage left.
It’s opening time.
*This post is much different than anything I've ever written. It's really kind of a Faulknerian stream-of-consciousness "report" of the emotions and sights I experienced while helping a friend open a new restaurant this past week. I encourage you to guess the name of the restaurant. No prizes here, except that I may tell you a VERY big secret that is VERY special, and you'll be the first to know.
