Posted on: Friday, December 28, 2007
It's the people, details that make perfect restaurant
By Wanda A. Adams
Advertiser Food Editor
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At Stage Restaurant in the Honolulu Design Center, chef Jon Matsubara puts the fine in fine dining.
Advertiser library photos
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MEMORABLE RESTAURANTS OF 2007
Stage, Honolulu Design Center: Never a false note; fine, fine dining. Dean's Drive-In, Adon Plaza, 45-773 Kamehameha Highway: Plate lunch worth driving for. 'Elua, 1341 Kapi'olani Blvd.: Double your pleasure with two partners, two Mediterranean menus. Cassis by Chef Mavro, Harbor Court, 66 Queen St.: Casual bistro food finely crafted; try the Alsatian onion pizza. Downtown@hiSAM, 250 S. Hotel: Spare, modern cafe with delectable contemporary food; eat in or take out. Mix, 35 S. Beretania St.: Mediterranean food, pure and simple. Taormina, 227 Lewers: Peschi prepared well, best arrabiata in town. Nobu, Waikiki Parc Hotel, 2333 Helumoa Road: Seductive siren song of food lives up to hype. Uncle's Fish Market, 1135 N. Nimitz Highway, Pier 38: Fresh fish swims onto the plate. Nanding's Bakery, 918 Gulick Ave.: Spanish rolls, pan de sal, ensaymadas — a carb-lover's paradise. Matsugen, 255 Beachwalk Ave.: Best place for a soba slurp-fest. Kushiden, 1035 University Ave.: Master of Japanese tavern plates. Bombay, Discovery Bay Center, 1778 Ala Moana: The real deal from India. Kaiwa, 226 Lewers St.,: Sexy, stylish decor; innovative contemporary Japanese food. AKYTH Inc., 979-C Robello Lane: Makizushi to gau to kalbi — the flavors you grew up with, by the piece or pound Le Guignol, 1010 S. King: Chef Travis Sutton brings out the true flavors; Gallic, homey, good. Jackie's Diner, 98-020 Kamehameha Highway: Pasteles and Hawaiian food, beef stew, haupia, too — eat till you sleep. Liliha Bakery, 515 N. Kuakini: Counter service with must-have hotcakes that melt in your mouth. Brandi's Deli, 1633 Kapi'olani Blvd.: Hole-in-the-wall with cheap, tasty local grinds. — Wanda Adams, Lesa Griffith, Lisa Sekiya
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The pan-fried veal chop with Perigueux sauce at 'Elua on Kapi'olani Boulevard.
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Chef George Mavrothalassitis' Ono Brochette Ratatouille Cassis-style at Cassis.
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At Downtown@hiSAM, the deli counter offers salads, quiches and sandwiches.
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The arrabiata at Taormina, a Sicilian restaurant.
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Nobu Waikiki at the Waikiki Parc Hotel.
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The boneless pork chop with warm champagne vinegar, fig and rosemary sauce is a popular entree at Le Guignol.
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Whenever people find out you write about food, they ask which is your favorite restaurant — an impossible question that I've grown skilled at dodging. (But see our list of those restaurant experiences from the past year that stand out.)
Still, since the year-end rant is a tradition few journalists can resist, it does seem a good time to explore a topic of evergreen interest to foodies: the nature of The Perfect Restaurant.
First, and this may surprise you, The Perfect Restaurant needn't be perfect. Or expensive. Or draped in white tablecloths.
Among my family's favorites are several where the food is good but not world-stoppingly great, where the bathrooms might not stand up to close scrutiny, where there might not even be adequate parking (let alone valet parking).
They're on the list because we keep going back. We go back because of the way we're treated.
We go back, in short, for the people.
People who welcome customers, smile, make eye contact, answer questions knowledgeably (or hasten to get the desired information), remember repeat visitors and never engage in conversation with another staffer while ignoring a waiting diner.
People who, even when they're crazy busy, know how to keep a table mollified with menus, water, drinks, perhaps a flying visit to deliver a free pupu and the promise of a prompt return.
People who ask how you want the meal paced and can read body language as though it were a flashing billboard. They appear when you want them, disappear when you're deep in conversation, notice when you're ready for another round, dessert, the check or somebody to snap a picture of the party.
People who are friendly without being familiar, who make good suggestions, who refuse to recite silly scripts, who try not to say no or make a customer feel stupid and who correct mistakes cheerfully. (Yes, they're allowed to make mistakes.)
People who keep their thumbs out of your plate, recall who ordered what and manage to serve it without interrupting your conversation, never ask if you're done "working" on that and never, but never, say "sorry about that." (People who say "sorry about that" aren't one bit sorry.)
In short — whether they're the order-taker in the window of a lunchwagon or the expediter in a James Beard Award-winning gourmet restaurant — they care. And it shows.
There is a lot of good food in Hawai'i, and some great food. There are a number of gorgeous restaurant locations. Some even have parking.
But there are darn few of those people. Darn few.
Beyond the staff, The Perfect Restaurant (assuming it's a sit-down establishment):
Takes reservations.
Provides an adequate waiting area, with comfortable seating.
Invests in sound engineering so that the cheerful buzz of a busy room never becomes an unbearable din.
Takes note of the temperature, neither seating people outside in the blazing sun nor letting the A/C reach Nome-in-December range. (Hint to restaurateurs: If every woman in the place is huddled in a sweater, rubbing her goose-pimpled arms or sending her husband out for a wrap, IT'S TOO COLD!)
Offers shawls, cushions; has a stock of backrests or footstools, keeps a special cache of chairs that accommodate large people, short people and tall people and provides (clean!) child seats and highchairs.
Strives, like First Hawaiian Bank, to "say yes." Some restaurants make it hard on customers with lots of "nos" designed to serve the house's needs and not the customer's: no separate checks, no substitutions, no written menus, no seating unless the whole party is present. I always get a terrific flashback of that scene in the classic film "Five Easy Pieces" when the waitress, pointing to a prominently displayed "no substitutions" sign) refuses Jack Nicholson's request for plain toast. Just once, I'd like to have that kind of tantrum in a restaurant.
The other day, a fine-dining restaurant flummoxed me by refusing to provide a takeout container because "the chef doesn't want you eating his food cold." (Fine, but I won't be eating it hot in the future, either.)
Allows customers to portion-size their food (big plates/small plates; full plates/minis) and has a strict policy against servers commenting on how much, or how little, anyone eats. Since I began eating significantly smaller portions, I've had to assure dozens of waiters that everything was all right, calling attention to something I'd rather not have to talk about. (A less-intrusive approach: Ask the entire table if everything was satisfactory or if anyone would like a takeout container.)
Sweats the small stuff. My pet peeves (tables that tilt and wobble; tired butter with an "off" flavor; waiters who say, "You're going to need that," and then put your silverware down ON THE TABLE between courses) are small matters. To mention them may seem picky. But small matters are indicative of larger issues: how much training the staff has had, how well the restaurant understands the customer experience, how much they care about food quality.
As my first boss rightly said to me back in the mid-20th centry: "It's all small details, baby."
And — at least for me — it's the "small details" that determine the likelihood of a repeat visit, when the check isn't on The Advertiser, there's no feature to write and it's my own time and money that I'm spending.
Assistant features editor Wanda Adams has been writing about food and restaurants for more than 30 years. She coordinates food and restaurant coverage for The Advertiser with able partnership from Lesa Griffith (who left recently to join the Honolulu Academy of Arts, but will continue to write monthly reviews) and Lisa Sekiya, an Advertiser marketing writer who pens periodic "cheap eats" reports.
Reach Wanda A. Adams at wadams@honoluluadvertiser.com.
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