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Friday, November 30, 2001
If we can keep up revenues without it, is it necessary to play host to a large dining room?
Inspiration today comes from Pizzetta 211, a gourmet pizza shop whose physical size betrays it monumental popularity. Tucked away in the residential Outer Richmond, the restaurant has no more than four 4-top tables, four bar spots and a couple of outdoor seats, all in a space slightly smaller than the living room of my apartment. And that includes the kitchen, too. How is it possible that such an arrangement would bring in the revenue necessary to stay alive? Answer: with with the crucial combination of good food and good word-of-mouth.
Obviously, with less space, there's lower overhead and fewer salaries to pay. But there are also fewer chances to earn money. So you bring up the cost of your merchandise, right? Nope. Individual pizzas at Pizzetta 211 all cost less than $13. With wine and dessert, my total bill came to just over $20. The fact is, they can keep their costs down because they rarely see an empty seat. On the Wednesday night I visited, all seats were taken until about a half hour before closing. And even then, I heard an employee blame the rain for the lack of a complete sell-out, a daily occurrence.
Going for the strategy of a low profile and dedicated following -- essentially a choice of quality over quantity -- is a risky move. But, hey, so is opening any restaurant. This way, the payoff is so much more fulfilling in the end. We could dedicate all of our efforts into building an intimate, comfortable place for people to gather, instead of worrying how to fill up 50 seats every night. If it works, we'll have a restaurant on our hands that people cherish as their own little secret.
Of course, before that all happens, we'll need to come up with that holy grail, that magic bit of cooking wizardry that'll bring 'em back for more and make 'em tell all their friends and neighbors. Fortunately we have some time to work that part out.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 5:25 PM | Comment?
Friday, November 16, 2001
If we want ours to be a place where people go to hang out, and not just to feed their faces, we should consider mimicking San Francisco's Foreign Cinema. Hiding unassumingly behind a simple metal door on Mission St., the F.C. is host to one of the coolest concepts I've seen for a restaurant: they show movies. They show classic movies, outside, in a courtyard, projected from film onto a wall that must be 25 feet wide and three stories tall. Heat lamps keep you warm from above, and drive-in style speakers keep the sound focused on your table. It's fabulous.
We went on a Sunday night, for a quick drink before a concert. My friends tell me this was quite the hot spot a year ago, in times that saw the money flow much more freely. But on this particular night we had the courtyard practically to ourselves, where we could watch that night's selection, the Russian masterpiece Ivan Groznyj, all on our own.
An idea like this combines two of my if-I-could-have-anything business fanatsies: owning a restaurant and owning a movie theater. I've always thought it'd be neat to operate a small art house theater, but recent trends show that such ideas are, more often than not, money-losing propositions. But piggybacking a theater onto a otherwise successful restaurant might be just the way to satiate that desire.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 12:30 AM | Comment?
Saturday, November 10, 2001
The New York Times' chief ethicist has the dish on waiter recommendations: "If you don't know how rich and zesty the pot roast is, say, 'I don't know; I've never tried it.' You can offer other honest information: 'The lamb chops are popular.' Or, 'No one has ever filed a written complaint about the swordfish.' Or, if you have different standards, you could say, 'No one has ever keeled over dead from eating the clams. On my shift.' But you must answer honestly or keep silent."
posted by Luke at 5:45 PM | Comment?
Friday, November 09, 2001
What is it about barbeque joints? They're always the ones with the most charm, the best decor, the greatest... joie de vivre. Must be something in the sauce.
Way back I reported on Wicker Park's Smoke Daddy, a hole in the wall B-B-Q joint that evoked many of the same qualities I could see in our place. Wednesday night I visited what could be considered the west coast alternative to Smoke Daddy, a place in San Fran's Richmond District called, simply, Q. I was expecting exploding pens and bulletproof BMWs, but no, it seems Q is named after its cuisine. Like S.D., Q specializes in B-B-Q, though its menu ventures beyond the common staples of rib tips and pulled pork. The specials on the night I was there included a braised fish and an andouille soup. I went down the path of typical, ordering the spare ribs. This was for two reasons, mainly: 1) they came with garlic fries, which I adore and 2) when I asked the waitress what the restaurant was known for, her response was a confident "oh, definitely the spare ribs." The decision was merely academic.
While I waited from my ribs to arrive, I took down a few thoughts:
• We've already suggested using chalkboards to display the specials. Q takes it to the next level, turning an entire wall into a chalkboard upon which they can display special items, along with any other available news. If this is a possibility, we could implement the same thing. Then, for those seats next to the chalkboard wall, we'd keep a holster of chalk at the table, in case the urge grabs them to leave their mark. Call it controlled vandalism.
• Q also sells t-shirts. (As advertised at the top of the chalkboard-wall.) This is almost a given, and I'm surprised we haven't thought of it earlier. We must establish a brand, and that brand must be something our fans would be willing -- nay, excited -- to wear on their person. Then, If we could somehow get said person to fly to New York to yuk it up with Al Roker, we'd be set.
• The tables inside Q are little works of art. They're all about 5 inches thick, hollow and with a glass top. Inside each table is a different object or set of objects. Mine had a paper maché dragon. My neighbors' table had one of those toys where you move metallic bits around with a magnetic pen, creating designs on the picture beneath. It's a brilliant idea, and one I've never seen anywhere else. I don't suggest stealing the exact concept, but we should learn its lesson: don't treat any piece of the dining experience as a given. The more twists to the conventional, the likelier our customers will remember us for the next time their stomachs start calling.
posted by Sandor Weisz at 12:32 AM | Comment?
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