hospitality post-noma… or, the state & future of the industry as we know it

Let’s talk about some uncomfortable but relevant things. The hospitality industry, and restaurants specifically, has a unique optics problem, which differs from almost every other industry I can think of. The dichotomy of the optics is this: guests, and those in power within the industry, often fail to see restaurant workers as people, as human beings, resulting in dismissive or neglective behavior, abusive behavior, and overall unhealthy working environments; while simultaneously, restaurant culture and the popularity of the egomaniacal celebrity chef prevails on television—people tuning in to watch the dramatized, scripted version of this same destructive behavior, glorifying the very things that are the most problematic in this industry. There’s a reason millions of people tune in to see Chef Gordon Ramsay, and it’s not to watch him be a compassionate boss. He’s built an empire on the facade of the unrelenting, screaming, abusive chef. I’ve never met him in person, but for what it’s worth, I’ve heard he’s a really excellent guy in real life, and it’s mostly a TV persona for views, specifically toward the American audience. 

Recently, René Redzepi of NOMA in Copenhagen, Denmark, widely regarded by many to be one of the top chefs with one of the top restaurants in the world, and certainly highly acclaimed, with many decades of Michelin Star awards (another topic for another day), stepped down from his Los Angeles-based NOMA “pop-up” restaurant after dozens of allegations of extremely abusive, potentially criminal behavior surfaced from former and current staff. The thing is, everyone inside the industry has known this has been happening. For decades. And not just at NOMA. Redzepi and many other chefs built their careers and infamy on the backs of unpaid laborers (“interns”) for two decades, on the basis of (and with the threat of) the mere “privilege” of working for prestigious chefs. Multiple accounts from current and former employees and interns allege that Redzepi would blacklist them from working in the industry over some inane error (leaving tweezer marks on a plate, for example), as well as using his influence to get their family members fired. So, these “interns” worked for free (or for a non-living wage), and it was up to the ego of the chef to decide the future economic fate of them and their families. Putting aside the other allegations of physical abuse for a moment, what does this have to do with my initial point of optics? Those in the highest positions of power in the industry often do not see their staff as people, as human beings, just as a means to an end for their success, and then those same people are celebrated… rejoiced even. Redzepi is not the first to behave this way, and is not the only one currently accused of this behavior, and unfortunately, will not be the last. There have been plenty of high-profile chefs in the last decade who have been openly accused of similar practices, or worse, and are still huge stars and still enjoying the perks of their celebrity status. Of note, I believe Redzepi will still collect all of the same rewards and profits as he would if he had not “stepped down”; he just isn’t directly involved in the day-to-day. This was conveniently announced after the accusations garnered enough traction on social media to grab the attention of national advertisers/sponsors such as AMEX, who promptly pulled their funding.

Restaurants, and kitchens in particular, are extremely high-pressure environments, are physically, emotionally, mentally, and psychologically demanding, and oftentimes the “heat” in the kitchen is not only metaphorical, but real as well. Stand eight inches away from a 500+ degree Fahrenheit grill, or a fryer with 375 degree oil, or with your face just a few inches away from a 1350 degree broiler (affectionately known as Sally), or manning a 16-burner 40,000 BTU range and a 400 degree convection oven. Do this for eight to twelve hours. Repeat, every day, and see how pleasant you might be under pressure. We all get snappy, we occasionally raise our voices, tempers are lost, it happens.

This does not mean that people cannot change or grow. This does not mean that we should give up trying, that we should not speak out, if we haven’t been, or can’t be perfect. NONE OF US ARE PERFECT, which is the best part of being a human being! We all have mistakes, pasts, skeletons, and we can learn, grow, and adapt. Just because as chefs or restauranteurs, or cooks, or just as human beings, we have engaged in imperfect behavior (I don’t know a single chef—or human being for that matter—that hasn’t at some point), doesn’t mean you can’t speak out against the behaviors, and work to better yourself and the industry as a whole. However, your personal growth and change do not negate the fact that people were harmed in some way, and apologies and corrective actions that are not just performative press releases and statements, are required.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this quote by Elie Weisel - a Romanian-born American writer, professor, political activist, Nobel laureate, Jewish prisoner at Auschwitz and Buchenwald, and Holocaust survivor: “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”

The number of high-level chefs and restaurateurs, celebrity chefs, and just in general human beings who have a platform upon which to enact change, and who are also active apologists for this behavior is abhorrent. In this moment, silence, inaction, a lack of acknowledgement or accountability… they all seem like indifference, which feels both complicit and complacent in the moment, but I also understand that fear can masquerade as indifference.

Show me a single kitchen where this has never happened. I am guilty. I will raise my hand to that. I am not afraid to admit it because I am not perfect, I am just a human being. The difference is when the situation de-escalates, when the swell of tension and chaos of the shift subsides, when the tide of relief and camaraderie washes in as the tickets wane, we apologize with sincerity, we shake hands, we high-five or hug it out, we have a beverage together at the end of the shift, we recognize the humanity in each other, and we try to come back tomorrow and do better, be better, act better, and grow. Do I still make mistakes? Absolutely. Do I still lose my temper in the heat of the moment? Sometimes. I’m working on that. When it becomes a pattern of systemic abuse, of physical/verbal/emotional/sexual violence, and it is acknowledged yet still overlooked, when it is allowed to continue on for decades (or any amount of time), this is unacceptable. And yet, for decades, even centuries, this behavior has not only been tolerated; it has been allowed, accepted, expected, even celebrated in our culture as the ego of the chef. And it continues to be. And unless the industry is willing to take a hard look at itself, to foster change, to raise up the changemakers, it will continue to be. 

I believe industry folks think this behavior is only impactful within the industry, that it’s insider info, that it just “comes with the territory”. But our internal attitude absolutely impacts the way that we are viewed externally. If you have ever worked in a restaurant or in retail, you know that blank stare of the guest who is looking at you, but not actually seeing you. How many people remember their server’s name after they leave your table? I guarantee they told you at least twice. Or what they looked like, so that you can recognize and order another beverage from them? Often, I will cover different positions within my own restaurant, and usually because it’s unexpected or last-minute, I’ll throw on a chef coat and run drinks, bus tables, run food, take an errant order, check in on an experience, open a bottle of wine, or a number of other tasks. The number of people who look past you, who are dismissive, who fail to see this person who is serving them as a human being, as a person, is astonishing. This is not to say that the chef’s coat deserves some additional amount of attention, but just to point out that even when wearing something with my name and title on it, the response is often to look past the person. Everyone has a different expectation of service levels, and there’s not a need to establish a personal relationship with your server, bartender, food runner, busser, chef, or cashier, unless you want to. Just acknowledge them as a person, as a human being, for the brief moments in time that you’ll share together. If we internalize de-humanizing people as an industry, how can we expect the public not to follow suit? 

The hospitality industry is at a point of reckoning. The state of full-service restaurants as we know them is in jeopardy, and has been for quite some time, especially in fine dining. It has been called an “unsustainable model”, but we need to discuss if it really is, and not just internally within the industry. There are obviously many factors out of our control—food costs, climate change, war, conflict, social change, economics, fuel and shipping costs—but we should address the ones we can impact. To survive in its current existence, I believe there needs to be systemic change, which includes buy-in from the public. Is this possible? I don’t know. There are many conversations to be had about the many, many causes of this, and how to move forward and make things right, which include very uncomfortable additional topics, including sexism, misogyny, racism, exploitation, and a general distrust and disrespect for those human beings whose backs the industry has been built upon, and the lauding and public adoration of those who profit and benefit from those systemic failures. I don’t have the answers. I don’t believe one single person does, and we need to collectively take a long, hard look at ourselves and this industry. We need to stop hushing those who speak out. We need to validate people’s experiences. We need to be better, together.

Jacki