Perhaps one of the most difficult parts of our life in the restaurant business is out-living our clients... Maybe that is the wrong way to phrase it, but this morning while scanning the obituaries in the Kent County News - something I try to do regularly to keep from making a major faux-pas (and it doesn't always prevent it) - I was struck once again by how true it is. I was of course thinking about the McCowns and all of the years I have known them, as both restaurant guests and members of a shared community. One of my best childhood memories is of Mr. McCown coming to Kennedyville Elementary School with his falcons, an image I can still picture in my mind. As customers at Brooks Tavern, they were fairly regular in their habits and their pleasure at being here, never failing to express their gratitude for services received, be it the custom made decaf ice tea to the splitting of the pasta of the day. When they stopped appearing this past summer, we worried about them.
And that brings me to the point: after 23 years of serving a variety of guests, you get to know them more than you might realize. Your regular customers are people you probably see on at least a weekly basis, if not more. You hear about the children and grandchildren - heck, you see the children grow up and have children! You hear about trials and tribulations, you witness the devastation of illness and the joy of new love. You are a part of some of the more intimate aspects of people's lives, be it through simple conversation, a change in typical dining patterns - "Oh, I can't drink wine anymore, bring me an iced tea." - or a change in dining partner. These peeks into the windows of peoples lives aren't things you talk about, but you notice them and you can't help but be affected by them, and as time goes on and age takes it's toll, you are bound to lose some people altogether. It's a tough part the business, the point where a regular stops showing up. Often times you can only wonder why, until you hear the news from another customer or read about it in the paper.
Dr. John Levinson's obituary was also in the Kent News this week. He and his wife have been customers for many, many years, from the Ironstone days, very much so at the Kennedyville Inn, and continuing to support us here at BT, even as health issues forced challenges for both of them. Here's the best restaurant story I can tell about him - this is a man who carried a thermometer in his breast pocket so that when you delivered his very specifically made martini - Absolute with a splash of Bombay, up, very cold - he could stick the thermometer into the drink and let you know whether or not it was cold enough. You can be sure that you did your best to make sure that it was! My bet is that the martinis he is enjoying now are just right and he is beaming down his pleasure.
Of course death is a part of life, and we are very fortunate to have been a part of so many people's lives. There are many we have lost over the years and have often wished we could express to their families how much we enjoyed being involved in these lives, no matter how trivial it may seem within the big picture. Knowing the kind of beer Mr. Seitzer preferred after working out in the yard on Saturdays, planning a family party for Dr. Hopkins' 80th birthday, saving Mr. Emily and Mrs. Vaughn that last order of their favorite creme caramel - these are the kind of things we can share with our guests. Eating and drinking and relaxing: we try to make that a part of people's lives and in doing so we inadvertently become personally involved. Maybe that's what makes this "hospitality" business such a good one.
And that brings me to the point: after 23 years of serving a variety of guests, you get to know them more than you might realize. Your regular customers are people you probably see on at least a weekly basis, if not more. You hear about the children and grandchildren - heck, you see the children grow up and have children! You hear about trials and tribulations, you witness the devastation of illness and the joy of new love. You are a part of some of the more intimate aspects of people's lives, be it through simple conversation, a change in typical dining patterns - "Oh, I can't drink wine anymore, bring me an iced tea." - or a change in dining partner. These peeks into the windows of peoples lives aren't things you talk about, but you notice them and you can't help but be affected by them, and as time goes on and age takes it's toll, you are bound to lose some people altogether. It's a tough part the business, the point where a regular stops showing up. Often times you can only wonder why, until you hear the news from another customer or read about it in the paper.
Dr. John Levinson's obituary was also in the Kent News this week. He and his wife have been customers for many, many years, from the Ironstone days, very much so at the Kennedyville Inn, and continuing to support us here at BT, even as health issues forced challenges for both of them. Here's the best restaurant story I can tell about him - this is a man who carried a thermometer in his breast pocket so that when you delivered his very specifically made martini - Absolute with a splash of Bombay, up, very cold - he could stick the thermometer into the drink and let you know whether or not it was cold enough. You can be sure that you did your best to make sure that it was! My bet is that the martinis he is enjoying now are just right and he is beaming down his pleasure.
Of course death is a part of life, and we are very fortunate to have been a part of so many people's lives. There are many we have lost over the years and have often wished we could express to their families how much we enjoyed being involved in these lives, no matter how trivial it may seem within the big picture. Knowing the kind of beer Mr. Seitzer preferred after working out in the yard on Saturdays, planning a family party for Dr. Hopkins' 80th birthday, saving Mr. Emily and Mrs. Vaughn that last order of their favorite creme caramel - these are the kind of things we can share with our guests. Eating and drinking and relaxing: we try to make that a part of people's lives and in doing so we inadvertently become personally involved. Maybe that's what makes this "hospitality" business such a good one.
And now I read in the KCN that Dick McCown has died, four days after his wife of 59 years. So sad, so beautiful. RIP to a classy pair.
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