[MUSIC]
Every Sunday night when I was
a kid, my family would go
to Celia's Mexican restaurant, a
family-owned chain in the Bay Area.
I loved that place.
We were a big group,
ten people total.
So they had to push three tables
together to make a big,
long table right in the middle
of the dining room.
As soon as we sat down,
the chips and salsa arrived.
The chips were warm, perfectly
salted, and thin, my favorite.
>> [LAUGH] >> When it came time
to order,
I got the same thing every time.
Two chicken enchiladas and
a virgin strawberry daiquiri.
>> [LAUGH] >> Something about it
was magical.
Today, that meal from Celia's would
cost about $25.
What do you think?
Is that worth it?
What is a restaurant meal worth?
I've spent much of my career
thinking about this question.
About 15 years after my formative
experiences at places like Celia's,
I quit my consulting job to go into
the restaurant industry full-time.
I started on the finance
team of a restaurant group.
And before I started,
one of my friends said to me,
once you see behind the curtain,
restaurants will lose their magic.
But I brushed it off.
My first day on the job,
I got there at 8 AM.
In consulting,
people would just be pouring their
first cups of coffee at 8 AM.
But when I got to the restaurant,
the whole place was buzzing.
Several people on the team had been
there since 4 AM.
People were accepting deliveries,
wiping tables,
reviewing reservations,
folding napkins, chopping,
blending, you name it.
My first meeting with the chef
happened while he was breaking down
a whole fish.
>> [LAUGH] >> The whole place was
alive.
And everyone who worked in it was
doing everything they could
to make sure that the people
who walked through the door that
night would be happy.
And they'd be on their feet for
hours.
Many of them staying late into
the night.
And then they would do it again
the next day,
and the next, and the next.
And even though the restaurant was
full every night, the team was not
paid enough, the work was hard and
thankless, and
there was no profit to speak of.
I was indeed struggling to hold on
to the magic.
A few months later,
I went to dinner at a local Italian
restaurant with some friends.
We had an amazing time.
We drank wine, we talked for hours,
and at the end of the meal,
one of my friends said to me, well,
that was great,
but $15 for pesto gnocchi?
I could have made that at
home for five.
What?
People in the group were nodding,
but I was genuinely confused.
Make that at home?
Have you ever tried to make gnocchi
from scratch?
>> [LAUGH] >> And what about pesto?
I mean, a perfectly seasoned pesto
is no easy feat.
I literally still think about a
pesto I had in Italy ten years ago.
>> [LAUGH] >> But my friend's
comment upset me for a deeper
reason, she was missing the point.
My friend was expressing what a lot
of people believe,
restaurants are valuable primarily
because they sell food.
But this is why so
many restaurants are struggling.
Delicious food is only one part of
a restaurant experience.
And by equating the price we pay
simply with food, we underestimate
the true value of restaurants.
So I'll ask again,
what is a restaurant meal worth?
The true value of a restaurant
meal is hospitality.
And to really understand this,
we all have to look behind
the curtain.
After years in the industry, I can
tell you, seeing behind the curtain
does not ruin the magic.
In fact, understanding restaurants
more deeply makes them so
much more magical.
And I am not saying that everything
behind the curtain is pretty,
it is not.
But at their core, restaurants
are about people caring for
other people.
In Latin, hospis means both guest
and stranger.
Hospitality is turning a stranger
into a guest.
And it's not necessarily flawless
service.
Often it's the little things.
A warm smile when you walk in
the door.
A water glass that's never empty
for too long.
A clean plate for your next course.
The magic of a restaurant is how it
makes you feel.
And as I thought of this,
I was transported back to Celia's,
again sitting at that
big long table right in the middle
of the dining room.
But now I saw it with new eyes.
That table didn't just fit ten
people.
It made me feel important.
They literally rearranged
the dining room for us.
That virgin strawberry daiquiri was
not just delicious.
>> [LAUGH] >> It made me feel
fancy.
>> [LAUGH] >> And those chips were
not just warm and perfectly salted.
They were placed right
in the middle of the table.
So everyone in my family had to
lean in to grab one, bringing us
all a bit closer to one another.
And perhaps most importantly of
all, this was not just a Sunday
night dinner.
It was respite from the world for
a bit.
Sitting there eating and
laughing with people I loved meant
that I didn't have to think about
the looming day of middle school
that lay ahead.
>> [LAUGH] >> My parents
didn't have to think about grocery
shopping or dishes.
My Grandpa got a couple of hours of
uninterrupted time with his
grandkids.
What is a restaurant meal worth?
Respite from the world,
connection to those we love.
To me, that's worth a whole lot.
And restaurants have had a rough
go of it.
COVID threatened the very core of
the industry.
And now, family-owned sit-down
restaurants like Celia's are forced
to compete with the subsidized
growth of ghost kitchens, delivery,
and coming soon, robots.
>> [LAUGH] >> If we want these
places to survive, we have
to start seeing them differently.
So next time you go to
a restaurant, look around,
think about how all of the little
things make you feel.
Notice how the restaurant and,
most importantly, the people who
work in it, facilitate connection.
How you're more connected to what
you're eating, to who you're with,
and to the community around you.
Once you peek behind the curtain,
you'll see that hospitality makes
you feel valued, and hopefully,
you'll return the favor.
Thank you.
>> [APPLAUSE]