Elysha, Clara, and I had lunch at 110 Grill in Canton, Connecticut, this week.
I experienced a moment of frustration with this restaurant last year. My family and in-laws wanted to eat outside on their patio—a party of six—and were told that the tables that accommodated six or more guests were occupied. There were many four-person tables, so we asked if two could be pushed together to accommodate our party, and the manager refused.
It was mid-afternoon on a Tuesday. The restaurant was nearly empty. This request could have been easily met. Having managed restaurants for a decade, I would have granted this kind of request with ease.
Why would you not?
The manager of 110 Grill refused. When I asked why, she told me it wasn’t their policy to move tables.
“Policy?” I asked. “There’s an actual rule about moving tables in a restaurant?”
“Yes,” I was told with a straight face.
A supposed policy about moving a table six feet across an open space prevented 110 Grill from making a customer happy, increasing sales, and giving a server the chance to earn a decent tip on a party of six.
So we went down the street to a place where we could eat outdoors and had a lovely time.
Then, I wrote a letter to the 110 Grill’s management expressing my disappointment and suggesting that they rethink this policy.
I never received a response.
Not even a simple note reading, “Thank you for your feedback. We appreciate your patronage and hope to see you soon.”
Still, we returned for another meal this week. After waiting an exceedingly long time for a server to arrive at our table, I ordered a chicken sandwich and a Diet Coke.
Ten minutes later, the server returned to inform me that the last piece of chicken had just been served, so I would need to make another choice.
Ten minutes is a long time between placing an order and discovering you can’t fulfill the order, but I smiled and asked for a moment to consider my options.
The server disappeared for another five minutes.
When she returned, Elysha asked if we might get some bread since we’d been seated for quite a while and it would now be a while before our food arrived.
We were given some toast. Then I had to remind my server that I still hadn’t received my Diet Coke.
Elysha’s salmon was overcooked, probably because the chef started cooking it before realizing there was no chicken. Her rice was dry and crunchy, probably for the same reason.
Not a great experience. But here is the thing:
It’s not hard to make a great impression. A mistake like running out of chicken should be considered an opportunity to delight. After returning to the table to ask me to make another choice, we should’ve been offered a free appetizer or dessert.
Maybe a glass of wine or a mocktail.
Maybe my meal could’ve even been taken off the bill.
Any of these options would’ve cost the restaurant almost nothing and turned annoyance and disappointment into a fond memory of generosity and thoughtfulness.
Mistakes happen. They should be avoided at all costs, but failing to satisfy a customer is an opportunity to delight them. Overwhelm them with an apology and an act of generosity.
When I was managing McDonald’s, I did this all the time. If we forgot an item in a drive-thru order, requiring the customer to come inside to correct the mistake, they always left the restaurant with complimentary apple pies, coupons for free sandwiches, or a pile of Big Macs.
Anything to turn a negative experience into an exceedingly positive one. A surprisingly generous one.
It’s not hard to delight a customer, and that delight is enormously valuable.
I could be singing the praises of the 110 Grill, telling friends and family that it’s the kind of place that values its customers and takes care of them as guests.
Instead, I write letters that go unanswered and a blog post about a disappointing visit and an opportunity lost.
It’s not hard to delight customers, though the 110 Grill in Canton, CT, seems to disagree.
I’d send them a copy of Will Guidara’s excellent book, “Unreasonable Hospitality,” but I don’t think they’d read it.
