SOUTHFORK TABLE IS NOT SUSTAINABLE!
I am so over people saying one thing and doing another. Our actions are truly an indication of who we are and the integrity with which we conduct ourselves both personally and professionally. I weekend on the east end of Long Island as I am fortunate to have a home there where I can balance City with Country living. This past week I visited a newcomer to the Hampton’s restaurant scene. Here’s what happened…
The Web site for Southfork Kitchen in Bridgehampton touts “sustainable sea food, local vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and wine,” but I guess its philosophy does not include local patrons.
Friday night at 6:30 p.m. after being coaxed to return via Southfork Kitchen’s own e-mail mailing, three of us “locals,” all successful business owners, decided to sample its new $55 price-fix dinner. As two of us arrived, only two tables in the vast space were filled. Informed by both the hostess and manager that walk-ins were not accepted (its posting on Open Table boasts otherwise), that the restaurant was fully booked, and that our only option was to eat at the bar (also empty, except for the restaurant’s owner, Bruce Buschel, and his wife).
We retreated to the bar to await our third party, ponder our dilemma, and have a cocktail. By 7 p.m., with only one new table of six in place and one other couple waiting for a table at the bar, the manager informed us she could seat us at 7:30 p.m. Gratefully, we accepted.
Although we were not seated in the still-empty main dining room but relegated to a side section with three tables near the kitchen, our spirits were not dampened, after all, it was Earth Day, and we were looking forward to a great locally harvested meal, as our previous visits had left us salivating for more.
Shortly, the evening began to go up in smoke — quite literally, as billows of thick smoke emerged from the kitchen and engulfed our table. Harried waitstaff descended on our lone corner table unfortunately situated in the direct line of the offending clouds.
As the distinct smell of charred toast choked our palates, a side door two feet from our corner table and surrounding windows were swept open as the thick smoke circled. Apparently a bread machine had caught fire, but discerning no need for alarm, we settled back in as locals do, trusting our evening, off to a precarious start, could not get any worse.
No one offered to move us into the now three-quarters-full main dining room, where other patrons had barely sustained a blip of the chaos we were swallowing. No management checked to see if we were all right (including Mr. Buschel, still comfortably seated at the bar, although well aware of the issue as we later learned).
As the smoke cleared, we requested the door and windows be shut as the 45-degree night and our spirits were quite chilled. Appetizers arrived — an amazing clam chowder, superb sardines, and delicious grilled squid — all impressive but all grossly oversalted.
We related the chef’s heavy-handedness to the waitstaff, requesting he taper off for our entrees. With tepid smiles we laughed off the mishaps, confident that “stuff’ indeed happens; after all, we are seasoned locals, not some entitled summer interlopers. The night was young, our hearts filled with joy. We should have asked for the check.
Call the Bridgehampton Fire Department! Three additional bread machine malfunctions followed during our dinner with repeated drills of smoke, fumes, opening and closing of windows and doors as our lungs filled with more and more smoke and our appetites were doused. Were we being punked?
Entrees followed, a tasty trout, an adequate duck, but nothing really to cheer about and once again — all oversalted. Was no one hearing us, seeing us, caring about us? Before our prix fixe desserts arrived (if they hadn’t been we would have certainly been out the door by now), Mr. Buschel headed our way for what we assumed would be a major mea culpa — after all, we had read plenty of his rants about taking care of customers on his New York Times blog. A complimentary round of after-dinner drinks? Our tab adjusted? Surely some sort of major rectification was heading our way.
Mr. Buschel was not heading toward us but to the aforementioned side door; it was we who had to garner his attention. We reiterated our concerns of repeated smoke outbreaks, only to have him not address our discomfort, but to tell us that he had just fired the waitress he deemed responsible. He spun a tale of her three-month training on the bread machine and his intolerance of three mistakes in one evening.
Now, even more uncomfortable learning someone had been fired, we began to pine for the exit door ourselves. We shared our observations that the restaurant seemed a little shortstaffed and “green” and that we had seen said now jobless waitress juggling as she assisted others, perhaps justifying her repeated misfire?
Mr. Buschel, after discerning that I was the owner of a public relations agency, responded, “Wasn’t it typical that a publicist would make up stories and position something in a more favorable light?” It was indeed time for the check! Injury? Insult? What would come next?
We again relayed our concerns to both the manager and the hostess, receiving nothing more than obligatory apologies as we exited.
I remember reading one of Mr. Buschel’s blog posts for The Times, “100 Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do.” In it he states: “Never blame the chef or the busboy or the hostess or the weather for anything that goes wrong — just make it right, show a good table your appreciation with a free glass of port, a plate of biscotti,” and, “your most unhappy customers are your greatest source of learning.” Mr. Buschel, when you start to get hungry, eat your own words and walk your talk!
Sustainable? Not Southfork Kitchen.