The Boss of You

Yesterday’s event at Elliott Bay Books was a lot of fun; amazingly, about twenty people chose to show up despite the fact that the Pacific Northwest was enjoying its first day of genuine blue skies and hot sunshine all year. I always make a point of stopping in at Elliott Bay when I’m in Seattle — for those of you who don’t know it, it’s one of those big old bookstores where the staff write little mini-reviews of their favourite books and slip them onto the shelves below where the books are stacked, so that wandering through the aisles feels a bit like a guided tour where you’re the only tourist and you’ve got a gaggle of well-versed guides.

This was the first time I’ve left without buying a pile of books, and it’s not because I didn’t see several I wanted; I just couldn’t justify flying them all to New York and back with us. I’ll just have to hold off ‘til next time (which should be soon… we’re hoping to do another Seattle event later this summer, and we’ll keep you posted).

After the book signing, we went for dinner at a little Italian restaurant, where we had an incredible meal and a great lesson in customer service. We were greeted at the door by two women who made no fuss whatsoever about the fact we were twenty minutes early for our reservation and one person short. They guided us into a room where a huge table had been set up for us — a table so big it was the only one in the room. We were surrounded by sideboards that would have looked right at home in a spacious living room, had they not been topped with rows and rows of red wine and olive oil. Somehow the feel of the room was warm and elegant without the remotest hint of stuffiness; one felt completely at home while still feeling special.

I chose the seat at the head of the table, partly because I was the first in the room but also because I hate missing out on any of the conversation. The proprietor presented me with a wine list and told me she could bring us all menus, or we could do the meal family style, where we would tell them what kind of food we want, and how much we’d like to spend, and they would put the meal together for us.

Looking around the table I wondered whether a family-style meal could possibly work for us all: We had two people present with severe allergies, me with my somewhat milder ones, one vegetarian (Emira) and then of course a mix of preferences. But the novelty and the allure of having the experts help us craft a customized menu was too strong to resist. And for the first time I experienced something I had only heard about in food columns, and from Emira (who has spent a good deal of time in Italy).

First came garlic bread, in chunks of lightly oiled, crunchy-soft bread with a dusting of sharp grated cheeses. Next, the appetizers: sauteed calamari, a lovely, ultra-simple green salad with balsamic vinaigrette. Oh, and bruschetta like I’ve never had bruschetta before: organic pugliese bread topped with chopped tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozarella, simply seasoned with salt and pepper. This was the kind of food that was far more than the sum of its parts, made with fresh, ripe ingredients and with a perfection of flavour that comes from keeping things incredibly simple.

We had risotto with porcini mushrooms, a risotto so simultaneously light and creamy I instantly felt all the risotto I’ve had before was lacking in comparison. We had a plate of lamb, beef and quail, all grilled and juicy and sitting atop a bed of barely-wilted spinach sprinkled with just the right amount of lemon juice. And Emira was presented with a generous slice of lasagne that made her roll her eyes in delight: it was filled with roasted onions, and oozed with a creamy cheese sauce laced with fresh sage.

And when we had put away as much as our stomachs could hold, they brought out dessert: not-too-big wedges of chocolate with raspberry coulis, which we tried valiantly not to eat until our perfect Italian coffees arrived.

When I recap the menu, it sounds too simple to have been a meal of a lifetime, but it really was. And the reason it was so perfect was entirely due to the people who brought it to us.

It began with our greeting at the door, of course, and continued with cozy but absolutely professional service throughout the meal. Everything from wine recommendations to the slightly chaotic list of allergies and menu requests was dealt with in an entirely sincere, friendly and efficient manner. We were given the choice to be as hands-on or hands-off as we liked in the selection of dishes, though when we attempted to brush off crucial details (like dessert), we were warmly but firmly prodded in the right direction. (No, dessert is not optional. Trust me, you won’t regret it.)

Of course it must be said that the kitchen staff had an enormous influence on the success of the meal, as well — the food was flawless. But while I’ve had great food in restaurants before, the service at Al Boccalino was superb. We were all made to feel special, and none of us will forget that. That’s the kind of customer service that prompts your customers to rave to everyone they know; to prod anyone visiting Seattle to check out this amazing restaurant; and to write extended love notes and post them on their blog.

That’s the kind of service we can all learn from. It’s a dance of sharing your professional expertise; inviting input from your customers along the way, helping them to feel included in the process and part of the family; and knowing where and when to take the lead, and when to follow theirs. What a gift to see it exemplified in this little Italian treasure in downtown Seattle. It’s a lesson I’ll remember for a long time.