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Maybe you’ve been fortunate enough not to have first-hand experience with litigation. If you have, though, you know that the bills can be absolutely staggering — and emotionally devastating, as well. Accidentally opening one of those mega-bills when you’re not prepared — you’re trying to close out your workday before family dinner, for instance, or find yourself checking email one last time before you fall asleep — can add a significant amount of distress to what’s already an emotionally fraught time.

A lawyer I met told me that he picks up the phone the day before one of those bills goes out. It’s a quick call: “You’re going to get an email from me tomorrow. It’s a bill, and it’s a big one; I didn’t want you to be surprised. Open it when you’ve got the bandwidth, and give me a ring back if you want to talk it through.”

That call sets expectations, but it’s also compassionate. It emphasizes human connection at a moment that could otherwise feel mercenary and isolating so that a situation that might be alienating deepens the relationship instead.

A three-minute call transforms the transaction. Even when he’s asking for an exorbitant amount of money, this lawyer’s clients still feel like he’s on their side.

Have a good service, 

Will

If you flew in 2023, you know it was a pretty grim year for delays.

One of the worst I experienced was on a flight to Utah, which was pushed back seven hours. I arrived at my hotel at four in the morning, bracing myself as I dragged my bag from the car, knowing a whole elaborate check-in rigamarole still stood between me and bed.

But the overnight manager Oscar greeted me at the door, his hand extended — holding my room key! “So sorry about your flight; you must be exhausted. Go get some rest, and we’ll check you in tomorrow.”

It was a simple gesture, but it felt profound.

I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but the next day, I excitedly chased down the hotel’s general manager: “Oscar is amazing; you’ve gotta give him a raise,” I told him. “That was the most meaningful act of hospitality I’ve experienced in a long, long time.”

“Oscar is fantastic,” the GM smiled, “and I’ll think about that raise. But your experience last night had nothing to do with Oscar.”

Earlier in the year, the hotel’s management had noted the crisis taking place in the airline industry — and the result, which was that more of their guests were arriving late and utterly drained by their travel experience. They’d responded with a policy: whenever a guest arrived after 1 A.M., the person working the front desk would offer to postpone check-in until the following morning.

That’s systemized hospitality. Left to his own devices, Oscar might well have made that gesture. But the hotel had baked that courtesy right in, so their guests didn’t have to rely on the inherent graciousness of the person on duty. With a bit of simple pattern recognition, we can seize on those recurring moments and react to them more intentionally, more creatively, more graciously — creating truly extraordinary moments for the people we serve.

Also, I bet that policy does inspire everyone who works there to even greater acts of hospitality, even those who aren’t as naturally generous as Oscar. Because once you’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of astonished gratitude, aren’t you always going to be looking for a way to make it happen again?

Have a good service,

Will

When my daughter Frankie was born, I was super-excited to decorate her room. After choosing the perfect crib, the perfect rug, and the perfect night light, I started hunting down perfect pieces of art — which also meant I had to get them framed.

A quick Google search brought me to Artcraft, a framing and photo developing business in upstate New York. On my first visit, I brought in a beautiful, minimal poster featuring the lyrics to Elton John’s Your Song. As I was standing at the counter, getting ready to choose my frame, I looked down and saw a basket of empty 35-millimeter film canisters with a sign inviting patrons to help themselves: Free! Take some, please. Great for mixing paint, storing nails, coins, and more!

I snagged one as I headed out. Before I’d left the parking lot, I’d already put it to use corralling loose quarters in my car.

The next time I went in — this time with a vintage New York City subway map, also for Frankie’s room — I took two more. One canister ended up in my Dopp kit, holding ibuprofen; the other, filled with paperclips, now lives in my desk drawer. The third time (Frankie was getting a NASA poster), I grabbed a couple and overhauled the small screw section of my toolbox.

By the time we were framing art for our second child, Sonny, I was picking up a handful of these incredibly useful, nostalgia-inducing freebies every time I went in. I knew I’d find a way to put them to good use, and I always do.

One of the issues people often raise when I talk about conscious gifting is the expense — and I get it. But a little bit of thoughtfulness will always have way more impact than lots of careless money, and here’s proof: Artcraft recycled their actual garbage into graciousness; they turned trash into a gift.

Any time I reach for a coin, a screw, or an ibuprofen on the road, I think fondly of Artcraft. And every time, those canisters remind me that with sufficient creativity, insufficient resources are never an excuse not to do more.

Have a good service,

Will

A few years ago, I got into the back of an Uber in Sydney, Australia and saw a laminated sign that read:

Welcome to My Uber!

My name is Sean, and I want to make your ride an enjoyable experience, so to that goal I offer several extra services for no charge:

Cold water and pre-packaged Shapes* are available, so please ask.

Spotify: If you have a music preference or request don’t hesitate to ask. I have access to most styles of music at the touch of a button. If you would like silence, I won’t take offense, so please ask.

Route preferences: If you have a route you would like to take instead of the one GPS has suggested I will take that one instead, but you will have to guide me.

Tolls: I can take a route with or without tolls.

I am also able to make stops along the way, just tell me so I can put it into GPS and get the best way to your destination.

If you have any questions or requests, just ask. I’m here to help and will do everything I can to help make your time in my vehicle an efficient and enjoyable experience.

I was absolutely blown away by this sign — and spent the rest of the ride thinking about everything that made it such an incredible act of hospitality.

First, the obvious: not every driver provides complimentary water bottles and snacks, so Sean was going above and beyond. (*Shapes are a chip/cracker mash-up unique to Australia, by the way, and they are delicious.) That alone was impressive.

But most of what Sean was offering — a silent ride, a different route — are requests you can make of most drivers. So the real act of hospitality wasn’t so much what he was offering, but the fact that he’d taken the time to write and print out the sign.

The sign immediately elevated the tone of the ride; it set the stage for graciousness. Most importantly, it made it easier for passengers to ask for what would make them happy. Sure, you can always ask your Uber driver to turn the radio off. But most of the time, we don’t; it’s easier to tune the music out than to risk awkwardness or offense.

That sign made it a great deal more comfortable for the people riding with Sean to get the experience they wanted — and it’s a good lesson for all of us. If you’re going the extra mile, it’s because you want people to take you up on what you’re offering! So extend the invitation in a way that makes it easy for them to say yes.

Have a good service,

Will

Hudson Yards is a $25 billion dollar real estate development that sprawls over 28 acres on the far west side of Manhattan. It includes sixteen residential buildings, a 750,000 square foot shopping center, and an arts center.

As you might imagine, it’s got a pretty big loading dock.

Soon after they opened, the guy who runs that loading dock noticed that the truckers who came in with deliveries were always asking about a restroom. Makes sense — it’s not like you can hit your hazards and dash into a Starbucks, leaving your eighteen-wheeler double-parked outside. But there wasn’t a restroom close by in the building, so he ended up saying no a lot — until he lobbied his bosses to provide two portable toilets.

Generosity begets generosity. Given that act of kindness, is it a surprise drivers go out of their way to make sure this guy always gets his deliveries on time? Sometimes the smallest gesture of hospitality to the least likely stakeholder is the one with the greatest impact.

But it’s also a reminder to think about how what you’re doing affects every single person in the chain. Of course you take care of your clients and investors, and you probably try to be a good boss, or a conscientious employee. But if you’re serious about creating a culture of hospitality, you won’t pick and choose which of your stakeholders you extend that hospitality to. And when you make the choice to take care of those around you, you’ll often find them taking care of you, too.

Have a good service,

Will

A few years ago, The New York Times introduced a game called Boxing Match, which combined the numerical intrigue of Sudoku with the word-nerdiness of a crossword puzzle. My wife loved it.

Christina’s not known for sitting still, so it felt like a small miracle to see her completely entranced by a puzzle for an hour or more on a Sunday morning. Apparently, she was in a small minority, though, because just a few months after it was introduced, The New York Times pulled the plug on Boxing Match.

I was disappointed on Christina’s behalf — until the proverbial light bulb went off.

She’s notoriously difficult to buy presents for. No matter how gracious and appreciative she is while opening that jewelry box or unwrapping that fancy handbag, I invariably find those gifts languishing at the back of her closet a few months later. So I asked anyone and everyone who might be able to help me contact the designer behind Boxing Match. When I finally tracked him down, I was able to commission twenty-five unpublished puzzles, which I printed up into a little book and gave to Christina for her next birthday.

It is, hands down, the best present I’ve ever given her.

First, it was a beautiful example of a one-size-fits-one gesture. Nobody else in my life would have wanted that book of puzzles, but it was absolutely perfect for Christina, and worth every minute I spent bringing that insane, bespoke idea to life.

More importantly, it was an illustration of why a game is one of the greatest gifts you can give. Give someone you love a game, and you’re throwing the door open to joy, to child-like absorption and delight — because a game is an invitation to play. We know that play is essential to children’s social, emotional, intellectual, and physical development; researchers now believe it’s crucially important for well-being in adults, too. I can easily believe it, watching Christina in her puzzle-induced flow state, completely engaged and utterly relaxed.

Happy Valentine’s Day, and have a good service,

Will

P.S. I’m not the only one who believes in gifting a game. During the pandemic, some two million people were logging onto The New York Times Games app every day to play at guessing a five-letter word. That blockbuster — Wordle — began its life as a gift from the developer to his wife. Item description

Every parent knows that trying to get through a shopping list with your kids in the cart can be challenging. You’re there to get in and out with the essentials; your kid, on the other hand, is grabbing at every box of cookies and sugar cereal within arm’s reach of your cart.

     Trader Joe’s has found a playful way to make this chore a little easier. Employees hide a stuffed animal somewhere in the store, on top of the shelves; if your kid spots it and tells the cashier where they saw it, they get to choose a piece of candy from a treasure chest.

     It’s a neat solution to a problem that has plagued parents forever. The kid has a quest, the parent gets to shop, and everyone gets a sweet reward at the end: a piece of candy, and the chance to leave the store with your sanity intact.

     This is great business. You’ve got more time to browse because your kid is occupied, and of course you’ve got to hit every aisle to find the toy — which means you’re likely leaving with a couple of items that weren’t on your list. And faced with a choice between grocery stores, who wouldn’t opt for the one that keeps your kid occupied? The scavenger hunt contributes to the feeling that Trader Joe’s is the most fun grocery store out there, and the candy giveaway builds in a moment of gift-giving delight for employees. That’s a big return on the two minutes it takes to hide a toy, and the cost of a couple pieces of candy.

     Whether you have kids or not, this is an incredible piece of hospitality — and it started with simple pattern recognition: identifying recurring moments in the customer experience. Not the ones that happen for everyone, every time they visit, but ones that happen often — like a parent doing a grocery run with kids in tow.

     It’s worth it to sit down with your team to identify these moments — and then work together to come up with thoughtful, creative ways you can respond. Set it up so that you or the people who work for you can react to these moments every time with humor and generosity, and you’ve systemized unreasonable hospitality.

Can’t wait to hear what you come up with — let me know. Have a good service,

Will

On March 2, 2021, my wife and I drove down from our house in upstate New York to get our first COVID vaccine.

The only appointments we’d been able to secure were at the massive Javits conference center, and I remember feeling envious of friends who had been assigned to smaller, more manageable sites. My sense of dread only increased when we saw the line — it was barely 8 A.M., and there were already hundreds of people outside. As we joined them, I worried about what would happen if the site couldn’t accommodate us. Would we spend the whole day waiting in the cold for nothing? Would they honor our appointments if we had to come back?

Despite my fears, the line was orderly and moving rapidly; before we knew it, we were inside. There, we saw hundreds of uniformed National Guard, calmly and professionally going about their duties. The operation hummed: disciplined, efficient, precise.

Still, after months of dysfunction and uncertainty, tensions in the line were high — nobody knew what to expect. But the woman who processed our registration was one of the friendliest, most welcoming people I have ever been greeted by, and I’ve spent my career in hospitality. Her warmth and presence immediately took the anxious edge off everyone she interacted with; you could practically feel the collective blood pressure drop.

We were in and out of there in thirty-five minutes.

By the exit, I asked a soldier, “How did you manage to pull this off? Nobody even seems flustered or overwhelmed — how is it so chill?”

She was proud, and happy to share. “Well, we got here two weeks ago, and we’ve been running exercises nonstop, every single day.” Nothing had been left to chance — every step of the process had been pressure-tested and fine-tuned so the roll-out would be as seamless as possible.

The National Guard had even done their own version of a mock service, the dress rehearsal we run before we open a restaurant, where we split our team in two so one group can serve the other one. That dry run is an opportunity to work out any last kinks before we move on to serving our friends and family (and eventually, the public). Instead of serving food and drink, one group of National Guard soldiers had vaccinated the other group; the next day, they’d switched.

All that intensive preparation had paid off. I often talk about how a focus on unreasonable hospitality is what separates great businesses from the rest of the pack. But while excellence is not a prerequisite for hospitality, it is a prerequisite for unreasonable hospitality — in order to truly transcend, you need to be practiced to the point where you don't need to worry about the logistics of the work. When you’re that competent — that dialed-in — you can focus all your energy on the people you're there to serve.

We would later learn that, on three consecutive days in March 2021, the National Guard at the Javits Center set an astonishing national record for number of vaccinations administered in a single day — about 14,000 people.

I can tell you we felt like we were in very good hands. Because the National Guard had done the work to achieve operational excellence, they were able to relax and be present — to be gracious and reassuring at a time when that was both desperately needed, and in otherwise short supply.

Have a good service,

Will

This one comes from Maren Patrick, a member of my team.

When Maren flies home for Christmas, her parents always drive (together!) to pick her up from the airport in Seattle. On their way home down I-5 to the little town on the Olympic Peninsula where she grew up, they pass the giant red sign out in front of Tacoma Self Storage.

Except that, for the duration of the holiday season, the sign reads “Tacoma Elf Storage.”

It’s a small tweak — turning off one letter! — but what a disproportionate amount of joy it delivers. It’s not Christmas for Maren without Elf Storage. Seeing it is one of her favorite moments of the year, and she’s not the only one.

This beloved tradition started by accident. About ten years ago in December, the S just happened to burn out. Now, the “unlighting” takes place every year on the day after Thanksgiving. (It returns January 1.)

I love that this company recognized that a wonderful opportunity to make people smile had dropped into their laps. I love that they ran with it. I love that turning off a single letter gives people something to look forward to every year. And I love the way this tiny tradition has created an emotional connection to the last kind of business you’d ordinarily turn to for a warm, fuzzy feeling.

As their website says, the Elf Storage sign is “a signal to all of us that magic is everywhere. Even in a storage facility. . . if you believe.” Well — as I sit here smiling, reading the website for a self-storage facility in Tacoma, I can say they’ve certainly made a believer out of me.

Have a good service,

Will

I love presents. I love giving them; I love getting them. And I love unwrapping them — ripping away handfuls of brightly colored paper transports me back to the joy I felt around our Christmas tree as a kid. (Shocker: I’m not a carefully-fold-the-paper-to-save-for-later kind of person.)

Celebrating Christmas years later at my dad’s house, when I owned Eleven Madison Park, I tore into presents with that same enthusiasm. And it hit me: this amazing feeling is so specific, so intrinsically linked to celebration and special occasions. How can we replicate it at the restaurant?

The next year, from Thanksgiving until New Year's Eve, you’d arrive at your table to find a gorgeous centerpiece: a pile of beautiful presents, which we encouraged you to tear into, tossing the wrapping to the floor. Your gift boxes contained a full caviar service to start your experience.

I never tired of watching people begin their Michelin three-star restaurant experience wide-eyed and full of wonder, like little kids on Christmas morning. The feeling we’d given them was a gift, and observing them reminded me that the only thing better than getting a great gift is giving one.

When I was young, my dad always used to tell me to “keep my eyes peeled.” Great ideas are all around if you’re open to them. It’s something I think about all the time — and can’t wait to tell my own kids, because it’s one of the best ways I know to make work fun.

So: what unlikely source of inspiration will you stumble upon today? What great feeling will you creatively repackage?

Have a good service,

Will

I love hearing stories of Unreasonable Hospitality out in the world. I have Rob DeLiema to thank for this one:

BJs is a casual dining chain, with more than two hundred restaurants across thirty states; Rob has been with them since way back when.

They’d just opened their twelfth restaurant when he received a call of complaint from a woman who told him, in no uncertain terms, that she had not enjoyed herself. The food, the service — she hadn’t cared for any of it. She ended the call by saying she wished she’d saved herself the trouble and gone to The Cheesecake Factory, a restaurant that never let her down.

Rob apologized, and tried to engage in a bit of guest recovery. “I’m so sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself! I’d like to refund your meal, and send you a gift card to make up for it.” She wasn’t enthusiastic, but with a bit of convincing, she agreed to give him her address.

And Rob did send her a gift card — but not from BJs, as you might expect. Instead, he bought her a gift card for a meal at The Cheesecake Factory.

He included a note: “With my apologies for your unfortunate experience with us; we’re working to get better! In the meantime, here’s a gift card for the meal you really wanted.”

I love this! She’d already said she didn’t have a good time at his restaurant; if he’d sent her a gift card to BJs, he’d effectively be saying, “Can I offer you more of that experience you didn’t like?” But since he was genuinely trying to make up for the fact that she hadn’t had a better time, he sent her the gift of a meal at a restaurant he knew she’d love.

Of course, that blew her away. In fact, she called back and vowed “never to eat anywhere BUT BJ’s again.” That was hyperbole, of course, but she did give BJs another try. And ultimately, she became one of the most loyal regulars in the history of the company.

Rob’s swing for the fences may have turned out to be a great business move, but his focus was always on her, and that’s a good thing for all of us to remember when we’re giving a gift — whether to win someone over, win them back, or simply to show them how much we care. Don’t give them the gift you want them to want; give them the gift they actually want.

Have a good service,

Will

On our way home from a weekend at the Jersey Shore during a heat wave, we opted for lunch with friends at a casual, dog-friendly restaurant by the water. But our spot on the patio was hot, and our kids were getting cranky in their high chairs.

Then my wife Christina came back from the bathroom with great news: there was a lovely breeze on the side patio, and a bunch of empty tables over there. Relieved, I went to the host and asked if she’d mind moving our party.

She asked if we’d already ordered drinks. We had.

“I’m so sorry, but the policy is that once you've already ordered drinks, we can't move you.”

I wasn’t trying to be difficult — but as any parent of little kids knows, it’s worth doing whatever you can when they’re starting to spiral. Plus, the restaurant was nearly empty, so I pressed my case. “I totally understand the policy; I’m just wondering if there’s any flexibility...”

“I’m so, SO sorry!” (She was. I could tell.)

“What if I settle the check before we move?”

She apologized again, and shook her head: “I can’t; I’ll get in trouble.”

“So if I pay for our drinks, get up and leave, and walk right back in — then would you be able to seat us at that table around the corner?”

Yup.

So that’s what we did. We packed up the kids and the dog, walked out the door, turned around, came back in, and asked for a table on the side patio.

I’m sure that rule exists for a good reason. Servers earn their living from tips, and moving a big table, mid-meal, out of one server’s station to another isn’t fair. I also know, especially in a half-empty restaurant, that there are a million ways to say yes and still make sure your team is taken care of.

Our host knew that too. She wasn’t giving bad hospitality because she was bad at hospitality; she was giving bad hospitality because her bosses didn’t trust her to do anything better when conditions allowed for it.

I love rules; they’re all that stands between us and chaos! But you have to trust the people you work with to know when those rules can be bent in the name of hospitality. It ended up being a lovely lunch, but that silly piece of theater — packing up the kids and the dog, walking out the door, then walking right back in — reminded me: the people you work with have to know why a particular rule exists so they’ll know when it’s appropriate to find a workaround. And once they do? Empower them to act; don’t get in their way.

Have a good service,

Will

A few months ago, I was headed to Portland to give a speech at a conference. Weirdly, every time I mentioned I was going to Portland, someone would tell me how unbelievably world-class the airport was. So, as I was walking through baggage claim (to get a car, not to claim a bag — because I’m constitutionally opposed to checking luggage) I was surprised to see the carpet was in truly terrible condition: stained, tattered — gross. This was the airport everyone had told me was so awesome?

Then I looked up. High on the wall was a giant pink Post-it note — ten feet tall, ten feet wide — which read: To Do: Order Carpet.

Ha! No wonder everyone was in love with this airport.

Just because you take what you do seriously doesn’t mean you have to take yourself seriously. There’s always going to be a moment where you fall short. And while failing to acknowledge that shortfall won’t fool anyone, owning it with grace and a little humor can create an opportunity.

Put a smile on someone’s face in a moment that might otherwise be a source of disappointment or frustration, and you turn a liability into an asset. Pursuing perfection doesn’t mean you shouldn’t embrace an imperfection; shift your perspective slightly, and it becomes an opportunity.

People don’t need perfection. We need connection.

Because of that Post-it — and the connection it created — I got into my cab much more impressed with the Portland airport than if their carpet had been pristine.

Have a good service,

Will

Hey there!

If you've ever worked in a restaurant, you know about pre-meal, the meeting the team holds in the half-hour before we open our doors to our guests.

Most restaurants hold a version of this meeting; unfortunately, a lot of them waste it by discussing matters better communicated via email: new menu items, new wines by the glass, logistics like when health-plan enrollment begins and ends.

Done well, though, pre-meal can be the most important thirty minutes in the workday. It’s the moment we stop being a collection of individuals, and transform into a trusted team. It’s a chance to talk, not just about the What, but about the How, and the Why. And I honestly believe if every single customer service business in the world did some version of their own daily huddle, hospitality as we know it would change forever.

I’ve always used pre-meal as an opportunity to share moments of inspiration, and to invite my team to do so as well. For years, I led these meetings every single day — and often twice, before lunch and dinner. It’s one of the things I miss most about owning and operating a restaurant, and I have never gotten out of the habit of jotting down moments and stories that amuse and motivate me.

Which brings me to this newsletter, which I envision as a virtual pre-meal — a quick, bi-weekly moment of encouragement, motivation, and connection. Like the time I spent a week talking to the team at Eleven Madison Park about my meal at Lambert’s Cafe, “Home of Throwed Rolls.”

I love driving across the country, and a big reason for that is roadfood.com, a restaurant recommendation website founded by Jane and Michael Stern, who had a guidebook series of the same name. Plug in your location, and you’ll be directed to the best classic Americana restaurants near you — like lobster rolls in Maine; shrimp and grits in North Carolina — or, if you’re driving through Foley, Alabama, as I was, to the fried chicken at Lambert’s Cafe (and yes, before you say anything, I know the original Lambert’s is in Missouri).

The pass-arounds at Lambert’s were amazing, as promised — but I didn’t tell my team about the place because of the mac n’ cheese. I told them about it because there’s no bread service at Lambert’s, except a gentleman in a short-sleeved blue shirt and a red baseball hat channeling John Elway as he pushes a metal cart through the memorabilia-festooned dining room, tossing delicious, yeasty, still-hot rolls at people dining in the booths. It’s wild! Does a dinner roll taste better because you reach up and catch it yourself, like you’re fielding a pop fly? I’m pretty sure mine did...

That style of service couldn’t have been further from what we were doing at EMP, but I wasn’t sharing the story because of the What, but because of the Why. I wanted to remind my team that we should always be open to any idea — no matter how unreasonable or outlandish — that might lead to creating a better experience for our guests.

I have no idea whose idea it was to toss that very first roll, but Lambert’s clearly had a culture where nobody stood in the way of innovation by pointing out all the reasons roll-throwing would never work — instead, they indulged all the ways that it could. Now the concept is so central it’s been incorporated into the name of the restaurant, and if the tour buses outside are any indication, that first roll-thrower was onto something.

Which brings us back to pre-meal. Maybe you’ll be inspired by the stories you find in this newsletter. Maybe you’ll bring them to your own team. Maybe they’ll serve as the spark for your own creative musings; maybe you’ll share those with your peers and find your place in a community of people who are also dedicated to being utterly unreasonable about hospitality.

I always began pre-meal with a call and response, which is why I’ve opened with “Happy Wednesday!” (The team would shout it right back; feel free!) I’d end with another: “Have a good service!” to which my team would respond in unison, and in the tradition of the French kitchen, “Oui!”

So welcome, and have a good service. I’ll be popping back into your inbox soon,

Will