My grandfather's command of English was never the best.
The neighbourhood back then was pretty much like it was when I was a kid: two- and three-story brick buildings that lined 9th Avenue, otherwise known as Restaurant Row. You could find anything here, from Bulgarian to Tahitian. We werent the most successful place around, but we werent the least by any stretch. Granddad kept it simple and reliable and built a steady clientele that more than paid the bills every month. I grew up around these people, all our neighbours. I didnt even have to ask for an address when I was delivering; Mom would say it was for Mrs. Berkowitz, and I knew exactly where she lived. This was my extended family: I knew who tipped the best and who I could take my sweet time delivering to.
About the time I took over the place, the neighbourhood had begun to change, pretty much overnight. Buildings were torn down and replaced with 28-story condominium towers. Mrs. Berkowitz moved out to Long Island with her sister. We were pretty well forced to move the restaurant into a place that was two-thirds the square footage and commanded three times the rent. We were still carving out a profit, but with the change in the customers, I decided maybe it was time for a little image renovation.
I hired this marketing agency that branded everything as "Wok It Out!" ("Physical fitness! Very market chic!" they told us.) and spent thousands on everything from new menus to staff t-shirts. They said I needed to make my menu different, so I added exotic dishes, like wild boar and peacock, and jacked up the prices on everything to compensate.
The regulars I knew as a kid were replaced with a new set of regulars: toned twenty-somethings who got really POd if you didnt tell them about MSG not even being in there in the first place so they could tell you they didnt want it anyway. And even though I added all these exotic new dishes, they would just nod, like it was nice to know I had them available, but could they just have some lemon chicken and a small salad?
Do you have any idea how expensive peacock meat is? And worse, it doesnt keep. But god help me if I dont have it available, because the first time I decide it's too much money, that'll be the day some lady from West 45th will come in and want her entire dinner party of 18 chowing down on peacock.
Chopsticks? You cant win. If you provide wooden ones, they get upset. If you provide plastic, they get upset. If you simply send them a couple of sporks, they go ballistic.
And dont get me started on the number of times our delivery team has been stiffed by someone who claims the food didnt arrive "hot enough". It's Japanese! Not everything is supposed to be "hot"!
Our lease is up in six months. McDonalds has expressed interest in taking the site.
