NO, NO NOBU!
By Jody Stump
A short time ago, The Wall Street Journal published an article about a new, and not always popular, practice at upscale eateries that gives new meaning to the term “rush hour:” speeding the time-to-dine. One restaurateur described his staff directives as “Greet ’em, seat ’em, feed ’em, delete ’em.” The idea, of course, is a hospitality twist on the well-established business principle of maximizing profits by accelerating inventory “turns.”
To find out more about what was actually going on in America’s most posh dining spots, the Journal sent hungry investigators out to 20 restaurants with a mandate to eat sumptuous three-course meals and then dawdle over coffee to see what happened. Malibu’s Nobu was chosen as a research target and, although the Journal reporters were never asked to leave, their full coffee cups were re-filled six times to make the point. When staff writer Pooja Bhatia called the restaurant to follow up, she was told, “We’ve never had to go up to a table and say, ‘I’m sorry but we need this table.’ ” But, unfortunately, that’s not true!
One Friday evening in May, this writer and her party were asked to leave their table at Nobu at 8:13 p.m., a mere hour after the scheduled reservation, and when the steadily climbing bill had already reached $323.
Here’s our sorry tale. A close friend was in town for a conference and she invited her client, a local entrepreneur, my husband and myself to join her at 7 p.m. for dinner. Since her meetings were over early, she drove up the coast with the client and a staffer, arriving at Nobu shortly after 6 p.m. when the restaurant was empty. They sat and ordered appetizers and cocktails. I arrived shortly before 7 p.m. with the news there was a fire in my husband’s office and he’d be a little late, but he’d call when he was 20 minutes out and we’d order wine and his favorite dish so he could eat when he got there. In the meantime, we three dined on a selection of tasty-and pricey-entrees. As we filled up, so did the restaurant and, before long, every table around us was populated by celebrities toying with their appetizers and the half dozen people hanging out at the bar were pointing hungrily at our table which had become prime star-gazing real estate. A few minutes before 8 p.m., my husband Bill called and we put in his order.
At 8:10, Bill came over and circled the table in a social kissing ritual, gratefully accepting his glass of wine from the waiter. As he started to sit, the hostess rushed over, hissing, “You can’t sit there! You have to leave-people are waiting,” and she pulled his chair away from the table. Shocked, we stared, and then started giggling nervously-surely, she wasn’t serious. But yes, as we protested, she got louder and more insistent until dozens of our fellow diners were staring at us, wondering what kind of miscreants were being forced to leave the premises. Aghast, we paid the bill and left.
Whenever I’ve told this story, someone pops up and says, “Oh, I have a Nobu story.” Here’s one from a prominent and long-time Malibu resident who’s been stopping by with his wife after a weeknight movie ever since the restaurant was Bambu. Their tradition and the late hour called for a couple of glasses of wine and a shared entre or a couple of appetizers. This particular night, they chose an entre and, in an adventurous bit of spontaneity, ordered a micro carafe of the house sake. When the bill came the sake was$26 per bottle. That wasn’t the capper, though. Our friend called the waiter over and questioned why he hadn’t been told the price. The waiter answered, “Because I didn’t want to insult you.”
The final straw, or black feather in a cap, comes from a prominent Realtor who stopped by late one evening. His wife ordered a sashimi appetizer. What arrived were two thin slices of yellowtail for $22. They too called the waiter over to question the price of their order. She sent it back, making the memorable remark, “No food Nobu.”
They left, vowing to never return, but the phrase uttered that night has become the office moniker for the restaurant around the corner.
So I ask, “What happens when winter comes? When the tourists leave and the stars come out on occasional weekends, what happens to restaurants that offend and insult the locals? And, even in an area like Malibu where many people seem buffered from recession, what happens when high prices, small quantities and rushed service push the price to dine to more than $3 a minute? What happens, because winter is nigh?”