I survey my friends. Apart from Katie, who is happily married with twin girls, we are all single. Dating in New York City is tough. Women outnumber men by a significant margin, and it’s really hard to meet someone even a little nice. I’m not surprised at Wendy’s statement.
“So, how’s the pool game going?” Katie asks. “Are you getting good enough that you are going to beat Trevor?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to be ready for that,” I admit. “But I am getting better. In the last two weeks, I’ve won both my matches.” I grin. “Clark hates it. I can tell he’s getting nervous about the money.”
“Shouldn’t have made the bet then.” Gabby doesn’t sound sympathetic. “Asshole.”
“You have to beat Trevor, Bailey,” Wendy leans forward, swaying slightly. “I’m having a shitty week with clients. Rich men cheat around on their wives, then try to contest the pre-nup. They hide their assets, pretend they are broke and do everything in the world to avoid meeting their obligations.” She sounds earnest and more than a little drunk. “Do it on behalf of women everywhere, Bails. Kick Trevor’s ass in that final game. Make him pay.”
31
You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.
William Faulkner
Sebastian:
Of course my respite doesn’t last. Tuesday morning, Juliette emails me with a more detailed proposal from the investors that want to open up a restaurant chain with my name on the door, and it is a disaster.
“This can’t be right,” I mutter aloud.
Katya, who is tallying up the proceedings of last night’s register, looks up. “Sorry, Chef, did you say something?”
I shake my head. “These numbers can’t be right.” The projected profitability on these restaurants seems too high, and the amount of money they’ve set aside for food and labor doesn’t match what I know from experience. Yes, we do spend more on locally sourced and organically grown food at my restaurants. But I’ve worked in other kitchens as well, and there’s not a single restaurant in the country that can cut their food expenses down to ten percent. Food’s typically a third. If you spend a hundred dollars on a meal, then the ingredients should cost about thirty bucks.
Not, as these guys have projected, ten dollars.
Even fast food restaurants spend more on food. I frown and scroll down. Labor costs at my restaurants are thirty-seven percent, which is on the high side for the industry, but I believe in paying my people well - I was dirt poor for far too many years to be otherwise. This proposal has labor costs at twenty five percent, which is closer to a fast food operation than a sit-down restaurant.
They’ve allocated fifteen percent for marketing, and ten percent for executive wages.
This stinks. This stinks like the porta-potties after the chili cook-off at the Hattiesburg County Fair.
I call Juliette and don’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you look at this thing before you sent it to me?”
“No, I’m looking at it right now.” Her voice is distracted as she absorbs the pertinent facts. “Oh, this seems off.”
No shit, Sherlock. “That’s an understatement,” I say sarcastically. “Juliette, these numbers are a joke. Either these guys have no clue what they are doing or…” I stop talking as a more sinister notion occurs to me. “Fuck. These guys don’t give a shit, do they?”
I’m kicking myself as they speak. I should have realized this at once. Low food costs, low labor costs? They are going to use my name to get customers through the door, and they are going to give them the most indifferent dining experience that they can get away with. That explains the high marketing costs - they won’t get many repeat customers, and will constantly have to find new ones. Of course, the executives will get handsomely rewarded for their cost-cutting.
This isn’t the way to build a sustainable restaurant. This is frozen meat, sourced in countries with dubious food safety standards. This is hiring college kids and working them to the bone for minimum wage.
This is the antithesis of everything I’ve stood for in my entire life.