There’s a small cafe on the block between my Skytrain station and work that sells some of the best sausage rolls in the city. I’m a sucker for a good sausage roll, and these are not only light and flaky, but remarkably consistent quality-wise. I know this because I have at least three of them a week, always at about the same time: 10:25 a.m. as I’m running to clock in for my 10:30 a.m. shift after I’ve hit snooze nine times leaving myself without enough time for even a bowl of cereal (day shifts are a cruel, cruel trick to play on a bartender). The owner of this cafe himself sells me my roll every day, but I’m not going to mention his name at this point, nor am I going to mention the name of the cafe or its location. I would very much like to, but frankly, the place really pisses me off. It has, however, got me thinking a lot about how I treat my own customers. Allow me to explain…
I have been a client of the cafe-that-won’t-be-named for six months now. In that time I’ve run in for the same item a minimum of three times a week. Each and every time the same man has served me. Each and every time the transaction has been exactly as follows:
Owner: Can I help you?
Me: One sausage roll please.
Owner: One sausage roll. Would you like it heated up?
Me: No, thank you.
Owner: Two dollars. Thank you.
So what’s got me miffed here? Seems polite enough, and certainly innocuous. Which it is, for the first five, maybe six times. But the fortieth? The seventy-second? This base-line service and their convenient location to my workplace gets this cafe exactly two dollars per transaction. What little things like dropping “The usual?” or remembering my preferred roll temperature would – in my particular case anyway – maybe get them some free publicity on a restaurant industry web site with a fair-sized readership. It would at the very least net them some great word of mouth, which is the single greatest weapon in the arsenal of the food industry, now more than ever.
This weekly game that I’m now playing with Mr. Cafe Owner (gosh, will today be the day he remembers?) is sure keeping the idea of personalized service at the forefront of how I execute my job over the bar these days. Too often we think marketing and customer-building is all about who’s next, about attracting and then impressing the people who have never experienced your room and your bar before. But it’s your established guests that are your best source of marketing, and your surest guaranteed revenue stream. And usually your best tippers. What can you be doing to up the chatter about you at their jobs and in their social circle? How can you get them to stop by a couple of extra times a month? I’m pretty sure we can all be doing at least a little bit more.
Remember their names and their favourite drinks, keep a log behind the bar if you have to (Ted: grey hair, loud ties, Bourbon sour), always give with a firm handshake, introduce them to other regulars, make sure the house gets a round for them every so often…it’s the converted that are our bread and butter, and it’s easy sometimes to take them for granted. Personalized service is, after all, the stuff that the very foundation of great bartending is built of. To coin a phrase: a little effort goes a long way towards being a legend.
To your health…
Simon Ogden | Urban Diner
[Image courtesy of Flickr user Zardoz the Gravyboat]
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
I think you should share the name of the cafe.
I often eat sausage rolls for breakfast on my way and often complain about the lack of decent sausage rolls in the city. Soggy, underseasoned, sometimes just plain hollow… c’mon, tell us where it is…
Nail on the head – I frequent (more frequently) places where the theme song of Cheers starts playing in my head – after entering and being greeted like a regular – maybe everyone doesn’t know my name, but the recognition/knowing nod is a hook. Extra kudos to those with air tight memories who remember someone’s drink after one visit – but with enough repetition (3x/wk sausage roll habit, hello!) you’re not asking for the stars….maybe someone else’s inferior roll but personal interaction will win out…
Just picked up my roll.
The song remains the same.
No bump today, I’m afraid. Sorry ac.
I go to the same coffee shop (Delaneys in Park Royal Village) every Sunday morning. It’s a long established ritual. By the time I get to the counter, my cinnamon bun is in the microwave and my mocha is being made. There have been times when I actually feel like a muffin instead but I don’t have the heart to tell them. They are quite proud of the fact that thye never need to ask what I want!