This summer, the staff at Hot Paper Lantern is exploring the themes of advanced hospitality through the lens of Will Guidara’s book “Unreasonable Hospitality.” As we read the chapters, we are using the book’s examples to discuss how we can elevate our everyday public relations and brand marketing work in a way that truly benefits our clients and ourselves.
Fortuitously, I have my own story involving Will’s formerly-owned restaurant, Eleven Madison Park, where I experienced firsthand the unreasonable hospitality he so eloquently describes in his book. As I look back on my experience, I recognize that I shouldn’t have been in the situation I was in (for reasons I’ll explain later), but it’s 12 years later, and I’m still talking about it to anybody who will listen.
Here is the story.
In my twenties, I wanted to start a brewery. It was the early 2010s and the American craft beer scene had captured the attention of the beer-loving masses looking beyond the standard light lager. I was obsessed. I read books about the history of beer. I started brewing beer out of my 1-bedroom apartment in 2-gallon batches (much to my wife’s chagrin). I would try new beers and explore new breweries wherever I went. Owning a brewery was never a reality, but it didn’t stop me from immersing myself in the craft.
My friend Aaron enjoyed trying new beers as much as I did. Aaron was also the director of brand strategy and communications at Eleven Madison Park. He would always tell our friends about the interesting happenings at EMP, from the legendary Kentucky Derby parties to the incredible amount of research performed on each guest to elevate and customize their experience. It was fascinating to listen to the amount of detail the EMP team put into everything.
One day, Aaron texted me and our friend Kyle, saying something along the lines of, “I was talking to the head of our beer program about the beers we’ve all been trying together. He's been collecting some new things in our cellar and would love for you both to come to EMP and share your opinion of them.”
On paper, there was no reason why Kirk Kelewae, then the head of EMP’s esteemed beer program and eventually the general manager of the best restaurant in the world, would want or need my opinion. But that’s what happened on that Monday evening in October 2013 as the host greeted Kyle and I by name.
We sat down with Aaron in the magnificent EMP bar and were immediately greeted by Kirk and his team. I remember him being excited that we were there and to show off for some beer nerds. There were no menus; no choices. Kirk just said, “We’re going to take care of you tonight.”
Kirk and his staff brought us out beer after beer to try. He’d come to the table and show us the bottle, describe it, and explain why he found it interesting. He’d pour a taste for each of us, and he asked us individually about our thoughts. I can vividly recall that he was authentically interested in our commentary. We’d say something that would spark his interest, and he’d say, “Ok, I’ve got something else you should try.” He’d then come back 20 minutes later, after we finished enjoying our individual taster, with something crazier to try.
The crown jewel of the evening — the one I’ll remember until the day I die — was a specialty beer made just for Eleven Madison Park. Brooklyn Brewery made a very good brown ale called Nine Pin. Kirk and his team had procured a used barrel of Pappy Van Winkle Bourbon (if you want to know the lore behind how elusive Pappy is, it’s worth a Google search). The Brooklyn Brewery team then placed the Nine Pin in the barrel to age, bottle, and serve exclusively at EMP. We were told we were getting one of the last remaining bottles.
As he explained the story behind the EMP Nine Pin, I felt the impossible sledgehammer of impostor syndrome. I’m not the typical wealthy patron of EMP. I wasn’t a popular food reviewer. I was just a friend of a friend with a hobby. This was one of the last bottles EMP had of this one-of-a-kind beer, and they were giving it to us, a couple of nobodies. On one hand, I felt out of place, but at the same time, I felt seen and important. Out of all the millions of people in Manhattan that night, I was one of a handful of people delighting in this incredible experience. I was doing something nobody else was, and sharing it with two of my best friends. In that moment, I was invincible.
An hour or so into our private tasting, a team member came to the table to say they’d be sending some food out to go with the beer. It wasn’t just some food. It was at least, from what I can remember, five courses of EMP’s famous tasting menu, including the world-renowned lavender duck and the custard egg. We didn’t ask for the food, it just came out with full regalia, presentation, and description from the all-star EMP staff. Aaron was used to this as an employee, but Kyle and I were like two kids watching the Disney fireworks show. It was incredible to witness.
At the end of the evening, Kirk came over and said, “It was great to serve you all tonight. It was fun to showcase our cellar for you. We wanted to say thank you for your feedback and conversation. There will be no charge for tonight. It was our pleasure.”
I looked at Kyle and Aaron in disbelief. They weren’t charging us for anything? (We were thankfully able to leave a generous tip for the staff.) I remember walking to the train and calling my wife saying, “You won’t believe what just happened to me.”
In the moment, I didn’t get it. Obviously, I was incredibly grateful for the experience. I loved having this unbelievable story to tell. But why me? Why did this team care about me? Sure, Aaron worked there, but in the years before he worked there, and in the years prior, he never told us of another story like ours (and trust me, Aaron had the best experiences there — and the best stories).
I didn’t understand why the EMP staff did it until I read Will’s book, which I happened to read concurrently with the airing of Season 2 of FX’s “The Bear,” on which Will is an executive producer. As I watched the show, I began to see how the writers incorporated sections of the book into the plot of the episodes. In the episode titled “Spoons,” the character Richie stages for an elite Chicago restaurant. In a pre-service meeting, the lead captain tells the team of a couple coming into the restaurant that evening for a bucket list dinner. He tells his team he wants to pull out all the stops for this couple; the VIP treatment – caviar, tour, wine pairings, the works. Then he says, “And no check tonight. I want to blow their f****ing minds.”
“The Bear” and the book finally gave me the clarity on why I had been chosen to receive that experience all those years ago. That staff had the ability and the opportunity to blow someone’s f****ing mind. Why not, right? Why not, if you can, make someone feel seen and exceptional for one night?
I think about this evening a lot in regard to my work at Hot Paper Lantern. I certainly do not have the ability to provide a dining experience like the one afforded to me by the EMP staff. But in my interactions with clients, contacts, and reporters, inspired by that evening, I ask myself, “How can I be of added service beyond the ask?” It's incredibly rewarding to hear back from clients, contacts, or reporters that we met the deliverable but also anticipated their next need or question, or how they appreciate that we’ve made their lives just a bit easier.
I should never have been there, but I was. I got picked for the VIP treatment. And that gift has helped me realize that unreasonable hospitality isn’t just for the restaurant industry, but it can be instrumental in every part of our day-to-day interactions, and I'm forever grateful for the lesson that made me feel 10 feet tall that fall night in 2013.
