Because I eat in a handful of restaurants I have come to know the various owners. Seeing them in their little kingdoms gives me a view of their ways and concerns: why menus change (always for the worse, but that is the curmudgeon’s view); internal kitchen politics (bad as donkeys vs. elephants); dealing with the public (worse than donkeys vs. elephants); internal kitchen sex politics (just keep it from becoming an epidemic, like Ebola). Every restaurant has its regulars, from faithful clients to faithful nuisances. I try to be a faithful listener.
One thing I hear about is economics. The city is full of restaurants. Young residents, raised on grazing and portable info-screens, don’t know how to cook; small kitchens make it irksome even for those who do. So restaurants — rent-a-cooks with seating — proliferate. Yet the failure rate is sky-high.
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