I call it the duck mentality. On the surface, the duck glides across the water like it’s on holiday. Calm. Elegant. Unbothered.
Underneath? Its legs are going like a washing machine with a brick in it.
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That’s hospitality.
We try to anticipate everything a guest might need before they even know they need it. We have spreadsheets for names, dietary requirements, menu choices — spreadsheets that would make MI5 nod approvingly. It’s not uncommon for guests to change their minds about what they’re eating, so we cook extra portions of everything, just in case. Because people change. Lives change. Allergies appear out of nowhere.
Someone might send their Christmas menu choices back in September and by November suddenly be gluten-free, dairy-free, joy-free. Don’t worry — we’ve got you covered. With enough notice, we’ll bend over backwards, forwards, and occasionally sideways to make it work.
So you can imagine my mild concern when one of the waitresses came to find me mid-service and asked if I could speak directly to a guest about his dietary requirements.
I told Sharon not to worry — we had this handled.
She looked at me and said, “No… you should really talk to him.”
Never a good sign.
I went over and the guest explained that he follows a Jain diet.
Now, for those unfamiliar, Jainism is an ancient Indian religion built around non-violence and respect for all living things. In food terms, that means no meat, no eggs, and no root vegetables, because pulling them out of the ground kills the entire plant.
Vegetarianism, but on expert mode.
The implications hit me immediately.
Potatoes? Gone.
Carrots? Gone.
Parsnips? Gone.
Onions? Gone.
Gravy? Absolutely gone.
Turkey? Gone.
Eggs? Which means Yorkshire pudding — tragically gone.
At this point, Christmas dinner had been reduced to a warm plate and festive regret.
Still, the duck kept gliding.
Because in situations like this, there is only one man I call — my trusted, well-trained, last-resort solution: my sous chef, Jared.
A Utilita Bowl veteran who’s been with me a while, Jared loves a challenge. No panic. No sighing. No muttering about life choices. Just a quiet nod that says, this will somehow be fine.
Within no time at all, he’d put together a completely Jain-friendly dish — balanced, thoughtful, and genuinely delicious. The guest was delighted. Front of house looked like heroes. No one cried in the walk-in.
And out in the restaurant, everything still looked effortless.
Under the surface, of course, the legs never stopped moving
