The 3 P.M. Brunch With the 4 A.M. Vibe By BEN DETRICKNOV. 16, 2011 Continue reading the main story Share This Page Share Tweet Pin Email More Save Photo An enthusiastic reveler parties to a performance by Roxy Cottontail, a promoter, at Eat Yo Brunch at Yotel on 10th Avenue, where the $35 brunch allows patrons to eat and drink for two hours. Credit Deidre Schoo for The New York Times BRUNCH, an occasion for flapjacks, Bloody Marys and meandering conversation, is traditionally the most sluggish of meals. But a smorgasbord of clubby New York restaurants have transformed lazy midday gatherings into orgies of overindulgence with blaring music, jiggling go-go dancers and bar tabs that mushroom into five figures. No, boozy brunches aren’t new. Inspired by the daytime debauchery on Pampelonne Beach in St.-Tropez, where jet-setters arrive by Ferrari and yacht, early iterations began at Le Bilboquet on the Upper East Side in the early ’90s, and spread to meatpacking district flashpoints like Bagatelle and Merkato 55 in 2008. But more recently, these brunches have been supersized, moving from smaller lounges to brassy nightclubs like Lavo and Ajna. The party blog Guest of a Guest has taken to calling it the “Battle of the Brunches.” “Not everyone gets to run to the beach or jump on a plane,” said Noah Tepperberg, an owner of Lavo in Midtown, which started its brunch party a year ago. “If you want to leave your house on the weekend, brunch fills that void.” On a recent Saturday, Mr. Tepperberg stood in Lavo’s basement kitchen, surrounded by meat slicers and employees readying confectionary “poison apples” for a Halloween party for a pre-split Kim Kardashian. Upstairs, patrons in costumes danced atop tables and chairs, bobbing to the carnival syncopation of Jay-Z and Kanye West’s “Paris.” Confetti and blasts of fog filled the air. Continue reading the main story Related Coverage slideshow The Brunch Party Takes Over Clubs NOV. 16, 2011 Advertisement Continue reading the main story It was 3 p.m. “People walk in and say, ‘I can’t believe this is going on right now,’ ” Mr. Tepperberg said. The brunch bacchanalia shows no sign of running dry. The Mondrian SoHo is starting Scene Sundays this month at its Imperial No. Nine restaurant. In Las Vegas, the original Lavo started a Champagne brunch a few weeks ago. Similar affairs have bubbled up in Boston, Los Angeles and Washington. For those looking to replicate the formula, here’s a guide to some of New York’s frothiest. Day and Night Ajna Bar (25 Little West 12th Street, dayandnightnyc.com); Saturday, noon to 6 p.m. This extravagant French-themed party landed in October at Ajna Bar in the meatpacking district, after dousing the Hamptons, Art Basel in Miami and the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel with rosé. Beneath an industrial skylight and fluttering flags from the United Kingdom, France and Israel, well-heeled patrons pumped their fists and posed for purse-lipped Facebook photos, racking up huge tabs every Saturday. “I understand there’s a lot of people out there going through hard times,” said Daniel Koch, the promoter who helped start the Day and Night parties at Merkato 55. “But what you want to do with your money is your business.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES “If you’ve been sprayed with Champagne, make some noise!” a hype man will shout between piercing dance tracks from Robyn, Calvin Harris and Oasis. Dancers in orange bathing suits will emerge; pipes will blast jets of fog. In a dangerously drunken take on a bar mitzvah ritual, a man spooning dessert out of a giant bowl will be seated on a chair and lifted high into the air by his cronies. BRUNCH SET Club-savvy guests seem piped in from Miami, Monaco and Merrill Lynch. “I’m from the South, so drinking during the day is not new to me,” said a woman who wore a Diane Von Furstenberg dress but not the necessary wristband to enter the V.I.P. area. Outside, near a black Aston Martin coupe, a young man wearing paint on his face and sunglasses delved into socioeconomics. “We’re the 1 percent,” he said to a woman, matter of factly. THE BUFFET The Nutella-stuffed croissants ($12) cater to Europeans, while a gimmicky $2,500 ostrich egg omelet (with foie gras, lobster, truffle, caviar and a magnum of Dom Perignon) is for aspiring Marie Antoinettes. Champagne bottles start at $500; packages with several bottles of liquor and mixers for mojitos or bellinis are $1,000. The check can be sobering. “You didn’t look at the price of the Dom bottle!” a man barked into his iPhone, to a friend who apparently ditched before paying. “It’s $700!” STILL-HOT ACCESSORY Slatted “shutter shades” live on at Day and Night. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Yes. Lavo Champagne Brunch Lavo (39 East 58th Street, lavony.com); Saturday, 2 to 6:30 p.m. Smog guns. Confetti cannons. Piñatas. Masked masseuses. Dancers in Daisy Duke shorts (some on stilts, obviously). Since last November, this Italian restaurant has roiled with the energy and pageantry of Mardi Gras. At the recent Halloween party, Slick Rick, an old-school rapper with an eye patch and glinting ropes of jewelry, lethargically performed several ’80s hits. Some of the younger “Black Swans” in attendance were unsure of his identity. “Is he big in London?” asked an Australian woman wearing a top hat. SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES Caffeinated anthems like Pitbull’s “Hey Baby” and Roscoe Dash’s “All the Way Turnt Up” are accentuated by processions of bouncers carrying women above them in tubs, like Cleopatra on a palanquin. Polenta pancakes taking up precious square footage? Just kick them aside with your stilettos. Newsletter Sign Up Continue reading the main story Open Thread Newsletter A look from across the New York Times at the forces that shape the dress codes we share, with Vanessa Friedman as your personal shopper. You agree to receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services. See Sample Privacy Policy Opt out or contact us anytime BRUNCH SET Share Champagne spritzers with willowy model types and inheritors of wealth. The scrum on an October afternoon included the son of a Mongolian dignitary, six scions of Mexican plutocracy wearing novelty somberos, and at least one supermodel. “She’s everywhere,” said Mr. Tepperberg, as the nymph, whose name he couldn’t remember, disappeared into the jungle of merriment. THE BUFFET With the emphasis on tabletop dancing, Italian trattoria offerings (margherita pizzas for $21, and lemon ricotta waffles for $19) are often abandoned underfoot and sprinkled with confetti. Proving alcohol reigns supreme here, ice buckets are carefully shielded with napkins. Bottle service rules: Moët Brut is $195 and liquor starts at $295. Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar sizes surge toward the $10,000 mark. RISKY ROSé Alcohol and high-altitude dancing can be perilous: there was a brief hullabaloo in one corner when several women took a tumble. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Yes. Eat Yo Brunch Yotel (570 10th Avenue, yotel.com); Sunday, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. If spending thousands of dollars makes your stomach turn, this newish party at Yotel is more easily digested. This affably cartoonish affair, held at the space-age hotel in Hell’s Kitchen with the design aesthetics of a Pokémon, draws a gay-friendly crowd lured northward by Patrick Duffy, a promoter. “There’s a lot of pressure in night life,” Mr. Duffy said. “But I feel like Sunday is a comedown. It doesn’t have to be perfect.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES These connoisseurs of brunch wear designer shoes too stylish for tromping atop omelets. With a D.J. spinning dance tracks from LeLe and Earth, Wind & Fire, guests sip bellinis at the bar or banter at long communal tables. The performers are looser. One afternoon, Roxy Cottontail, a pink-haired promoter, vamped around the sunken dining area with a microphone. “Don’t make kitty pounce,” she rapped, before climbing atop a table. BRUNCH SET Clusters of trim men wear leather motorcycle jackets or shroud themselves in patterned scarves. “It’s an eclectic, downtown vibe,” Ms. Cottontail said. “We have the most fabulous gays in New York City.” When a platinum-blond waiter in skintight jeans pranced in front of a wall decorated with pictures of sumo wrestlers riding Japanese carp, it seemed straight from an anime cell. THE BUFFET For an egalitarian $35, patrons receive unlimited grub — options include chilaquiles, halibut sliders and seaweed salad — and a two-hour window of boozing. “It’s not bougie,” said Mr. Duffy, who bounded across the room hugging guests and hand-delivering shots. “You could be a poor, starving artist or someone that doesn’t take a client for under $20 million.” COLOR CODE Wear purple if you hope to be camouflaged by the staff outfits, chairs and ceilings. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? No. Sunset Saturdays PH-D Rooftop Lounge at Dream Downtown (355 West 16th Street, dreamdowntown.com); Saturday, 5:30 to 10 p.m. Despite a happy hour time slot, this sunset party atop the Dream Downtown hotel is not for pre-gaming. After funneling in brunch crowds from elsewhere, 8 p.m. has the frenzied atmosphere and intoxication of 2 a.m. The offbeat timing may deter conventional weekend warriors. “No matter how cool the place, some people feel Friday and Saturday nights are for amateurs,” said Matt Strauss, a manager of PH-D. “We’re not for amateurs.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES The D.J. rapid-fires through tracks from C+C Music Factory, LMFAO and Rick Ross, but booze-lubricated guests scramble on couches with little hesitation. Those grappling with bursts of existential angst after six hours of brunch can gaze pensively at the spectacular views of Midtown Manhattan. BRUNCH SET Attractive women and affluent men knot around tables; hotel guests gawk from the bar. On a recent Saturday, Mark Wahlberg danced with a few friends, and David Lee, a former New York Knick, enjoyed downtime provided by the N.B.A. lockout. “We saw an angle,” said Matt Assante, a promoter. “People spend more money than at nighttime.” THE BUFFET Brunch is thankfully over, but crispy calamari ($17) and guacamole ($12) could constitute a light dinner. A bottle of Veuve Clicquot is $475. Cîroc vodka is $450. Cocktails like the Cloud Nine (Beefeater gin, Campari, grapefruit) are $18; a Bud Light is $10. WINDING DOWN After the rigors of daylong gorging, relax with the help of an on-site masseuse. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Obviously.

Tony Maws On Customers Who Bully With The Threat Of A ‘Bad Yelp Review’

Aug 26, 2013 9:00 am

There’s an art to mastering the difficult guest

BY TONY MAWS

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Photo: Michael Piazza

Hospitality is a big, elusive horse-carrot that we can never totally control because there are so many variables that we can never be perfect.

With a cooking style that blends pork pyrotechnics — a Vermont pork trio of suckling confit, grilled belly and spice-crusted rib, for example — and a deep knowledge of New England fishing and farming, Tony Maws has become one of Boston's kitchen heroes. And with awards from the James Beard Foundation (Best Chef Northeast 2011) and Food & Wine (Best New Chef 2005), the country has taken notice as well. His Craigie on Main in Cambridge has roots in France, where Maws worked before opening the smaller Bistrot in 2002. This is his monthly letter from Boston.

As a restaurant lifer, I still have a love affair with all things restaurants — and probably for the same reasons as the guests who join us nightly at Craigie on Main: excitement, relaxation, thrills, comfort, a home away from home or a getaway for secret pleasures. There are many customer service-driven businesses in this world, but restaurants are unique with craft, hospitality and conviviality all bubbling in a daily stew — together with weather problems, car problems, equipment problems, staff problems, delivery problems…don’t get me started!

Our guests walk through the door with a set of high expectations and, no matter how unrealistic, my job is to lead our team to meet or beat them. This job can be a beast, but let’s face it: there are lots of jobs that are more dangerous and demanding, so no self-pity here. Let’s just say we come to work even when we’re not at our personal best because, even though we’re tired. We’re honored that at 5:30 every evening there’s a line outside our door.

Hospitality is a big, elusive horse-carrot that we can never totally control because there are so many variables that we can never be perfect. For perfectionists like us, that’s painful. Still, each and every night, we lay it all out there on our field — our kitchen and dining room. Our commitment must be honored and the show must go on!

I’m not the kind of chef that takes issue with every negative Yelp review. I love our diners. The 99.9 % majority are warm, gracious people who keep coming back, stopping at the pass to say hello, and even cheering on our cooks on in the middle of a busy service. But — and by now you know where I’m going with this — .00001 of our diners are, shall we say, not so nice.

When we first started receiving attention in the early days of Craigie Street Bistrot, my first restaurant, we had an episode that still makes my blood boil. We decided to give a party of four’s table away after we had waited 40 minutes after the reservation time and heard nothing. If we give a table away, it’s only because you are late, really late, and never called to tell us. So this party started throwing a hissy fit, verbally assaulting our door staff and then launching into a horribly loud rage at our manager, interrupting his every assurance that we wanted to find a way to seat them.

When I came out of the kitchen to investigate the ruckus, I was met with an index finger thrust into my chest by a man repeatedly saying, “you suck,” and his wife saying, “I’m going to ruin you!” It took every ounce of restraint not to revert to my old-school hockey training; instead I walked over to the door, held it open and asked them to leave.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?,” the horrible woman shrieked.

“Yep, and I’m going to write about you someday.”

When that rare someone escalates their mistake into that kind of scene, they get a off-the-menu special reserved for only a few: a personal escort from the chef right out the front door!

Another time, I was called into action during graduation season. The legal age to consume alcohol is 21 years old. This is not new news and our local government takes this law very seriously. In fact, they can take away our liquor license (effectively our license to do business) if we decide to make an exception. So, one woman tried to order her 18-year old recent high school graduate a Manhattan on the rocks. Our server sought out our manager who was not amused but politely approached her with a menu of non-alcoholic drinks our bar staff could mix for him.

“It’s ok with me so just bring him a real one,” she commanded.

When our manager replied that he could not honor her request she lit into him.

“I’m going to write about you on Yelp!” she snarled.

And she didn’t stop there, instead launching a tirade at every front-of- house employee who walked by, as her son slinked so far into his chair he was nearly invisible. I was pleased to give her the chef’s special: no check and an escort through the dining room towards the exit sign. The best part: nearby tables actually cheered.

There is a new approach we’ve noticed. The loud threat of a bad Yelp review. Help me understand this one. Threatening us with a bad review gets you what exactly? Has this bullying technique ever actually worked on your behalf? And what did you say, exactly, in your vindictive review that had any positive impact on your dining experience or was helpful to others?

Perhaps the “most disturbing” interaction I had with a guest was just a few weeks ago. I always try to personally deliver a course on our tasting menu as a “thank you” and I know it means a lot to some people. (It’s also a way for me to remember that I’m actually cooking for a real person, which is sometimes easy to forget in a busy service.) That night, I followed our servers carrying plates of lamb to a table and watched them place the dishes in front of the three guests. The gentleman, flanked by two attractive young women, did not look up from his smart phone. I waited until it became a bit awkward — maybe 30 seconds, though it certainly felt much longer. The women looked at me, then at their companion, back at me, back at him; he still did not look up.

“Well then," I thought. “I’ll get this started."

“Excuse me," I continued. "I’d like to tell you about the dish in front of you, your final savory course…”

He still did not look up, and now his friends began to shift uneasily in their seats.

“Our lamb, three different ways...the tongue is…”

I was mid-sentence when he suddenly looked up, clearly impatient and annoyed.

“That will be all,” he said. “You can go now.”

But he was not finished. What I initially felt as rejection and indifference was much worse — he shooed me off, waving his hand like I was a servant or, better, an annoying mosquito. I was dumbstruck.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m only trying to…”

“I SAID, THAT… WILL… BE… ALL! In fact, we are through. We will not need dessert and please bring my check.” he blurted red-faced.

I could not stop myself as I replied. “You are correct, Sir. Your meal is over. There will be no check, and now it is time for you to leave!”

These painful and embarrassing interactions are few and far between. I have been so privileged to cook for hundreds of thousands of wonderful people. My advice to any almost angry diner is simple: no matter how frustrated you feel or how important you want to look, give us a chance to make it right for you. We really want you to have a phenomenal meal, a terrific time and offer a brief respite. That’s why I love my job and why I still enjoy the craziness of a restaurant day – I have this tremendous opportunity to enhance or even change your mood every single night. We will work with you if you let us and we have plenty of tricks up our sleeve.

Now that you know how we feel – “may we offer you a cocktail while you wait for your table?”

Also see: How Do You Define 'The Best' In Today's Restaurant World?