The Light In The Morning

There is no way my oafish phone photography could possibly do justice to the impact early morning light has on Reserve's dining room. There are enormous windows to the south and east -- original to the 100+ year old building which, despite some high dollar remodeling, remain the room's most impressive architectural feature -- that let the day's first sun slip into otherwise unnoticed corners or rest warmly on the stone bar tops and near bare walls. This is the best time of day to be at Reserve. It is also something the overwhelming majority of people who step through Reserve's door will never experience for themselves.

Opening day at Reserve began for me at about four in the morning as I drove from my home near the lakeshore to Grand Rapids in cold, oppressive darkness. A local television station was running a live spot on their morning show so an already long day became incredibly long, nearly twenty hours by the end. When the TV spot was over, the GM and our "Wine Girl" went home to go back to bed for a spell, but I live an hour away from Reserve so that wasn't an option. I decided to use that time productively and go the the farmer's market. While I was there, the sun started to rise (the irreplaceable experience of spending time at a farmer's market in the very early morning is another worthy post, especially for a second shifter like myself who is not used to being up at such uncivilized hours). I took my time gathering what we needed for our first service, loaded the car, and drove back. By the time I got back to the vacant, pristine restaurant, the morning sun had taken over. It does this everyday. Whatever effort was put in to making that space remarkable is marginalized each and every day when daylight asserts itself.

Over two years later, this light still stops me when I'm there in the morning. The room is still and quiet, but emotional, graceful, and expressive in ways it will never be at other times of the day. When I can I sit at the charcuterie bar for a minute, where the light comes in with least resistance. Today, I thought about how many moments like this will go largely unexperienced by most people who interact with the restaurant.

The truth is, most of the marrow of a restaurant stays in the bone, where even the most engaged fan will never experience it. Restaurants only get the chance to express who they are on the plate or in the glass. That occasionally can be expanded by a talented and knowledgeable server or a visit from the chef, sommelier or manager for guests who are interested in lending an ear. Most customers make value judgements about a restaurant before their first visit is even over. They don't eavesdrop on the conversation that takes place between chef and farmer or chef and cook to learn why the menu is as it is. They don't watch a cook as he moves from pot to pot and see the whole of his experience with food inform each move he makes. At the end of a busy service when the fans are turned off, they don't hear the hood vents drop and the clean kitchen fall peacefully silent. They don't see the light in the morning, hours before the first customer comes in. These are the things that make a kitchen home to a cook, and they are supremely unimportant to the diner.

This is as it should be. The diner should concern himself with his food and drink, the service, the comfort of the room. But it seems prudent to remember that what one experiences in an hour or two is no more than a fraction of what any good restaurant is really about. As a diner, you might be surprised to see how far showing a little interest in the back story can bring you into the fold. When I'm in a good restaurant, I put my menus down and let them take care of me.  A real professional, someone who works hard everyday to understand his work inside and out loves the opportunity to just do his best. Even the most ardent oenophile, jaded food critic, or well travelled foodie cannot hope to understand the inner workings of a good restaurant as well as a conscientious insider. Leave your preconceptions and expectations at home. Let yourself be surprised, enlightened, and challenged. Be happy to let your experience be something you didn't expect when you walked through the front door.

Let the sun shine in.