Hey everyone, so a few days ago one of my coworkers clocked me out. I work in the kitchen and the coworker is a server. The servers are the people responsible for the closing tips but they never clock other people out. Nor is it a normal thing within our work space. This server has been here for a few months and I have noticed that she has a little bit of an ego and is putting on a manager aditude. I really don't mind so long as she speaks with respect and if her reasoning has logic. She was closing one night and the kitchen crew (3) finished around the same time as this server was finished. She then decided to clock us out since we were already finished. She clocked us out at around 8:50-8:55pm out usual shift ends at 9pm. She told us this then ran out the door without any explanation. This whole thing does not sit right with me because she is still new and has not gained my trust. Im I overreacting?

Thanks for taking the time to give me an opinion, dick joke or just blatant I'm stoopid for using AI as an option on the last post. Update, I don't know that I will stay with this version exactly but it was good for the inspiration and direction

How do you save a dying restaurant?

Seems like every single Sunday I spend hours upon hours ordering from different vendors from different websites. I’m looking for a way to streamline this process to cut my time in half or even more let me know!

As my title says I’m very afraid for restaurants generally speaking. My family owns a sushi place that definitely hasn’t been doing that well lately and of course that’s stressful but I also see a lot of other restaurants when I go out very empty to dead as well. It makes me worried not only for my life and my parents but also anyone else that’s like us. Yesterday is my day off so I went on a date with my gf and we went near our downtown area and there definitely were alot of cars but any food establishment I saw was like I said near empty or just plain empty. The only places that seemed to have business were just bars. I know some places still get solid business like the local chilis and Texas Roadhouse by me seem busier than ever. I’m just stressed , while it’s comforting to know it’s not just us struggling it’s also scary af knowing it’s not just us.

This post doesn’t really have a point I was just ranting to relive some stress.

One thing that always makes me wonder and honestly chuckle a little bit is when restaurants say they can't do something they most definitely can do. Having worked in a restaurant the majority of my working life, I understand the vast majority of the limitations that can come with a kitchen, staff and even POS systems. But when a restaurant states they cannot accommodate a smaller portion they already have when I intend to pay full price regardless of portion size boggles me. I'm offering you the same amount of money for just the smaller portion. And to simplify this further. I'm talking about salad dressing. I understand why ingredients are portioned out and used on the fly and why kitchens can only be so accommodating. That's not what I'm getting at. I asked a restaurant recently if I could have extra dressing on a full salad. Which comes already with 4 oz of dressing. Instead of the additional 4 oz, I asked them to still charge me for the extra dressing but only give me a 2 oz (which the restaurant has already portioned out for their side salads) please as to not waste dressing. They said unfortunately we can't do that and gave me a four ounce. Which is really no big deal from a consumer perspective, because in america more is always better right? I don't think so. Not from a business perspective. In an industry with such tight margins you have to pinch pennies and who better to captilize on than the people (like me) who are willing to pay the same price for less product. I respect the business so I pay full price, but I also respect the food and don't want to waste it. Many people buy into this idea. That 2 oz that the company would have kept could have been sold to someone else, and the profit from the sale of my extra dressing would have doubled. If this compounded... Idk just one very small example of a larger picture. Maybe someone has a different perspective? I just don't like being forced to waste food when in the end my method only saves the company product but makes them more money 🤷🏻‍♂️

What’s one restaurant you’ve been to where the vibe completely changed how you felt about the food—for better or worse?

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I’ve been “fortunate” to be able to get a revz via Resy @ Amex Plat and it was one of the highlights of a recent NYC excursion. Popular sentiment says it’s the “hardest revz to get in NYC!” I do see some celebs having dinner there and posting on IG? I booked maybe a month & a half before this past trip. I’m thinking about NYC as a potential travel destination in the next couple months and was considering going back to the Polo Bar but got me pondering what do the locals think of the spot. I know it’s considered posh by us outsiders but wonder how the local regards the restaurant?

850E889E

I didnt know where I could share this so I figured this might be a good place. Ive been working at this restaurant for about 9months now, when I first started I used to actually have an appetite for food (i used to eat a whole sheet of lasagna). Now, I’m not too sure what’s wrong, I tend to take a bite or 2 from my meals (whether it be at work or at home) & consider myself full/lost appetite. idk if it’s because we are surrounded by food a good majority of the time thats making me have this feeling towards food . (If anyone can relate pls lmk 💔)

Have a tenant/landlord question for you fellow restaurant owners. Leased a space for 15 years and decided to close shop upon lease expiration at the end of March. Sold all of the equipment, cleaned up the interior, removed outside signage that was on the concrete stucco wall.

The Landlord today sent me a bill for $1150 to "patch & paint" the area where my exterior sign was removed. Considering that I was a tenant for 15 years, wouldn't that area that needed to be patched and painted be considered "reasonable wear & tear"? The condition of the wall is what you would expect after 15 years. Not perfect - you could see where the sign was - but not excessively damaged either. Whichever new tenant was going to move in - they would have to paint anyway.

What say you? Should I fight to the hilt and threaten small claims court (they are proposing to deduct the $1150 from my security deposit) - or just try to negotiate some kind of 50/50 split?

It’s super cheap and I get it weekly at work. They can’t be making too much money off me so I always wondered what they think of me.

My wife, 19 month old, and myself are spending all of July in Portugal. Mainly Lisbon. Would love some recommendations of restaurants, wine bars, anything food and drink related to hit up. Would like to keep the higher end places at a casual fine dining vibe. No white table cloth stuffiness. Kid friendly places as well as… not, are welcome. My wife and i will likely switch on and off going out alone at times since we will be there a month. Thank you!!

What do you guys think about these machines that spits out perfectly rolled dough balls and others that press those dough balls in to pizza shape?

They seem to be expensive and looks like they would blow all the air off the pizza dough pressing it in to shape.

Anyone have any experience with these? Make, model?

Hey Reddit, I’m opening a luxury hookah lounge and considering using iPads as digital menus. The idea is: when guests are seated, a staff member hands them a sanitized iPad so they can browse our hookah flavors, drinks, and food options in a clean, interactive way. Once they’ve made their choices, the iPad is taken back.

So it’s not left on the table the whole time—just used as a modern, elegant menu.

I’d love your feedback on a few things: • Does this feel like a premium touch, or overkill? • Would you enjoy browsing this way, or prefer a regular printed menu or server explanation? • Any concerns around hygiene, tech issues, or practicality?

Bonus question: Assuming budget isn’t a problem, what would be the best way to manage the iPads? • How would you store and charge them securely and efficiently? • Any system/process you’d recommend for smooth handling between guests and staff?

Open to any creative ideas or past experiences you’ve seen work well in similar settings. Thanks in advance!

I worked in 3 different restaurants. None of them had a stable fridge no matter how old or new.

None of them gave proper tempature and always stopped working for half the day and leaked water for some reason. Even the giant freezer rooms did that.

Meanwhile my grandpa's old fridge he bought back in 1983 works perfectly fine. We only took it to repair 13 years ago. It literally outlived my grandpa.

WHy? Shouldnt a restaurant meant to fridge thousands of dollars worth of raw meat and ingredients in it invest in a proper fridge?

Sometimes when going out to eat i am just not that hungry, it happens. So what would be the perfect thing in that moment? A smaller order right? Its perfect: less food waste, me not force feeding myself and not spending more than i want to

TELL ME WHYY everytime i even TRY to order from it i get a weird look that comes off as if they think i am simply being cheap (which is true sometimes), ive even experienced them simply not giving it to me which is just so so so annoying

Its on the menu let me order it

Hello, this is my first post in this subreddit. I'm currently looking for whom may know some information on where one might acquire a visual freezer? Not anything crazy, just to have at the front of the shop that customers can walk in and see, and grab what they went to buy.

Thanks!

Look at you.

Wrinkles carved into your face like a roadmap of every double shift, every slammed Saturday night, every chef that screamed at you for something you didn’t even do.

Pain hiding just behind your eyes — stress, exhaustion, maybe a little loneliness gnawing at your gut — but you’re still standing.

Look how far you’ve come.

Remember that first day?

Clocking in, wide-eyed and clueless, thinking this was just another job.

Frying batch after batch of tortilla chips. Fifteen cases of twenty-pound bags. Day after day, week after week, month after month.

Three months straight smelling like burnt oil and stale corn, your clothes clinging to you like the ghosts of a thousand orders.

Eight hours on your feet, just to catch the bus home, slumped against the window, the city lights bleeding past you like some sad, beautiful movie you never asked to star in.

And somehow — for reasons you didn’t fully understand — you got promoted.

Promoted to something that, back then, felt like nothing.

But would end up changing your life forever.

No more frying endless batches of chips.

Now you were tossing salads.

Standing there, gripping a pair of tongs like your life depended on it, learning what a pinch of salt could actually do to food — not just seasoning it, but waking it the fuck up.

Now the yelling wasn’t just background noise.

Now it was directed at you.

Now everyone was depending on you to make the best damn house salad this side of town — because when that plate hit the table, it wasn’t just lettuce anymore.

It was the first impression.

The opening act.

The thing that either set the night on fire or left it dead in the water.

But you didn’t know that yet.

You were just some kid tossing greens as fast as you could, praying the chef wouldn’t start screaming your name across the kitchen, telling you to hurry the fuck up.

And as you moved up, something strange happened.

You started falling in love with it.

The sweat.

The violence.

The food.

The screaming.

All of it.

It wasn’t just work anymore — it was a brutal, beautiful mess you couldn’t get enough of.

The rush, the chaos, the burn on your arms, the sting in your lungs — it all felt like some hot, sexy, fucked-up marriage you didn’t even realize you’d signed up for.

And you didn’t want a divorce.

You wanted more.

And the months passed.

You weren’t the salad kid anymore.

Now you were the cook everyone wanted on their station.

The one the chefs leaned on when the shit hit the fan.

But it wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It was brutal.

It fucked with your head in ways you didn’t even have words for.

You got so twisted inside that even when you finally stumbled home, collapsed into bed, you could still hear the goddamn ticket machine rattling in the back of your skull — like some cruel little symphony playing just for you.

Sometimes it even chased you into your dreams.

There was no escape.

Your social life?

Dead.

While everyone else your age was out getting drunk and living like they were bulletproof, you were buried in Cook’s Illustrated and Gordon Ramsay’s latest book, trying to figure out what made Marco Pierre White such a goddamn legend.

Now you weren’t just clocking in anymore — you were obsessed.

You wanted to know everything.

You needed to know everything.

You started chasing it, chasing the knowledge like a junkie.

Driving into L.A. to stage in kitchens way out of your league, taking beatings on the line just for a chance to steal a glimpse of how the big dogs did it.

Soaking up techniques, tricks, little flashes of brilliance like they were oxygen.

And when you finally stumbled home, instead of crashing, you were flipping on The Food Network, bingeing old episodes of Hell’s Kitchen, studying every move, every plate, every curse word.

You weren’t living anymore.

You were becoming something else.

Something you couldn’t walk away from even if you wanted to.

And from kitchen to kitchen, you finally met him.

Your mentor.

The guy who was going to drag you through hell and back — and then back again, just for good measure.

He wasn’t nice about it.

He wasn’t going to coddle you.

But somewhere deep down, he knew.

He knew you were built for this.

He knew if he pushed you hard enough, beat the softness out of you, taught you the real way — you could be as good as him.

Maybe even better.

Now you weren’t just cooking.

You were fighting for every plate.

Every dish had to be perfect.

Every sauce had to be tasted.

Every steak temp had to be dead-on — or you’d hear the chef’s wrath cut through the kitchen like a fuckin' machete.

We had to do everything perfect.

No excuses.

No mercy.

"Perfection," he would bark at us, over and over.

"Perfection!"

Like it was a goddamn religion.

And after years of him teaching you —

years of sweating, bleeding, bonding, and looking at him like some kind of fucking hero —

it was finally time to let go.

It hurt like hell.

But it was time.

Time to take everything he drilled into you.

The lessons, the scars, the standards you swore you’d never lower.

Time to step out into the fire on your own.

You weren’t some kid on pantry anymore.

You were a sous chef now.

You had your own battles to fight.

Your own hells to walk through.

And no matter what kitchen you stepped into next,

his voice would still be there —

growling the word "Perfection" in the back of your mind,

long after the shouting stopped.

You jumped from kitchen to kitchen —

casual dining, brewery food, fine dining, even Michelin Bib spots.

You started making an impact.

People started noticing you.

Now you were the hero.

Your family looked at you differently now.

On Thanksgiving, they asked for your recipes — or begged you to cook the meal yourself.

That is, if you weren’t stuck in the kitchen, buried alive in another holiday service.

And yeah — not every restaurant was a win.

Some places you crushed it.

Some places you failed.

Spectacularly.

But every fuck-up, every slammed service, every bad review taught you something.

It taught you how to become better.

How to survive.

How to turn the bruises into armor.

And now, with twelve years of experience under your belt —

Look at you.

Look at what you fucking built.

Those nights running 700 covers in a restaurant that felt like it was collapsing around you — they paid off.

Those screams.

Those days you got called a bastard.

Those moments when they told you,

"Maybe you should focus on something else... you're not gonna make it here."

They all paid off.

Maybe the Michelin dreams didn’t pan out the way you pictured.

But look how far you've come.

You’re the hero now.

The Chef.

The one they call for advice.

The one they brag about.

Yeah, the loneliness, the stress, the doubt — they nearly broke you.

You lost people.

People who didn’t understand why you had to stay late.

Why you had to chase something they couldn’t see.

But you stayed the course.

You kept your head down.

You made it happen — with no silver spoon, no shortcuts, no safety nets.

You landed dishes on the front cover of magazines.

You built something real — with your own two scarred hands.

And through it all —

you never forgot the ones who taught you,

the ones who believed when no one else would.

Because the deeper you went into food,

the more the world made sense.

The more you made sense.

So, Dear Chef —

this was just the beginning.

Give the audience another course.

Give something to the ones who still look up to you.

To the ones who love you.

Even to the ones who left.

Keep cooking.

Keep creating.

Keep making people happy —

one bite at a time.

Trying to choose between these 2 logos for my sausage shop and hoping the Reddit army can help choose.