“Like the Carne Asada a la Oaxaquena with sweet plantains and mojitos Chicago chef Rick Bayless creates at his restaurants, his flair for social media tantalizes and leaves us wanting more.”

So said Scott Kleinberg in his RedEye column, ch@t, on Monday. His opening line was the last time Kleinberg mentioned Bayless’ food. Instead, his interview focused solely on the well-known chef’s steady tweet habit.

“It just happened,” Bayless told Kleinberg. “I had to watch it with blogs because I was overwhelmed sometimes by blank pages. But with Twitter and its 140 characters, and pictures – I LOVED it!”

The interview even touched on one of Bayless’ Twitter Fails, a picture he took of himself doing yoga that “didn’t get a single click.” How come you think it didn’t go over well?, Kleinberg asked Bayless.

“… I think most people find the inner workings of the restaurant is what’s most interesting,” Bayless replied. “I love sharing aspects of what we do in 140 characters.”

Now here’s a guy who clearly gets it. He knows his diners want desperately to peek behind those swinging doors. He understands that, despite the long, grueling hours, tired feet and missing fingertips, people still find the restaurant industry glamorous. He gets that his job is unique, something worth talking – or tweeting – about, especially compared with the average desk job.

And he’s savvy enough to take advantage of a platform that allows him, in just a few minutes each day from his mobile phone, to take advantage of daily opportunities to market himself and his brand to some 5,978 followers (and before you ask, no, he’s not following all of those people. In fact, he follows just 50 other Tweople.)

Heck … he even got newspaper coverage for it!

Need more inspiration to tweet for yourself? Here are some of Bayless’ recent tweets:

A question:
We're thinking of putting the Top Chef Master's tongue tacos on the Frontera menu starting Tuesday. Do you think we should? 7:38 AM Jun 27th from web

A recipe:
str shrtcake biskit: fd proc: 16oz flour,1/2c sgr,3/2t b pwdr,1/2t salt,8oz btr.Pulse 2 sand.Add 2/3c btrmlk,2 eggs.Pulse2ball.Form.400*/15m5:42 PM Jun 25th from TweetDeck

A “Fail”:
http://twitpic.com/8ot1o - Just finished serving 300 chicken/red onion tacos@Fancy Food. Ran out. Forced to eat@Javitz food ct. Embarassing

I had dinner with a honcho at an industry food mag last night. We were talking about plans in the works for Restaurant Intelligence Agency and the current state of restaurant PR. We talked about the fact that journalists aren't as interested in formalities as they are in immediacy -- in what's available NOW.

She is not very much into social marketing, this media friend of mine. No Twitter, and she admitted to being on a campaign to de-friend on Facebook.  She's too busy for the latter, thinks the former is a fad.

Yet the one thing she asked for, the one thing she said she needs from me most ... is a composite of all the Twitter feeds from our chefs. 

Not press releases about a new martini list. Not media dinners featuring a summer menu. Not a month-long heirloom tomato festival or a week-long mushroom extravaganza.

She wants to know what the chefs are thinking, doing, experimenting with and hoping for. And she wants to know every day.

My question is: Are you willing to do the work to tell her? I am.

Most chefs and restaurateurs I talk to can articulate what their brand is, and that's not surprising. Creative people specialize in Big Ideas, and that's exactly what a brand is: It's the Big Idea driving you every day to work like hell so you can make your mark.

When it comes down to it, Big Ideas are a lot easier to dream up than they are to execute. I've had Big Ideas since I was seven years old, piles of them. Now, if you want to know how many of them actually came to fruition, that's another story - and, frankly, the world is probably better off without my memoirs of a cross-country road trip in search of the best chicken-fried steak (or is it?).

Anyway, back to the brand, your Big Idea. You are committed to it. You live for it. But there's a Little Problem -- actually, a lot of Little Problems. There are all of these tiny details to tend to so that your investors and vendors and customers understand your Big Idea. And it is all such minutiae, especially for creative people like you and me: the typeface on your menu, the menu itself, the hostess greeting, dessert specials, waiters' uniforms, bathroom tiles, tablecloth colors, background music, flatware, advertising copy, thank you mints -- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaacccckkk!

In the Battle of the Brands, it always seems like it's Big versus Little. But that's not how we think about it. You see, the little things you do every day aren't hoops you must jump through to get to your Big Idea. They are your Big Idea, broken down into mercifully manageable chunks, carefully considered and strategically selected to make it all add up. Without the minutiae, your brand would still be festering in the cesspool of Big Ideas That Were Not. And unless you see it as your destiny to tend to the minutiae, that's exactly where your Big Idea will end up.

True chefs can deconstruct, update, and put their own personal twist on even the simplest foods, from deviled eggs to peanut butter and jelly. That's one of the reasons true food lovers are willing to spend three, five, even 10 times what it would cost to cook a meal at home: They want someone else to stretch their palates, and surprise them with new textures and flavors they wouldn't or couldn't create in their own home kitchens. Challenging dishes are part of the fun of eating out.

Cooking at home is a very different experience. On the average night, the last meeting of the day ran way past 5 p.m., the commute sucked, and the first step in the door invited a cacophony of whiny kids and barking dogs, or (quieter, but still annoying) an avalanche of laundry and bills to pay. Even on days when everything goes right -- you clock out at 4:59 p.m., beat traffic, and arrive home to a clean house, a mailbox full of new magazines and catalogues, and smiling faces, whether canine or human -- dinner is still less an experience than a goal. You're hungry, the kids are hungry, the dogs are hungry, and you don't want to deconstruct a damn thing or decipher a recipe. You just want to get food on the table, albeit good food that everyone enjoys -- or at least doesn't complain about.

That, dear chefs, is why reporters reach out to you for recipes. And, it's why they insist on recipes with accessible ingredients, simple steps, and results that the average home chef can replicate. In a beautiful world, everyone would have two hours to tinker with dinner, chiffonading this and garnishing that, as amuse bouches float out of the kitchen on clouds of meringue to a chorus of angels. In the real world, it's a good night when dinner involves a main and a salad and nothing gets burnt.

So do journalists -- and the rest of us -- a favor when you submit recipes to newspapers: Go easy on us. We've had a rough day.  

Chefs, you know that awesome ego and energy boost you get when a customer calls you out of the kitchen to compliment you on a fabulous dinner? There's nothing like a personal, sincere, in-the-moment "thank you" to carry you through the hundreds of thankless covers you pour your heart into week in and week out.

Imagine how the mood would change in kitchens around the world if more diners took the time to say thanks for exceptional food and service. After all, most chefs cook for the love of it, to create a perfect food experience that transcends. Yet all too often the kitchen door only swings open for a chef to address a complaint, rather than a compliment.

The same is true for the media. Journalists tend to be chained to their computers in the same way chefs are confined to the kitchen. They churn out story after story, but generally only hear back from their sources or readers when they've goofed. As a publicist, I often get e-mails from miffed clients who want me to knock a reporter for a minor error. Rarely do I get an e-mail asking me to thank reporters for the good stuff, and that's a shame. Imagine how the collective mood of reporters would change if they got a sincere, in-the-moment "thank you" now and then, especially from the people whose stories they tell every day.

Here's to the simple "thank you" for a job well done, whether from diner to chef, chef to reporter -- or, heck, even from client to publicist. Couldn't we all use the boost now and then?

Never could more business-damning words be spoken.

I got into it with someone the other day. He was doing something that was just plain counterproductive. Of course, because I can't seem to keep my mouth shut, I pointed out the futility as I saw it.

An exasperated sigh. A defiant look. And then the sentence that led me to blow my cool: "It's the way we do things 'round here."

So, wait, seriously? Does it follow, then, that it is OK that airlines don't arrive on time? That's the way they do things, right? How about the mob? Is it OK that they whack people? That's just how they roll!

Maybe I am being a bit over the top but, then again, maybe people should start thinking about their complacency. Backwards thinking, fundamentally, is the same across the board. The only difference is that the negative consequences won't rack up ETAs or body bags. But make no mistake: Backwards thinking will affect your restaurant's bottom line.  To me, that's pretty important.

I went to a summit recently, a get-together for media and publicists to discuss how we can work together better. Like all journalist-publicist summits, soon enough it devolved into the usual festival of complaints, pleas, veiled accusations and, well, you get the picture.

The problem, of course, isn't that PR people can't figure out journalism. In fact, many of the publicists I know once worked as journalists. The problem is that what journalists think a publicist's job is and what a publicist's job is, in reality, are two very different things.

To journalists, the publicist's job is to research what they are writing about these days, understand the journalist's audience, and craft a thoughtful pitch that both makes for a great story and gets the publicist's client some attention.

In reality, the publicist's job is to keep the client happy (and keep the retainer coming next month). More often than not, keeping the client happy is at odds with keeping the journalist happy.

For one, appeasing clients seems to require generating a certain amount of volume to prove the worth of the staggeringly high retainer. By volume, I don't necessarily mean results. I also don't mean time spent researching every reporter's magazine, blog, newspaper, TV, radio, and Twitter feed to understand what makes individual journalists tick, and tweaking pitches accordingly.

Volume means the hefty list of media contacts some PR firm bought from a service and then handed to the cheapest person in the office to dial and dial and dial.

Dial and dial and dial. Log all the calls. Big report. Happy client.

This system is what most every PR firm relies on, especially the bigger ones. It's time for us all to admit this system doesn't actually help the client. More likely, it hurts them. But the publicists continue because they want a happy client. And, big report equals happy client.
 
So, how to fix the problem:
 
• Publicists need to have the guts to tell clients that a big report is a sure sign of wasted money. Fire the clients who won't listen. Publicists, trust me. It is better for your business and all of your current and future clients if you don't pollute your name with actions taken on behalf of a deluded client who demands meaningless volume.
 
• Clients need to have the guts to trust that they can get more results from a tiny report. Believe in your publicist even without those godforsaken reports. Or fire them and find someone else you can believe in.
 
• Journalists, well, I don't know how you have the guts to walk into work each day, wondering what is going to happen with your job. You've got enough on your plate already.

My clients are getting more and more e-mails from bloggers requesting complimentary meals and products so they can write up reviews for their sites. The sheer number of bloggers makes it tough to decide how to respond. 

Generally, I would recommend taking a look at the blog and deciding if you think the audience fits your customer profile and, therefore, is worth your money. Many blogs these days have a more committed audience than do newspapers. Comments are a good indicator because most people bothering to comment are "regulars" who frequent the blog not only to read what the writer has to say, but also to chat with the rest of the readers. No comments does not necessarily mean no one is reading, but it does mean no one is compelled to engage in the topic -- and that can be a sign that this blog isn't very influential.

You might also Google the name of the blog's writer to see what else she does and where else she posts or contributes. Many bloggers cross-post on other blogs. For instance, they may have their own blog, but also contribute to a megablog such as Huffington Post or the Gothamist empire. If that's the case, their review of your restaurant could show up under their byline on another blog -- and, it might even be referenced by another blogger. If you see the writer's name on other blogs, whether they are listed as contributors or are just mentioned by another blogger, that's another good sign.

You might also find when you Google the blogger's name that this person is a freelance journalist. Increasingly, freelance journalists write blogs as an outlet for the work they can't sell elsewhere, or to promote themselves. Recent lay-offs at newspapers and magazines have led to a rise in the number of freelancers and bloggers with years of journalism experience. My point is, don't write off all bloggers as know-nothings.

Finally, Google the name of the blog. If it's on a list of your city's top blogs, you've probably got your answer.

Once you decide to comp a blogger, I usually recommend beginning with a tasting menu, not including booze or tax/tip. It is completely affordable for restaurants to do that. That said, a meal without wine is, well, not as good. So, is there anything you could pour for the guest that is reasonable?  Hospitality is the name of the game. Striving to impress -- especially when it's someone who has a loyal following and a public forum, whether online or in print -- is going to help your bottom line in the end.

The world has changed. Comping blogger meals may be a bigger pain in the butt, but you could actually get more out of these blogger meals than the rounds and rounds of media meals old-school journalists would take.

If you're still among those poo-poo-ing social media as a passing fad or the silly dalliances of cat ladies and navel-gazers, check out this morning's Chicago Tribune for a story on how Iranians on both sides of the pond have been relying on Twitter, Facebook, blogs and other Internet-based sites to disseminate and receive news about the nation's post-election turmoil. 

A sidebar in the RedEye version of the Tribune story points out that this not the first time Twitter has played a role in breaking news. When U.S. Airways Flight 1549 crashed on the Hudson River, the public was first alerted by a photo posted on Twitter by a witness. Most mainstream media learned about the Mumbai hostage situation from Twitter, Facebook and Twitter.

Last week's edition of Time magazine asked the question, "How will Twitter change the way we live?" The answer: It already has. These services suffer from silly names that belie the serious purposes they can serve. It's true, they're not for everyone; but neither is CNN or talk radio. People choose a variety of means to receive their news, and more and more people are choosing to get their news via social media. In fact, that's why most people I know use Facebook, Twitter, and the like.

We're long past the point where people serious about communicating their brand - and that goes for everyone from publicists to celebrities to chefs - can ignore the power of social media. Even if Twitter doesn't last forever, it's here now, and millions of Tweets are sent each day. If it's being taken seriously enough that it gets written up in Time, and The New York Times, don't you think it's worth a look?

Everyone knows backstage is where the magic happens. It's why MTV's "Cribs" is in its 16th (!) season, and reality shows starring D-list celebrities still manage to get viewers. It's not because anyone actually cares about these people. It's because we are a nation of inquirers, and these shows pull back the curtains so we can go behind the scenes. That's incredibly alluring.

In the world of food, if the dining room is the big show, the kitchen is backstage. And reporters and their food-lovin' readers want an all-access pass. Understanding this is incredibly important if you want to help your publicist help you get press. It's not always better to wait until your seasonal menu or signature cocktail is perfected before you talk about it with a reporter. Sometimes, the more interesting story is how you developed the dish. So why not let your publicist know what you are doing? Maybe they can invite a reporter in to watch the dish be "born."

Maybe you're using a newfangled kitchen gadget, something that makes Grant Achatz's kitchen chemistry look straight out of the high school lab. Tell your publicist!  

Maybe Great Aunt Cecilia came to your kitchen every Thursday at the crack of dawn for two months to help you perfect stracciatella gelato that is straight out of Rome. Tell your publicist!

Maybe your new tasting menu was inspired by your recent honeymoon in Venezuela. Tell your publicist!

Letting journalists and readers behind the scenes isn't about giving away your trade secrets. It's about letting people see you're human -- and that's where the story is.

Now that social media forums such as Twitter and Facebook (and rockingly innovative companies like Restaurant Intelligence Agency) have more or less eliminated the publicist barrier between reporters and chefs, I'm getting lots of questions from chefs along the lines of, "Big Important Journalist just FB'ed me out of the blue and asked me to tell them about me. What do I say?"

What they are asking, of course, is what would I say about them as a chef if the reporter called me.  That's been the primary function of a publicist for decades: to package their clients' brilliance and dose it out to reporters in easy-to-swallow bites.

But these days, social media is giving reporters direct access to chefs (and other sources) like never before, so it's more important than ever for chefs to be ready with their own Chef Elevator Speech.

Every entrepreneur -- and that includes chefs, restaurateurs, and, yes, even self-employed publicists -- needs an elevator speech, a short (30-second or less) spiel about you and your current work at the ready in case Lady Luck strikes and you find yourself stuck on the proverbial elevator with The One Person who can make your career/idea/business soar.

You've got seconds to make it happen. It's as easy as ABC. Go.

Avoid hyperbole, unless, of course, you want to come across as an egomaniacal blowhard or a publicist in chef's clothing. Explain your idea accurately, and use details to show, not tell. For instance, if you're from Chicago and tell the Big Important Person you source 100 percent locally, weave in a bit about the coolest summer bounty you canned last year and what you plan to freeze for winter '09.

Be brief, an obvious quality of any good elevator speech. Even if the elevator you happen to be stuck on is headed to the Sears Tower Skydeck, you've only got moments -- and you want to leave them asking for more. Try to narrow your idea -- whether it's your new restaurant concept, tasting menu, or drink -- down to three sentences, and then try it again in just one. That way, no matter if you've got one floor or 96, you can spit it out.

Finally, continue to compel. This is usually the toughest quality to achieve in a killer elevator speech, because it requires knowing how high the bar is and how your idea compares. If you're a chef doing molecular gastronomy in Chicago, you'd likely need some spin other than the graceful artistry of Achatz or the insane spectacle of Cantu. And don't tell me your place is "casual, yet sophisticated," "all about farm-to-table" or (and I've been told this), "like Blackbird, only better."  (No, it wasn't; yes, it's closed.)

The only way to perfect your elevator speech is to jot it down and then practice it out loud -- and not just in front of a mirror. If you want to try yours out, give me a call. We can practice it while we ride up to Hancock Tower's Signature Lounge. I know the chef there and heard he is rocking it out.  You're buying.

I should, technically, love press kits.  It was a press kit, after all, that got me into restaurant PR.  You see, I was working at a restaurant and it was about nine months after it opened. The PR firm was hosting a Media Event.  It was Very Important.

Though a line cook at the time, I had a master's degree and a few years of white collar work in sales and marketing under my toque. So I was fascinated by this whole process of the media dinner.

While everyone was setting up, I did what any curious cook would do: I made sure no one was looking, sauntered by the table on my way to the walk-in, and stole a press kit.

"Poised to open in the hip new Randolph Street district ..." it began.  Whhaaa?? That seemed slightly insane and completely ridiculous.  Here we were, having this Very Important Media Event, and these people hadn't seen fit to update the press kit.  They hadn't even updated it for more than nine months.  I could do better than that.

And so I did do better than that.

Press kits can be monstrous projects to complete. If it weren't enough to write up compelling and accurate bios from a bunch of people who are harder to pin down than a mosquito in a windstorm, there's extracting the menu from the chef (with pricing, please. PLEASE!).  Add to it the delicate task of coaxing an approved logo out of the graphic designer (that is, if there is even a name for the place yet), and, yes, oh, yes, the overall design.  It's all the piece de resistance of pain, unless of course someone's sister-in-law has suggested dumping the whole thing onto a business-card sized CD or some such thing.

And to get the whole thing done, approved and out the door can be cause for celebration.  At least for the fifty-three seconds, precisely, it takes for the client to call you up and alert you that there has been A Major Change. 

It always happens that the minute any publicist hits send on a press kit (in the old days, the minute it was dropped in the mail box), the client changes some critical piece of information.  One of the more hideous moments I lived through in PR was when I distributed a press kit to more than 500 journalists moments before the chef was fired. More often than not it is a change in the hours or pricing.  One time the restaurant gave me (and thus everyone else) the wrong address.

All that has led me to the conclusion that press kits are dead.  Not the material, mind you. Having that kind of base of information is crucial to successful PR.  It is the delivery system I believe is essentially garbage. I don't care if it is in a folder, on a disc, sent via laser beams with a bag of jelly beans, or what.  If it can't change, daily, hourly, to respond to the current news at the restaurant, it doesn't work.  Because the news will change, a lot, daily even, and if the delivery system can't react and adapt to that change, well, then you are just sending out Yesterday's News, which incidentally, is my preferred brand of kitty litter.

Seth Godin wrote a blog post called "Won by a Walk."

The post is about a a baseball game where the Mets won the game by a walk.  What Seth pointed out was that in a close game, no team wins because of that one final play, in this case a walk.  The team wins because everyone scored runs, played good defense, practiced hard, rested well, ate healthily, etc.  The walk was just the last event in a long string of events that led up to a win.

This matters to me as a restaurant publicist because in my humble opinion, publicists take too damn much credit for The Big Media Hit.  They tell their clients, "I got that for you" and often hand over a pretty copy of The Big Media Hit with an outline of the equivalent monetary value of their effort.  What they want you to believe is that The Big Media Hit is their sole effort.

I am not saying that a hardworking publicist with good ideas doesn't deserve credit for being  part of the team.  But they are that: part of the team.  They are not responsible for The Big Media Hit; they just so happened to be on the part of the team that was at bat when that bad pitch led to the walk.

Restaurants need to realize that all the work done before the media calls is what leads to The Big Media Hit.  The original concept, the great design, the delicious menu, the trained service staff -- those things make a restaurant work. The chef who plans dishes and menus ahead of time, the manager who responds to requests for emailed menus, the owner who knows to spend money on good quality photos -- those are the things that set the stage for media coverage.  

The publicist is just the person standing at the plate when the game-winning ball gets thrown.

Don't let anyone take credit for your Big Media Hit.  Conversely, don't blame any one person if you don't get one, either.

A few hours ago, a few posts went up on this blog, which is pulled to FB for readers... I got a bunch of weird emails and Twitter posts after that and couldn't figure out why.  I spent an hour wondering.

And then I saw the comments my client put up under two of the posts.  Hilarious...  Looks like we are having some sort of public fight.  Scary...Looks like we are having some sort of public fight.

The poor chef is technology challenged and is trying so hard to get it working on Social Media.  He read and leapt, thinking they were private emails back and forth.  When I told him the geniuses of each, he laughed and said, "You're so right!"

With so much information passing by our eyes each day, the lesson here (and this is to you, Chef! and everyone else who is rushing thru reading and commenting):

Read. Carefully. Before you decide to comment publicaly.  Email, FB, Twitter...it all can be misconstrued in the blink of an eye...because of a blink of an eye.

Dear Chef,

If you were my client, I'd tell it to you straight.  You're not, thankfully.  But really, you need to know: Being a puffed-up peacock with a big, bad 'tude ain't gonna get you nowhere.

Your new restaurant is getting good reviews, not at all surprising because your food is quite good. But I sure hope you don't serve all of your customers the same steaming piles of B.S. you heaped on my plate. Food & Wine Rising Star, this. You should have gotten the New York Times review instead of The Publican, that. On and on you went, as I wished for an emergency in the kitchen to pull you away.

Unless you change your act, and pronto, the favorable buzz you're getting now is going to fizzle like a week-old two-liter bottle of club soda. It'll soon be replaced (actually, from what I hear, it is already being supplemented) by ugly chatter. And I assure you, the selection-committees-that-be will not risk sullying the good name of their prestigious awards with someone who is one giant puff of hot air away from imploding.  (They've made that mistake before and it backfired.)

As a dear, flamboyant friend of mind was once fond of declaring, "You better check yourself before you rickety-wreck yourself, fool!" In other words, it's not too late to put your food first and your ego last. If you do, you won't just be good; you'll be great.

And you just may get that recognition you crave after all.

Ever go out to eat at a nice restaurant with good food, great company, and spot-on service -- yet, the whole time you're there, you just can't fight this feeling that something's not right? You just can't get it out of your head, and after awhile, it starts to drive you crazy, crazy, crazy ...

Aha! All of a sudden, it's as clear as fingernails on a chalkboard: The soundtrack to your white-linens, fine-wine, high-end dinner is a pop radio station, pumping the likes of Kylie Minogue, Aerosmith circa 2005, and, yes, even Black Sabbath into your coulda-been-perfect experience.

Let me be clear: I'm not busting on any of these fine musical veterans. They have their rightful place -- in the shower, say, or on your iPod at the gym, or maybe even in your kitchen (no judgment). However, since your dining room is neither a dance floor nor a karaoke bar, you are gonna have to be as brilliant as Mario Batali to pull it off.  Otherwise, it just might not jibe with the ambience you're trying to create for your customers.

Think about it this way: It would be a big buzzkill for you and most other people if you walked into your favorite watering hole after a long dinner service and Yanni was blaring on the sound system. Likewise, when people go to the trouble of polishing their jewelry and picking out a fancy tie to dine at a place where their meal starts and ends with French words, they probably don't want to be rocking the Casbah.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. And I am open to new ideas.  I'd love to hear your reasoning if you think you have one.

I read a great blog post by Jason Fried, a genius guy (he hates meetings, so I like him) who owns a super innovative web company called 37Signals.

The post, to summarize, is about how simple doing business can be. In the post, Jason outlines a refreshing interaction he had with a landscaper.  It was refreshing because the guy chatted with Jason about the project, quoted a bid right there on the spot and Jason hired him.

There were no proposals with action plans and critical paths, no waiting weeks for the bid, no spreadsheet with deadlines and areas of responsibilities, no formal process in which contractors develop a whole heck of a lot of hooha to show off how fancy and smart they are in order to get the job.

The guy knew his business, he had done the same kind of work before, he told Jason the price.

I get a lot of people wanting to meet with me to discuss my website, Restaurant Intelligence Agency.  I understand why.  We haven't done much in the area of sales presentations or even much in the way of sales copy and what I am doing is not what anyone else is doing. It's computers. Computers can be scary.

So, I meet with people, explain to them what we do and tell them how much it costs.  Our system is the same for everyone, so there is no hashing out goals and objectives.  No discussing strategy and execution.  We are a tool that connects media and restaurants, period.

More often than not, people "get it" pretty quickly. It's simple, after all:  have an annual plan of what chefs need to be thinking about (Valentine's Day in October, Christmas in July), collect every bit of data possible, get the news  out to media who want it.  Done.

Our goals are pretty simple concepts, easy for anyone to understand:
• Build easy-to-use web tools to keep current on what is going on at our client's restaurants so we can be sure we've discovered all the relevant news;
• Create a process as transparent as possible so our clients can understand what's really going on in their PR and what garners the most media coverage and why;
• Build bridges so our clients can foster their own relationships with the media, helping them navigate those relationships along the way--rather than hijacking those relationships for our own good.

These concepts are so refreshing, so logical and right, the meetings are generally convivial.  We usually share horror stories of what really went on in PR "back in the day" and I explain why there was no other option for PR but to do the business they did the way they did it. But now, at R.I.A., we've built a better way.

Sometimes I end up getting a big bear hug or even a kiss on the cheek, people are so relieved and happy. It makes such sense that it doesn't take much for people to get what we do.

But more often than not, despite the nods of understanding and chuckling grunts of recognition of PR relationships past, as I am getting up to leave that meeting, the meetee asks for a proposal.

So, I ask: Proposal for what?  Well, you know, so I know what you are going to be doing. Didn't we just go over that? Yes, they say, but I'd just like one. I politely explain that I don't have one.  That we don't need to complicate this with jazzed up PowerPoint presentations and pages of pie-in-the-sky media targets and strategies recycled from one client to the next, paid for afresh each time.

I think fancy proposals are not only a waste of time but they are a sure sign that the price you are gonna pay is inflated.  I don't want to raise my prices.

More often than not, when a restaurant is struggling to get butts in the seats--or to get the press that can help bring the butts--it is because no one really gets what the restaurant is doing. If your prices, decor and food all say "upscale fine dining," but your servers are in T-shirts and tennis shoes, I am going to think you are confused, not cheeky. If your atmosphere screams Miami Heat, but your menu reads pot roast (even if that pot roast is whack-delicious), I am not going to remember you next time I need either comfort food or Miami Heat.

Why? Because your brand is off. Can you imagine if Taco Bell tried to be anything but Taco Bell? Like, if one day, Taco Bell's head honcho decided the company needed to start pumping out authentic Oaxacan moles and cochinita pibil, rather than the "melty," "crunchy," comically named Crunchwrap Supreme®. Such specialties made them famous, so it stands to reason Taco Bell's loyal customers would "run for the border."

Taco Bell is what it is: an American-to-the-core fast food joint that uses Mexican favorites as a jumping point for inexplicably crave-worthy bachelor food. That's the Taco Bell brand. It's what the dudes in Taco Bell commercials advertise, and it's what Taco Bell restaurants deliver to the dudes (and the occasional pregnant lady) who frequent the place.
 
Yes, even high-end restaurants can learn from Taco Bell. Be what you are, and go all the way with it. Don't half-ass it by rolling out a few Cajun-inspired specials on an otherwise classic American menu while marketing yourself as the next Emeril Lagasse. For one thing, we don't need another Emeril. For another, I can almost guarantee you'll get more respect and attention from the press and customers if you follow through on your unique brand--from the front door to the menu.

Be one thing.  Be it through and through.  Be it perfect.

I recently noticed a Facebook conversation between several ticked off journalists who at various points in their careers have had the thankless task of compiling events listings. Their mini-gripefest was telling, for when it comes to listings, the devil apparently is not in the details, but in the lack of details.

Date and time, a.m. or p.m. Location, with complete street address. Phone number. Cost. If you were going to a party, you'd at least want to know these basics, right?

Yet reporters get event listings every day without these bare bones facts. When they're feeling charitable, they'll call or e-mail the offending party and politely - but through clenched teeth, believe you me - request the missing pieces. When they're not, it's curtains for your event.

To me, it's as bad for restaurants to send listings without precise, rich details about the star attractions - the food and drinks - as it is for them to omit the basics. When it comes to restaurant listings, the food and drinks are the basics! To say that your wine tasting event will feature wines and cheeses doesn't cut it. Whet the reporter's - and their readers' - appetites. Tell them what continent and region the wines are from, and what types of cheeses - gooey brie, ashen goat, creamy blue, or all three? Why do they go together so well? Why are you featuring them?

The thing is, your event is up against any number happening the same day or night. Entice, or lose customers to the restaurants that remember to give readers the basics, and then some.

It's true: Journalists always want something. Because they live and die by their ability to acquire information from other people, they specialize in leaving breathless, anxious, sometimes plaintive voice mails.

It's also true that, more often than not, it behooves restaurants and chefs to deliver that something, whether it's a photo to accompany a special event listing, a comment on how they're using the ingredient of the moment, or a full-blown interview. Getting a mention in a story is "free advertising" for your restaurant. And even if the mention is minor, or you deliver information but don't get mentioned at all, if you scratch a reporter's back, chances are she'll remember you in the future.

That said, it's OK to decline to participate in a story on occasion, or for good reason. Let's break down these last two important prepositional phrases.

On occasion: If you're the kind of stand-up guy or gal who tends to ring reporters back lickety-split and send what they request in a timely manner (read: before their stated deadline), it's OK if, from time to time, you don't provide. Of course, you still need to shoot the reporter a polite e-mail or brief voice mail to let her know you're sorry, but you can't deliver what she wants by her deadline. Bonus points for you if you pass along names and numbers of a couple of restaurateur friends who may be good leads for the story and are available. Not only will the reporter appreciate the leads, but so will your friends, who might just send a reporter or two your way in the future.

For good reason: There's actually only one truly good reason to decline, and that's if you've got nothing that responds directly to the reporter's request. From there, things get a little fuzzy.

You are the only person who can decide if you're really so strapped for time that it's out of the question to take 10-20 minutes out of your day to build your brand. I would argue that talking to that reporter is almost always time well-spent.

If you find that you're almost always too busy to field reporter requests, I would urge you to do a gut-check next time a story comes out that you should have been in. Was the story by a reporter you forgot to call back one time?  The reporter you didn't acknowledge when they visited your restaurant?  No, reporters aren't supposed to be biased, but they are people and people have feelings and looooong memories.

That said, on occasion, when the demands of running the show are just too great, it's OK to decline. Journalists will not rule you out for future interviews, provided you abide by two simple rules:

1. Let him know as soon as you can that you have to sit this one out.

2. Thank him for reaching out, and let him know you'll be available in the future. And, next time, be available.

So, Charlie Trotter has been publicly taken to task by the amazing Grant Achatz. Achatz's book proposal, available online for all to ready. details a screaming tirade Trotter delivered to the young chef when he screwed up some peaches in Trotter's kitchen.

Everyone who is anyone was all atwitter yesterday about it on Twitter. (Everyone who is anyone is on Twitter.  Are you?)

A friend of Trotter's from way back in the day - when he and Chuck were themselves line cooks, instead of culinary titans - quickly came to his defense. That Chuck is a card, he wanted us to believe, and more likely than not, what Achatz took as verbal abuse was really just Trotter "kidding around."

I'll keep my opinion on that to myself.  Whomever you choose to believe, have at it. As always, though, there is a lesson and it is simple: If you are a jerk, people remember.

And, even if that cook may not seem know from blanching peaches, you never know where he might end up. That peach-cookin' failure just may turn out to be a Very Important Chef with a Very Public Platform for blasting his missive on your jerkiness.
 
I know, I know: Chefs used to be jerks. It was their shtick, an old-school "something something" I too had personal experience with and try to forget. I am sure it is just fear, which causes people to do really ridiculous things, such as scream at (oh, sorry, "kid with") the lowly line cook who messed up the peaches

Civility is always a good quality, but it is especially important when dealing with media. Seems like a big "duh," right? We really shouldn't have to remind chefs to be nice to the people with pens, TV shows, and the like. But, apparently, we do.

Someday, you and I will go get a whiskey, and I'll tell you the story about the restaurateur who is banned for life from a glossy Chicago pub because of the ridiculous tirade of a letter he shot off to the magazine in anger after a poor review.
 
After the fact, he claimed, "It's no big deal." After his restaurant closed, I think he probably changed his opinion.

A friend of mine recently asked me to do a blog post about chefs who blog and tweet and post Facebook status updates about God.

God? Yes, that God.
 
I knew she was referring to a certain chef whose Bible-passages-as-tweets already had prompted me to unfollow and unfriend said chef.
 
Before you get all worked up about how callous I am, let me explain: If my friend wanted to talk to me about God while we were out for a beer, I wouldn't "un-friend" her, because we would be having a personal exchange and, as her friend, I would expect her to get personal with me. 
 
Facebook and Twitter aren't the same kind of venue as the corner bar, and your posts aren't the same types of exchanges as beer-talk with your close friends. When you are a public figure, your tweets and Facebook updates are not merely musings -- they are marketing. You may want them to be personal, you may think of them as personal, and they may, indeed, be personal. But if you are a public figure, they are also marketing (and anyone who is written up more than twice in the media in one given year is public).
 
So, think before you type. Think about what you put out there for the world to consume. Sure, the offal chef needs to post about sautéed pig hearts, and that is likely to turn off a few folks. But the majority of his audience is going to expect it, dig it. On the other hand, when people sign up to follow a chef, they probably don't bargain on daily inspiration from the Bible.
 
So, a tip to the Bible chef: Set up a Facebook group called "Food God" and add your friends from church. Then, share away!
 
And for the rest of you, a tip on what's appropriate and what's polarizing:

• Posts about new dishes, ingredients, and what you're listening to while you cook -- appropriate.

•Your feud with a chef who you think copies you, graphic details about hunting, and, yes, God -- all polarizing.

I read an article recently about why Hummer, which at the time seemed it was created a highly innovative product, was what the author called a failed strategy.  Hummer, you may know, is such a failure that it is being lopped off the failed GM like a black spot on potato.

The article, so you don't have to read it, can be summed up with this statement:  "Simple: it seduces with easy profits today -- but only at the hidden expense of tomorrow."

Like all things, the article made me think about restaurant PR.

So often, chefs seem to "forget to call back" the smaller media.  They out and out lose the phone number of bloggers.  This is because the chefs want to focus their time on getting in some glory glossy pub they think is "worthy of their time."  They focus on the Hummer of all media hits.  They do not realize that and army of little hits in blogs and smaller outlets is going to get them a lot faster, a lot farther, for a lot longer.

Heads up, Chef-a-roonis: Big Important Journalists read. They read a lot. But Big Important Journalists don't just sit around reading other Big Important Journalists. They are curious people who try and ferret out all the really innovative, fun, new stuff no one else has discovered by....READING BLOGS and small publications, surfing Twitter and watching YouTube.

So, it makes sense, El Cheffietain, that you should meet the Big Important Journalist there, where they are hanging out.  Which means, you should pay attention to all those tiny little opportunities.  Those little opportunities are your media mise-en-place.

So my question: are you looking for the "big glory hit" in PR, or are you doing the work necessary to make yourself.

The other day, I got an intense craving for some noodles.  Although I live off Argyle (Little Saigon to you non-Chicagoans), I developed an instantaneous and intense craving for the noodles of a certain noodle expert on the other side of town.

The only problem I faced just then: It was a weird time for noodles and I didn't want to drive across town to see if they were open, especially since I was parked in front of a fine noodle shop that would do if the Noodle Master wasn't open.

So, I did what many people do. I tried to look it up on my iPhone. And I got what anyone with an iPhone (maybe a Blackberry, too, I don't know) sees when they visit a website built in Flash.

I got a weird little blue box in the middle of a white screen.

I don't care if that website your sister-in-law built was free. If it is in Flash, you will end up paying for it in the end. 

Please.  PLEASE. Do the math on lost revenue if someone dangles a free website before you ... and then choose to pay to get one built that people can actually use to get information they need to come and spend money in your fine establishment.

Seems a bunch of people have been running around, arms flailing, clucking about the imminent death of Twitter. "It's a fad." "People are giving up on it faster than you can say, 'Re-Tweet!'"  "It's gonna collapse on itself like a house of cards," they say.

Reminds me of the journalist who once refused to accept any pitches via e-mail because e-mail, so he said, was a fad.

All I have to say is this: If you have too many orders of chicken Vesuvio in the house, you definitely should get your servers to push it on the floor.

But think of it, what if you had a Twitter following of 1,000 or so people, and you tweeted out luscious details of your chicken Vesuvio special, available only for one night. Don't you think the chances of dumping that Vesuvio glut will increase exponentially if you tell the world about it (or at least 1,000 people, who might then tell their followers), instead of just your half-filled dining room? And, on top of that, isn't it possible you'll find a few new Vesuvio enthusiasts along the way?

Or, you know what, maybe the Chicken Littles are right and creating social capital, finding committed acolytes, and promoting your way to success, day by day, is, indeed, a fad.
 
Nah.

It should make chefs happy that the number one reason people visit restaurant websites is to drool over the menu. Dining out is about the food, first and foremost: How creative is it, what does it look like, are there specials, does the restaurant offer vegetarian/raw/gluten-free options, does anything scream "can't miss!"? Those are the questions visitors to your website want answers to -- before they make a reservation.

So it should go without saying that those are the questions you need to answer, along with how much is this going to cost?

Seems straightforward enough to me. CarMax sells cars, so their website shows and describes every make, model and year they've got on the lot. If you shop for a book on Amazon.com, you get a summary, cost, cover image, and even sometimes (if the book's publisher takes advantage of the option) a peek inside the book, just like you would at the bookstore.

Restaurants sell food, so it would follow that their menus are front-and-center on their websites, complete with all of the information diners need to determine if they want to "shop" there. And yet ... and yet ...

Be an angel, would you, and compare your online menu presentation with this checklist to make sure you're not guilty:

• Pictures of dishes are posted with the online menu. It's impossible to show every dish, but a few representative shots will give customers a feel for your presentation and portions, and go a long way toward making the sell.

• Prices, people. You have to list the prices. No excuses.

• The menu is readily accessible from the homepage. If it's buried three or four clicks in, you're making people dig for the number one reason most of them came to your site. Most won't bother.

• Your online menu is up to date. If it's circa 2007 -- or even circa winter '08-'09 -- you're a sinner. What are you cooking now? What are your specials this week? That's the kind of information that creates and keeps regular customers coming back for more.

Since launching our new software, I've found lots of restaurants and chefs who get what I'm trying to do with Restaurant Intelligence Agency. They understand the new site is about making PR cheap, effective and easy -- saving everyone money, harnessing the power of the group so everyone can get more press, and saving everyone a heap of time so we can all do our jobs better.

That said, I get a lot of people who still believe in old truths, still see a bunch of trees when there is a whole forest out there.

Him: "No, we really don't need Restaurant Intelligence Agency. The new place is already getting lots of press. They call every day -- all day, every day."

Me: "That is a lot of work, getting all those journalists what they need."

Him: "Oh my God, yes, every day it's something. And it's always an emergency. The media always seem to want whatever they need, like, five minutes ago."

Me: "Fast-moving news, they've got deadlines and they are trying to save their jobs. I know, it's hard. I actually built this whole website because I was frankly sick and tired of getting emergency 'I need a bio' e-mails while I was in meetings downtown, half an hour away from my computer and files."

Him: "Oh, I had one today. She needs the photo by 2. Of course, I had a server call in sick. Look, it's 2:15 already, and I'm in a meeting with you. Oh, well, the computer is in the office, and there always seems to be someone on it, so I probably can't send the photo right now anyway."

Me: "Sounds like it would be hard to get all that done, in the midst of getting ready for service."

Him: "I mean, what do you do? Try to fill the shift of the server who bailed or send the reporter what she needs to promote the restaurant?"

Me: "Sounds like you could use Restaurant Intelligence Agency to manage all the media requests, cheaply. The media can just log on to R.I.A. and grab what they need: photos, menus, whatever they want, whenever they want it. That way you don't have to jump when the media calls. You can keep doing what you do best, while they get what they need themselves. It's a better way to manage PR."

Him: "Oh, no, we really don't need PR. We get lots of press. I should go see if that reporter can still use the photo. It's late, do you think they can still use it?"

I wanted to ask him if he would have used his time and mental energy differently -- working on things that are part of his actual job -- if he had not been so worried about the photo request. But I didn't. Sometimes you know you just can't get through to someone.