My lessons from the Time Out profile
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The other morning, I woke up to that dreaded of all phone calls: the one from the restaurant that had received a bad review.
This is what happens, because it happens this way every time. The chef reads the story online, calls me up and waits on the phone while I read it. Then they launch into a venting session about how slanted and skewed it was. "It's obvious to anyone!" they plead. Of course, it isn't. Sometimes it is stinging, sure. But usually the review isn't as bad as the chef thinks it is. Often times, it isn't even bad. But it is hard to have yourself publicly judged, in writing, officially, for all to see.
Needless, I talked the guy off the edge and gave him what I hope is a lot of useful advice on what to do, internally, to learn from the review. I then wrote the writer to get their take on it. "Ouch," I wrote, "tough review." And, you guessed it, the writer was surprised that I thought the review was all that negative.
At the end of that very same day, I was on the phone with another client while an article was read while we were both on the phone. Oddly, it was me that was waiting while the *chef read. And it was the chef who was talking me off the edge because I launched into a venting session about how slanted and skewed it was. "It's obvious to anyone!" I pleaded. Of course, it wasn't. It was stinging, sure. But it wasn't as bad as I thought. But it is hard to have yourself publicly judged, in writing, officially, for all to see.
And why I am sharing this with you is because I think there is a great lesson in this story for chefs, who are publicly judged, in writing, officially, for all to see.
The Back Story
Mike Nagrant interviewed upwards of 50 people he picked on his own for this story. It was nearing the point where he could do a Vanity Fair cover story had I actually been that interesting. I began to worry that the dude could not really make a living working so hard for just this story. I felt bad even, and started to privately think of ways I could help him gain some efficiencies. And the TOC staff, likely because they were faced with featuring a subject they knew would publicly and aggressively out any step they took into non-reality, took great pains to make sure that everything was accurate down to the question of how much weight had I gained. (I don't have a scale, only a size 2 pair of jeans that hangs, currently unloved, near my closet, so we'll go with what the article says.)
That said, it's pretty obvious that they were going for a caricature and used as much supporting evidence they could find to support it. And I have to say, there was clearly enough supporting evidence.
Is it the story I would have expected? Not really. There was quote from Paul that didn't get in the story. It was about how for the 10 years we worked together, he had just wanted to cook all day but that I pushed him out of the kitchen -- a lot -- in order to achieve the restaurant's marketing goals and how he attributes that as a huge part of his success. To me that is far more illustrative of my work or influence than the story of a guy who hired me to work on a project and then couldn't deliver what it took to make it successful and so, after four weeks, it fizzled.
And I suppose if you really wanted to investigate what was going on with my business model, you'd interview the 38 clients who have been on my website for a combined total of more than 500 months. Not the two who were on for a combined total of less than four. In my humble opinion, why it works for so many for so long is more interesting and helpful to others than why it didn't for these two who barely experienced it.
It seems skewed, really. And after I read it, I was left shivering from the exposure and feeling awfully alone.
The Take Away
But I learned a lot, and it is that which I want to share with you:
1) Writers almost without exception, though I can think of a few exceptions, are really good and earnest people who want to report in a way that will honor the work you've done. They aren't out to get you or take you down. They are just reporting what they see. The ones that do work from a place of evil are pretty much generally regarded as hacks and don't worry, their lack of integrity erodes their credibility brick by brick.
2) Every story has a hook and the writer writes to support that hook. The goal, really, isn't to get in deep and learn everything and write everything and spend forever honing until the real reality comes out. It is to take an idea that has validity and then tell that part of the story. For me, the hook was this caricature of Ellen the straight talking beeatch. So for all the people who have written me and said, "Where's Paul in that story?" the answer is: Paul didn't support the caricature so Paul got axed.
3) The story is really just a snapshot of a portion of your life and work. It isn't supposed to be the whole of you. I've been in business for 14 years, doing RIA for 2 1/2 years and the snapshots of my work that were mostly highlighted represented pretty much from October 1, 2009 to February 1, 2010. That doesn't mean that all the time spent before this period didn't happen, it did. And I am proud of it.
4) It probably isn't as bad as you think. It is shocking to me the number of people who have hailed me a Huzzah!, especially considering the article officially hits the stands today. The general consensus is that I am a bad ass. We've already gotten a number of calls and emails from restaurants wanting to jump on board RIA and I am slightly inundated with a new crop of people who want to pick my brain (I hope they leave a few bits of it for me!). It's hard to see any flaws writ large but people gloss over things, they don't really read to closely, and mostly they miss the bad stuff unless you are someone like Michael Vick, in which case they miss the good. Either way, they miss a lot.
5) You can always find something to learn from it. For me, it was the McDonald's quote. My Consigliere slapped my wrist with that one because, although I was speaking about how we are a process-driven company focusing our work on developing scalable systems, no one in my world actually understands what that means. So I sought to make it something understandable to the culinary audience but misfired completely. I forgot to recognize that when people in my world think McDonald's they think shitty, cheap food. They don't think process innovation. So while the quote is definitely clear, you have to be thinking process innovation when you think of McDonald's, not shitty, cheap food. So, I learned.
6) It probably isn't even as important as you think. Not everyone reads everything and more people than you imagine don't read anything. Add to it the fact that there are much larger conversations going on in the world, and really, only a small, nearly infinitesimal number of people actually care about your crap. To everyone else, you are just a passing thought they are reading about on the El or something. Don't sweat it, today's news is tomorrow's garbage.
*For all y'all who think Paul Kahan's talent is in the kitchen, I would counter that you have yet to experience the leveling influence of his counseling skills. I think he missed his calling in life.
This is what happens, because it happens this way every time. The chef reads the story online, calls me up and waits on the phone while I read it. Then they launch into a venting session about how slanted and skewed it was. "It's obvious to anyone!" they plead. Of course, it isn't. Sometimes it is stinging, sure. But usually the review isn't as bad as the chef thinks it is. Often times, it isn't even bad. But it is hard to have yourself publicly judged, in writing, officially, for all to see.
Needless, I talked the guy off the edge and gave him what I hope is a lot of useful advice on what to do, internally, to learn from the review. I then wrote the writer to get their take on it. "Ouch," I wrote, "tough review." And, you guessed it, the writer was surprised that I thought the review was all that negative.
At the end of that very same day, I was on the phone with another client while an article was read while we were both on the phone. Oddly, it was me that was waiting while the *chef read. And it was the chef who was talking me off the edge because I launched into a venting session about how slanted and skewed it was. "It's obvious to anyone!" I pleaded. Of course, it wasn't. It was stinging, sure. But it wasn't as bad as I thought. But it is hard to have yourself publicly judged, in writing, officially, for all to see.
And why I am sharing this with you is because I think there is a great lesson in this story for chefs, who are publicly judged, in writing, officially, for all to see.
The Back Story
Mike Nagrant interviewed upwards of 50 people he picked on his own for this story. It was nearing the point where he could do a Vanity Fair cover story had I actually been that interesting. I began to worry that the dude could not really make a living working so hard for just this story. I felt bad even, and started to privately think of ways I could help him gain some efficiencies. And the TOC staff, likely because they were faced with featuring a subject they knew would publicly and aggressively out any step they took into non-reality, took great pains to make sure that everything was accurate down to the question of how much weight had I gained. (I don't have a scale, only a size 2 pair of jeans that hangs, currently unloved, near my closet, so we'll go with what the article says.)
That said, it's pretty obvious that they were going for a caricature and used as much supporting evidence they could find to support it. And I have to say, there was clearly enough supporting evidence.
Is it the story I would have expected? Not really. There was quote from Paul that didn't get in the story. It was about how for the 10 years we worked together, he had just wanted to cook all day but that I pushed him out of the kitchen -- a lot -- in order to achieve the restaurant's marketing goals and how he attributes that as a huge part of his success. To me that is far more illustrative of my work or influence than the story of a guy who hired me to work on a project and then couldn't deliver what it took to make it successful and so, after four weeks, it fizzled.
And I suppose if you really wanted to investigate what was going on with my business model, you'd interview the 38 clients who have been on my website for a combined total of more than 500 months. Not the two who were on for a combined total of less than four. In my humble opinion, why it works for so many for so long is more interesting and helpful to others than why it didn't for these two who barely experienced it.
It seems skewed, really. And after I read it, I was left shivering from the exposure and feeling awfully alone.
The Take Away
But I learned a lot, and it is that which I want to share with you:
1) Writers almost without exception, though I can think of a few exceptions, are really good and earnest people who want to report in a way that will honor the work you've done. They aren't out to get you or take you down. They are just reporting what they see. The ones that do work from a place of evil are pretty much generally regarded as hacks and don't worry, their lack of integrity erodes their credibility brick by brick.
2) Every story has a hook and the writer writes to support that hook. The goal, really, isn't to get in deep and learn everything and write everything and spend forever honing until the real reality comes out. It is to take an idea that has validity and then tell that part of the story. For me, the hook was this caricature of Ellen the straight talking beeatch. So for all the people who have written me and said, "Where's Paul in that story?" the answer is: Paul didn't support the caricature so Paul got axed.
3) The story is really just a snapshot of a portion of your life and work. It isn't supposed to be the whole of you. I've been in business for 14 years, doing RIA for 2 1/2 years and the snapshots of my work that were mostly highlighted represented pretty much from October 1, 2009 to February 1, 2010. That doesn't mean that all the time spent before this period didn't happen, it did. And I am proud of it.
4) It probably isn't as bad as you think. It is shocking to me the number of people who have hailed me a Huzzah!, especially considering the article officially hits the stands today. The general consensus is that I am a bad ass. We've already gotten a number of calls and emails from restaurants wanting to jump on board RIA and I am slightly inundated with a new crop of people who want to pick my brain (I hope they leave a few bits of it for me!). It's hard to see any flaws writ large but people gloss over things, they don't really read to closely, and mostly they miss the bad stuff unless you are someone like Michael Vick, in which case they miss the good. Either way, they miss a lot.
5) You can always find something to learn from it. For me, it was the McDonald's quote. My Consigliere slapped my wrist with that one because, although I was speaking about how we are a process-driven company focusing our work on developing scalable systems, no one in my world actually understands what that means. So I sought to make it something understandable to the culinary audience but misfired completely. I forgot to recognize that when people in my world think McDonald's they think shitty, cheap food. They don't think process innovation. So while the quote is definitely clear, you have to be thinking process innovation when you think of McDonald's, not shitty, cheap food. So, I learned.
6) It probably isn't even as important as you think. Not everyone reads everything and more people than you imagine don't read anything. Add to it the fact that there are much larger conversations going on in the world, and really, only a small, nearly infinitesimal number of people actually care about your crap. To everyone else, you are just a passing thought they are reading about on the El or something. Don't sweat it, today's news is tomorrow's garbage.
*For all y'all who think Paul Kahan's talent is in the kitchen, I would counter that you have yet to experience the leveling influence of his counseling skills. I think he missed his calling in life.
Most articles have about 100 ways they *could* be written, and, of course, only one way that they ultimately are. There are choices to be made at every turn and what you write is a product of those choices, some of which are minor and some of which aren't, and many of which reverberate through the piece.
I know when I've written about people, there's always a tiny bit of dread in the moment when they see it, even though I know I did my level-best to be fair and accurate. I think a really apt analogy is just recognizing that the way we see ourselves in the mirror is not the way we see ourselves when we look at photos. Or that voice you hear when you listen to a recording of your own — whose voice is that? It's not the same one I hear in my head.
At any rate, you get a lot of credit for recognizing in yourself the same reaction you see in chefs all the time.
It's like you say: It's rarely as bad and almost certainly not as enduring as you think.
Great post.
As bad as you thought? I thought it was a good piece. I'm even a little surprised you don't think that, aren't looking way past whether or not it promotes you. First of all, the parts where you're a little scary-- that's GOOD. Everyone needs a little Don Corleone in them. Go read Gore Vidal's novel about Lincoln, which is partly about how a saint, a real life frickin' saint, was also one tough-ass mofo (and when he hands Salmon P. Chase's ass to him in the middle of a Cabinet insurrection, it's as good as shooting Solozzo in the restaurant in Jersey). (I would just like to say how proud I am of having used Salmon P. Chase and tough-ass mofo in the same sentence.)
And the part with Dale Levitski-- that's 1000 times better than describing a partnership that worked beautifully. One, because we'd go into a sugar coma. Two, it cuts to the heart of the issue-- you're not about talking for them, you're about shoving them out there to talk for themselves, and there will, ALWAYS, be people who don't want to do that, who want somebody to drive Miss Daisy. So better to lose them as clients before you ever knew they existed. Stand for what you stand for, and turn them away now. You'd have gained nothing from being painted in softer terms, except a few clients who ultimately don't want what you sell.
So I don't think it's a caricature. A sketch in a few strokes, perhaps, but not one-dimensional. Above all, you got a story about you and someone else didn't because you are extreme in a middle of the road field. So revel in it.
I am very impressed by your ability to use Salmon P. Chase and tough-ass mofo in the same sentence. You are able to because you are a good writer. But really, this blog piece was written for chefs and used the example of the Time Out piece to help offer them some advice when they, too, have to face a piece of writing that they feel uncomfortable about.
I am glad you liked the profile, I think Mike liked it as well and worked his butt off trying to do a good job that respects what I do and what we do at RIA. But since I am a tough-ass mofo, I have to ask: is there a particular reason why you felt compelled to weigh in about my feelings regarding the piece when the blog post I wrote is about lessons for chefs?
Chefs are always feeling they can't respond to unfavorable reviews because they will be labeled whiny. And considering the fact that this piece is about how to deal with a story one doesn't like and you are a writer who seems focused on how I felt about the piece, I think it would be an interesting thing to investigate further.
I thought the TOC pc was a good read and a decent window into your world and your considerable accomplishments re. creating new PR/marketing models using 21st-century tools like Fb and Twitter and getting your clients out of the kitchen - not a full view, of course, but a good glimpse. Thanks for the back-story filling-in-of-blanks & sharing lessons learned - genuinely illuminating. Lots of good points that cross over into the opera world and the promoting of other creative endeavors, as well. Brava Ellen!
Why, HELLOOOOO, Magda!
You know, I often believe that my best training for working with chefs was working at the Lyric. If you can withstand Eva Marton bellowing a High C at you within four feet of your desk, you can withstand anything.
Hi Ellen (and Magda!):
This is a great, honest, instructive post.
I just wanted to add one thing -- and, I'll note that I'm not a chef, so I'm a little reluctant to comment here on something not intended for my edification, but what the heck. Anyway. To writers, there *is* a difference between "character" and "caricature." Characters are what drive good narrative, using personality to give the reader a point of access into the human being at the heart of a story. Caricatures, on the other hand, are intended as grotesques, amplifying one aspect of the human being over others in order to inspire mockery or score a point. I'd humbly suggest that what Mike Nagrant was doing was sketching a character, not a caricature. In either case, it's still not a complete picture of the real human being, but one strategy is usually mean-spirited and while the other is a tool for effective storytelling.
"is there a particular reason why you felt compelled to weigh in about my feelings regarding the piece when the blog post I wrote is about lessons for chefs?"
Maybe I'm wrong, but the tone sounded a bit wounded or shell-shocked ("It probably isn't as bad as you think," "it's pretty obvious that they were going for a caricature," etc.) And I just don't see any reason to be.
Thanks, Martha! Mike was certainly NOT being mean-spirited at all. I didn't imagine he was in the least. I hope that came across in my post. He was very nearly surreally thorough and respectful of the efforts we have put in to try and get our business off the ground and such
And you draw an interesting point. But do writers really only have a choice of being mean-spirited with a caricature? You all are a crafty and talented lot and, as I say, earnest people trying to do a good job. I can imagine great things.
Which really made me think of something that is probably a whole other post, but it is my understanding that the editorial slant (and by the very nature of space, everything needs a slant — it is not a negative connotation, just a word) is generally not selected by the writer when the story is assigned. Rather, it is assigned by an editor. The writer is assigned a story with an angle, no? And likely there is some sort of direction they are giving on where the thing should generally head, no?
And from what I understand, there are usually mid-course corrections from the editors. Things they ask or want more clarity about or even suggest the writer should go investigate more. So even a writer who is chugging along, writing about, say, your definition of character might then have to resort to more caricature due to editorial direction.
And occasionally, I am reminded about times writers I knew wanted to write a certain story but the editors didn't wholly agree with it. So, the writer didn't really have a choice but to fight hard on behalf of the subject and hope for the best. Which reminds me of plenty of times that I writer saw their piece come out and it didn't even *look* like the same piece they turned in!
I think this is something chefs don't always understand. They assume — it is the writer. More often than not, it isn't. Like, for instance, maybe a critic wants to go review a place but the editor says no for whatever reason. The chef assumes the writer is in control when in fact, they have to get it approved by their boss.
I think for all the people who wonder why their great story doesn't get told or maybe why their restaurant has yet to be reviewed, they shouldn't always look at the writer. Thanks for bringing that up Martha because, and I hope the chefs read the comments, this is a very common thing.
Well, I wouldn't want to presume to tell you that your thoughts on the matter are incorrect or not valid. But if I could humbly suggest that It seems I struck a bit of a chord with a lot of people who are often in that position. I got a lot of emails from chefs to say thanks for writing this particular post, and even a few phone calls. And even one comment from the 20-plus year veteran of Lyric's PR who saw use for it when dealing with opera singers. So I guess it was a good thing I did feel the way I felt because it could be of service to others, which is the only point, really. There is always a silver lining if you look!
Hmm. Well, the writer/editor (or publication) relationship takes a lot of different forms: sometimes writers pitch a story to the editor, sometimes an editor has an idea and tries to find a writer to execute it. Sometimes the give and take between the two winds up enriching the final story, and sometimes it results in an unholy mess that no one's happy with. And, most brutally, sometimes other factors (space, time) intervene that no one can control for. It's really hard to generalize, and I wouldn't presume to speak to what Mike's process was with Time Out -- but I'd be happy to talk about it with you sometime if that would be at all useful.
I did have another thought, though, that might be relevant to your clients: Suppose you are a chef, developing a recipe. You have a kitchen full of terrific, high quality ingredients -- fresh-picked watercress, heirloom squash, golden trout, cured pork belly, truffles ... whatever. Suppose you are really dying to showcase the watercress, but once you come up with a dish you realize that, sadly, the watercress just doesn't work -- maybe what you really need is spinach -- and the 'cress winds up back on the shelf. The farmer who sold you the watercress is bummed, because he was really excited to have his product featured on the menu at your restaurant. And, maybe there are some customers who are really big watercress fans, and heard that had just come in season, and stopped in just to see what you might do with it. All these people are disappointed, but you've just done what you thought was in the best interest of the dish. It doesn't mean you don't take watercress seriously, or you have a bias against it. It just didn't work in that particular moment, in that particular mix.
Writing a story can be similarly bloodless. You can have the greatest quote in the world, but if you can't make it work with the rest of your story you have to ax it. I've done this a lot and it always is a strange moment of loss and regret. And then, you just have to move on with what you've got.
Of course, with food, you can whip up a batch of Watercress Supreme the next day and throw it on the menu next to your Trout, Squash, and Spinach Delight. With writing you (usually) only get one chance to use your material and, sadly, a lot of good stuff can go to waste.
Thanks for this. That is super sweet of you to offer to chat about Mike's process, but really he was amazing and explained it all to me as we went a long. I was in capable hands and he is certainly a great writer.
I was just musing about this whole conversation about how stories come together. As you have to much more eloquently here.