Moshi Moshi

Rock and rolls, raw and real, in Chicago's Randolph Row

You are not important. 

You know this because though you have repeatedly told him not to do this, your son left a spent banana peel splayed open on the arm of the couch when he dashed off to school this morning.

You know this because though you have tried to solve the problem and thrown brand-new-car levels of money at the issue, your home’s HVAC system is still subpar.

You know this because though there is a measurable significant value that you earn for your company every year, they are currently deciding if they’re going to completely change your occupation or eliminate your job entirely.

If you are president of something, you may object to this idea.

But then in that case, we can turn to the topics of death and time, and ask ourselves who was president of boulder acquisition during the Jurassic period?

The sheer size of humanity and the infinite nature of time means that except to ourselves, and if we’re lucky, a few others, we are insignificant.

That is in part why restaurants exist.

The most successful ones understand that we dine out because, if only for a few minutes, we seek a level of hospitality that will give us what we need when we need it like very few other areas in life.

I am not advocating that this means you get to act shitty and to make others feel unimportant when you don’t get the hospitality you desire. That these things happen is because restaurants are one of the few arenas where we have learned we can expect we will feel an extraordinary value we rarely feel regularly anywhere else.

When that contract is broken, well, each has their way of dealing with it.

The thing about hospitality is it doesn’t start five minutes after you arrive, or when the food is delivered to the table.  It starts the instant you cross the restaurant threshold. Sometimes it starts during the reservation process.

How you make people feel most welcome in these moments is up for debate. For example, some restaurants don’t publish a phone number these days, which seems like a middle finger of sorts. 

And yet, if you’re in Gen Z, you don’t want to talk to anyone about anything that you can do yourself digitally.  If you’re in a different generation, what you may appreciate is that no phone number means when you arrive at the restaurant, another human who hasn’t considered that the restaurant is in the middle of the dinner rush, can’t call to make a request that interrupts your arrival.

Unfortunately, Yokocho, a new Japanese restaurant in Chicago’s West Loop tucked in a plaza just off restaurant row behind The (yes, “The”) Oakville Grill and Cellar, Lettuce Entertain You’s best attempt yet at launching a Seasons 52-level California-wine themed chain restaurant, publishes its phone number.