Paying Homage to Restaurants
And to One Very Special Place in Particular
The most difficult business to run, in the opinion of this very opinionated foodie, is a restaurant. Friends have tried with great formulas and still not made it. For one thing, restaurants deal with permits, licenses and regulations on food safety and customer service practices that are constantly updated and assessed in surprise visits by the Health Department. And if they want a liquor license, add that huge hurdle to the mix. These are good things for us as consumers, but they do make it tough for those crazy enough to try.
The National Restaurant Association estimates that 60% of eateries fail in their first year of operation and 80% fail within 5 years of opening. That 20% success rate for all restaurants includes an average lifespan of eight to ten years. I’d guess that lifespan is even less if the place is located in a small town. The odds are not good, in other words, which makes this story even sweeter, since it is meant to celebrate one who has beaten those odds.
We’re fortunate to have a restaurant in our town that is widely known for its quality, freshness and amazing cuisine. But it’s more than that to many of us; it’s been around so long, it’s part of our family histories too. This was brought home to me last night at a special event we were invited to by the staff.
Oishii Bistro in Mount Kisco has been around for over twenty-five years. It started in a storefront on a busy state road in a building shared with Dunkin’ Donuts. When it first opened, it was called Mount Fuji and it took over another place that didn’t make it, a very good Indian restaurant. I remember being so sad when I learned that place was closing after just a couple of years and tried to help the owners by sharing marketing ideas with them to no avail.
When Mount Fuji opened, sushi was just beginning to really catch on and become popular. It was not something I went for, having gotten very ill after my first taste of raw fish ten years prior. I’m not even really sure why I gave the cuisine a second chance, but since I began to frequent this place, it has spoiled me for other sushi restaurants. They set a very high bar, and not just with the food, as you will see.
At the time, we lived just a few blocks away. We were getting on our feet financially, watching pennies and being frugal. Sushi was a splurge to us, to say the least, especially with three growing foodies in the house. So, what’s a mom to do? Sneak there without telling the kids, of course. And that’s what I did every Saturday on my way to do the grocery shopping. Our kids are very smart, but they never figured out nor asked why Mom would go grocery shopping at lunchtime every Saturday and not expect them to come help. I think they felt lucky to be left out of this chore, since they had lots of others they were expected to do. But then cell phones were invented. I should have known, when some of their friends came in for lunch and saw me at the sushi counter, that my secret was out; but I was caught by surprise when ten minutes later, all three perpetually hungry teens came bursting in the door yelling, “Mom! Busted!!” Damn. I would need a second job now.
I mentioned that this place is known for more than just food and I’m thinking that’s the secret to its success at beating the odds. Mount Fuji was, first of all, just cool. It had private tatami rooms where you sat on cushions on the floor and slid your wood-lattice-and-white-paper partition door shut behind you. Every time a server came, they’d slide the door back and it was like a surprise visit from the food gods bearing delicious gifts just for you. If you had a large party and ordered a lot of sushi, it came to the table on a wooden boat just covered with colors and textures that made us cheer and even drool a bit. We became regulars, along with many other locals. The servers grew to know our names and ask about our families. We, in turn, learned about their personal stories and about the sushi business.
The main chef was Albert. That man could make special rolls for you that weren’t on the menu that melted in your mouth, and were the stuff dreams are made of. He was an artist at his work, but also very social and endearing. He made you feel as special as his rolls and was always happy to show off his knowledge and his skills. When Albert was sent, by the corporate owners of the place, to a different restaurant far away, we were a bit heartbroken and didn’t think the restaurant could last without him. Fortunately, we were wrong.
The name changed to Oishii Bistro and the menu evolved into the newly popular genre of Asian Fusion. Again, we worried our favorite place was morphing into something less special, and again we were wrong. The rest of the staff, cooks and servers, stayed, the new menu included old favorites, and we stayed too. After many years, Oishii moved to another location downtown. It was a bit off the beaten path and not many people really knew it was there. The newest manager talked to us regulars about how to draw in more customers. We became alarmed to think this could be the end of an era and did everything we could to help with marketing to spread the word. One of the things we suggested was that they make a huge deal out of being open for twenty-five years. They came up with specials and deals to celebrate, and I’m sure that was only part of the reason they are going strong, but I’m glad we had a little something to do with it.
Turns out, we were not the only ones rooting for them to succeed and working to make sure they do. Last night, we were invited to the staff Lunar New Year celebration. I felt honored to be included and also lucky because, wow, they put on some special spread! We met other patrons who had been coming to the restaurant as long as we had, and they shared their own family stories. It was a celebration that went beyond New Year’s; it showed the bond a special restaurant has with its long-time patrons.
And maybe there lies the secret of a restaurant’s success for over a quarter of a century. You need really special food, really great people working there and also eating there; you need to create a story and become part of the fabric of a neighborhood, part of family history and lore. It’s truly a unique business and it’s a unique restaurant that can stand the test of time, last through economic insanity like a pandemic, and still stand to create more memories for another generation.