Here's a story I think you'll like. It happened on vacation, which is one of the more enjoyable times to gain an insight.
Trattoria Cesarina is a Michelin star-rated restaurant in Santa Margherita Ligure in Italy. It is at the gateway to the Portofino peninsula, one of the most beautiful regions in Europe. The Trattoria is known for its seafood. When I visited the area in the late 1980's, it was on our list of must-do restaurants. We made reservations in advance and looked forward to the meal with anticipation.
The first thing that was unusual was that there were no menus and no wine list. We were asked if we wanted white or red. When we inquired about the specials, we were told that the chef would decide. Then dishes of appetizers --antipasto-- began to arrive. I especially remember the baby octopi stuffed with herbs and pine nuts. At first, I was thankful for the abundant glasses of white wine. But I was surprised how much I was enjoying things I would not normally order.
In between courses, we began to noticed the chef peeking around the wall from the kitchen. He was enormous, sweating, and obviously passionate about what he was doing. He would surreptitiously stare at the guests, watching what they were eating, reading their faces and the buzz in the dining room. Then he'd disappear for ten minutes, and some new dishes of food would arrive, sometimes different for each table. It was one of the most memorable meals I've had.
At first this may strike you as the absence of service, the opposite of responding to needs and desires clearly voiced and heard. After all, the chef was making all the decisions! But there was not a diner we could see who was disappointed. What this example said to me is that sometimes listening and understanding are a matter of anticipating needs-- watching for the subtle queues, and presumably over a lifetime of experience creating something truly memorable.
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