Dear Houston
Restaurateur Bobby Heugel’s letter to the Houston hospitality community
Illustration: Rachel Krohn
The literary world celebrated 100 years of The Great Gatsby this year. I hate that damn book. Hardly any of the staff at Gatsby’s grand parties are mentioned, and when they are, they’re expendable. Fitzgerald even leaves out the best of the festivities. Everyone in this industry knows the real party wasn’t at Gatsby’s house, it was at one of the servers’ houses on a crammed street with no views of the harbor, and it lasted until the sun came up.
I’m old enough to remember when few people worked at a restaurant or bar because they wanted to. Sure, there were romantic exceptions and those who discovered hidden talents, but mostly, it was a collection of misfits united each night to care for “better” citizens walking through the front door. Growing up, we never qualified for a reservation.
My first experiences in nice restaurants were when I started working in them. That was also the first time I could lean on what felt like a consistent family presence. We all worked incredibly hard, for endless hours, and we rewarded ourselves heavily during the few free hours we had each week, most of which we spent together.
I’ve grown up a lot since those early days, and so has our industry. Many of the line cooks in the back have bigger dreams. And yet, so many face unrelenting pressure and fear about their futures. All across this country, there are bartenders from affluent suburbs “wanting something else out of life” stressing their urgent need for ice to barbacks who don’t go through the trouble to explain the reality of their own ICE stress.
This industry has never been more diverse. The multitudes of our backgrounds are testing the misfit synergy that traditionally stitched crews together. Economic and political uncertainty have dropped the tab on older restaurants and bars that won’t see next month, and aspiring younger generations are experimenting with new models that will reshape what it means to work in hospitality. It is an exciting and scary time, and I don’t think any of us really know where this is headed.
What I do know is that wherever we all end up, what we love about our careers will only remain intact if we individually care for those we work with. Nobody is going to pause their lavish parties to check on those of us putting on the show—you only have each other. Make an effort to learn about the person working next to you. Give them grace when they need it.
I am not sure who I would be today if so many people hadn’t done that for me, especially when I was young and lost. There are countless causes to champion on behalf of our industry, but the most meaningful actions you can take are to genuinely care for those around you because you see them when the world ignores their role in the story.
Gatsby fires all of his service staff for gossiping about his affair with Daisy; their professional futures scattered across a dozen different affluent venues. But still, some of them remained close friends. The sparks between a server and a prep cook turned into decades of love. Others found better opportunities, and a few struggled to pay the bills, waiting on someone to vouch for them at the next gig. None are mentioned in the sequel that never happened. Sure, today, some of them might become stars, but most won’t, and the prize they will win is the relationships they have at the end.
They’re the best characters, and they always have been.
