The Rare Joy of Whole Things
Complete thoughts in products, services, and experiences. And ramen.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
As an avowed curious liberal arts guy, I’m cursed with multi-disciplinary knowledge. I’m a designer and creative director by trade and an entrepreneur by necessity. I have adjacent exposure and interest in architecture and interior design/decoration, hands-on experience in construction, music, gardening, landscaping, and, most days, co-cooking and preparing 2–3 meals for my family. A little of this, a little of that.
These are a lot of the elements that go into creating the experience of a restaurant. And this is why all that multi-disciplinary knowledge can sometimes feel like a curse.
A few years ago my wife and I were in Brooklyn for a design conference and my friend Yaron suggested dinner at his favorite neighborhood ramen spot, Ganso. I’m always up for local recommendations and good noodles. (We enjoyed our meal so much we ate there twice on that trip!) Ganso was wonderful.
New York is a tough place to run a business, restaurants run on razor thin margins, and sadly Ganso was only open from 2012–2018. But it left an impression on me, and helped me articulate the concept “that place is a complete thought.”
There are more than 20,000 restaurants in New York City, but not all of them are complete thoughts. In fact, I believe most things are not complete thoughts.
Here are five aspects of Ganso that resonated:
A simple, well-considered brand identity. First impressions set the tone. The Ganso logo was a straight-forward wordmark with the Japanese characters 元祖 — literally “originator” or “pioneer” — and it was not loud or flashy (unless you consider a small, tasteful neon sign flashy). It didn’t need to be, because that would create a visual dissonance with the rest of the experience. The outside awning space, generally reserved for big, attention-getting signage, was spare, low-lit red corrugated metal. Vibes for days (especially in a sea of 99¢ hot pizza vinyl banners). It was an appropriate amount of graphic design; no more, no less.
Warm, inviting interior design. One unadorned brick wall, simple wooden booths and chairs that evoked both Japanese and Scandinavian minimalism, low lighting, and one smooth corner sliver window into the bright kitchen. No art, apart from a few objects on a shelf over the kitchen window. The 54-seat space didn’t feel too crowded, or too loud. It was a comfortable space for comfort food.
A carefully-curated playlist. Music is visceral. It’s memory, and bypasses much of our reason, creating and changing moods, setting scenes, harmoniously mixing with the food, or taking you out of the experience completely. The times I visited Ganso the playlist was all 90s and early 00s hiphop. I don’t know if they ever changed genres, but the choice matched the melting pot energy of downtown Brooklyn without overwhelming the rest of the meal.
Delicious food with a clear vision. Food is the table stakes of any eatery. If you don’t get that part right, none of the rest of it matters. Ganso served ramen made by people who loved and knew their broth and noodles. The menu had a regional flair with Tokyo-style and Sapporo-style noodles, Japanese fried chicken, and steamed buns. Ganso’s owner — Harris Salat — is not Japanese, but he had previously cooked in multiple restaurants in Japan and well-known Japanese restaurants in NYC, and co-authored many popular Japanese cookbooks.
The price-to-experience relationship. In an era where it seems like the middle class of restaurants is disappearing, delivery prices are soaring, previously-affordable mediocre sit-down restaurants are $100+, and fast food’s value proposition is essentially vapor, patrons are scrutinizing their dining out more than ever. Ganso wasn’t expensive. In fact, it made Michelin’s Bib Gourmand list, a distinction for restaurants where you can enjoy two courses plus a glass of wine or dessert for $40 or less.
The Five-Sided Food-agon
I’m no restaurateur or chef, and I’m thankful for the ones in my city trying their best to be hospitable. It’s a hard business to get right, to scale, and to navigate the tension of staying consistent and being innovative.
When I’m looking for restaurant experiences that are complete thoughts, for whole things, these five aspects — the brand identity, interior environment, auditory atmosphere, menu vision and execution, and price-to-experience — are my first filters. Obviously plenty of restaurants thrive without doing these things well (or at all!)
A local example
My favorite barbecue spot in town is Lewis, a Charleston-based, Texas-born pit of delicious brisket and fixings that I’ve been so happy to have here. We enjoy patronizing Lewis, and wish them continued success.
Lewis shines when it comes to food. Amazing barbecue, smoked turkey, housemade sausages, generous sides, and inventive specials. It’s on the expensive side of eating out for our family, the bar is definitely pricey, but we always leave happy (and bring home leftovers because brisket and eggs is a heck of a way to start the following day).
But the Greenville location of Lewis Barbecue is not a complete thought.
The identity is… fine. A bit shaky around the edges, with some questionable merch decisions and an outdoor mural that’s well-done, but not a seamless blend with the other visual aspects of the brand. The interior (a renovated cavern of a building that previously-housed Greenville’s long-standing local favorite Tommy’s Country Ham House) has its moments, but they’re inconsistent. The flow is awkward in places. It’s overly loud. The primary visual backdrop of the space are the TVs around the bar, an interchangeable aesthetic with any other bar in town. The music is a mixed bag of mostly country and blues, but lacks a clear Texan identity that would potentially be harder to execute, but absolutely on brand and “own-able” here in South Carolina.
So if I like eating there, what exactly am I complaining about? If this curse of knowledge is so burdensome me, but it isn’t preventing me from being a customer, why should a business care?
A hope for more values-led business
Simply put, because why wouldn’t we want to make better things? The Shakers strove for perfection in everything they made as an act of worship, a way to glorify God. The aesthetic of many of the items they created was timeless, simple, clean, and functional. But that wasn’t all there was to their approach. Their values and beliefs drove their practice and process.
“Don’t make something unless it is both necessary and useful; but if it is both necessary and useful, don’t hesitate to make it beautiful.” — Shaker Design Philosophy
In A Timeless Way of Building Christopher Alexander wrote, “the love, and care, and patience needed to [bring about the life-giving quality of what we make] can only exist when each detailed part is cared for, and shaped, by someone who has the time and patience and knowledge to understand the forces acting on it.”
Lately I’ve been lamenting the gnawing feeling that whole categories of businesses have been taken over by spreadsheet-wielding MBAs with no real love, knowledge, or care for how their disembodied financial decisions are affecting the products, services, and experiences out in the world. The detailed parts are not being cared for; they’re simply line items in a budget, to be cut or whittled down as closely to zero as possible so that profits can increase. We’re wringing everything out, searching for change in the couch cushions instead of making the guest feel at home.
As a business owner, I know firsthand how reducing overhead is a necessary part of making any endeavor sustainable. But the artist in me wants what I make to give life. To be hospitable and prepared. I want to make and enjoy whole things, complete thoughts, from people who are making products, services, and experiences for expected guests, and considering every aspect in preparation for their arrival.
If you ever find yourself in Greenville, SC, I invite you try a few of my favorite complete thoughts in town. The Anchorage and Bar Margaret in my neighborhood, along with Methodical Coffee, The Trappe Door, and Scoundrel downtown are all delightful experiences.