It’s Time To Take Bottled Water Off Restaurant Menus

In 2017, bottled water surpassed carbonated soft drinks to become the most popular beverage in the United States. While there are undeniably health benefits to more Americans choosing water over sugary sodas, the uptick in bottled water sales and marketing push toward selling pre-packaged water has also contributed to an explosion of disposable container waste. Despite having some of the cleanest municipal water systems in the world, 60% of the world’s bottled water consumption occurs in the United States, even though Americans only comprise 4.5% of the world’s total population.

Bottled water in restaurants has become somewhat of a status symbol, especially in fine dining. When I waited tables, I always dreaded asking guests for their water preference. In business settings where table-mates are unfamiliar with each other, no one feels comfortable answering for the group. Guests dining on an expense account—at least in a high-end restaurants—typically “splurge” for bottled water. You wouldn’t dare offend a client by ordering tap.

But more often than not, people are fine with regular water, and many tap drinkers are irritated by the solicitation. Nonetheless, management loves to sell the staff on the idea that establishing a guest’s water preference is an important step of service, even though most servers understand that it’s a sleazy upsell.

People justify drinking bottled water for many different reasons, as do those who prefer tap. But as global warming intensifies, the ones who choose to drink bottled are making that choice in a bubble. When that bubble finally bursts, if it hasn’t already, we all suffer for it. Charging eight dollars a bottle for San Pellegrino or Acqua Panna in a restaurant when it costs less than a dollar wholesale might be a nifty little trick, but it comes at a steep environmental cost.

Many fine dining restaurants—including several I’ve worked in—push bottled water aggressively, and they always offer imported brands. If someone is spending hundreds of dollars on a meal, it’s safe to assume they don’t need to be bothered about how many bottles of water are required to keep their glasses full, so the pour is often bottomless. Occasionally, restaurants will assign a fixed water charge per guest or even include bottled water in the price of one’s (outrageously expensive) meal. This results in trash bags filled with hundreds of empty glass bottles every night, pounds of unnecessary cardboard packaging waste, and incalculable pollution produced by transporting foreign water brands across continents. In theory, the bottles and their packaging are recyclable, but history shows that, despite our best intentions, many recyclable products end up in landfills anyway.

New water filtration technologies can purify table water using UV rays and industrial-strength charcoal filters to levels that weren’t possible decades ago. As the demand for environmentally-responsible solutions in the food and beverage industry increases, these purification systems have become more affordable, even for small restaurants. State and local governments could also easily establish subsidies or tax breaks to encourage, if not mandate, independent restaurant owners to install these systems, ideally in conjunction with tighter regulations on bottled water.

Bottled water in restaurants creates enormous waste
Water filtration systems are an eco-friendly alternative

The Smith, a mini-chain of casual, neighborhood bistros in New York City, offers a clever template for water service. Their staff greets every table with a full bottle of filtered still and sparkling water—sourced from the tap and served in reusable glass bottles. Doing so simplifies the water conversation. It also removes any pretense around water service by keeping the responsibility for the restaurant’s environmental choices in the owner’s hands. 

When smoking bans were instituted around the country in the early 2000s, bar and club owners insisted it would destroy their businesses. Of course, it didn’t. On the contrary, it simply forced people who were acting selfishly and endangering others to alter their behavior. Most people now appreciate being able to enjoy their dining and drinking experiences without the toxic stink of nicotine fumes.

Where plastic bags have been banned, it’s an inconvenience at first, but many people now bring reusable bags along with them on their shopping trips. As of late, many cities have outlawed plastic straws to mitigate their poisonous effect on marine life. To adjust, restaurants have either switched to compostable straws or stopped offering them altogether. All of these initiatives have proven, by and large, that drastically changing consumer habits requires drastic measures.

There will always be a contingent of people who thinks banning consumer products levies undue penalties on people who have a right to use their money to buy whatever they please. But the “capitalism defense” doesn’t hold water anymore, literally. The planet is flooding, storming, burning, and wilting—she is pulling out all stops to warn us to start treating her with more respect. Kicking back with a Topo Chico in the face of a desperate climate crisis is pure hubris.

Some may point out that restaurants also contribute pollution and waste by importing other products from distances like wine, spirits, and other specialty ingredients that are specific to certain parts of the world like caviar or truffles. While this is true, you cannot dispense wine from a faucet or grow truffles in a backyard garden. Bottled water is by far the easiest pollution-agent the industry can curtail quickly. No one needs to drink water shipped in from another country to enjoy their dinner. 

Over the past ten years, there’s been a movement toward serving more local products in restaurants. One could argue that there is no better local product to showcase in a restaurant than municipal drinking water. Many studies have shown that tap water is often cleaner and safer than most bottled options. Others show that the average person can’t detect the difference, despite marketing efforts that lead consumers to believe that bottled water tastes better and is safer to drink.

We can all agree, hopefully, that whenever possible, restaurants should make more responsible choices about how their businesses impact the environment. The world is changing, and restaurants can’t always give people what they want anymore. So whether people prefer to drink bottled water or not, taking it off the menu is the right thing to do. Restaurants are about accommodating people, but there are instances when accommodating some people comes at the expense of others. Forgoing bottled water is a very small sacrifice for those who prefer it—a proverbial drop in the bucket, as they say.

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Restaurant Life

Why I’m Leaving The Restaurant Industry

For many restaurant workers like me, the pandemic has felt like “taking a little time apart” from a romantic partner. Occasionally when you break up with someone, the distance brings you closer. Other times, the space apart helps you find the courage to move on with your life. When you finally break up with your restaurant job, your loved ones will tell you they hated that you worked in restaurants all along. “We always thought you could do better,” they’ll say. If you get back together, you know you risk slipping back into the same patterns that brought you to the breaking point in the first place.

Working in hospitality conditions you to shoulder blame for things that aren’t your fault. We’re so accustomed to being told that we could do better next time that we start to believe that a job well done this time isn’t worthy of praise. The mentality among restaurant professionals for years has been: We’re only as good as our least satisfied guests think we are. It’s an unhealthy way of measuring success, and the dogma of unconditional hospitality has taken its toll on our workforce.

Expiring unemployment benefits were supposed to resolve the labor shortage. That hasn’t happened. As it turns out, a lot of former service industry professionals have been “seeing other people” since they were unceremoniously laid off last year. Most of us have never had ample time to contemplate how the daily grind of restaurants was breaking down our bodies and minds.

After years of being expected to share blame for its inadequacies, I don’t feel responsible for helping to clean up the restaurant industry’s mess. Over the twenty years I’ve worked in the business, it’s always been a means to an end for me, but somewhere along the way I forgot what the end was.

It becomes difficult to leave the industry once you’re entrenched in it, not too different from the challenges you face leaving a bad relationship. You keep telling yourself that things will change, that you’re valued and appreciated when all evidence is to the contrary. You start to wonder what you could accomplish unencumbered by your restaurant life.

Ironically, being laid off a corporate job led me to restaurant work in the first place. Fresh out of college, I was hired as an executive assistant for an ad sales company. Less than a year later the company was taken over by a larger conglomerate, and everyone in the office, including me, was let go. I found the corporate environment oppressive. It was obvious that I wasn’t meant to wear a suit to work. As a stopgap, I started waiting tables until the next opportunity came along.

My first restaurant job, dressed as an Elvis impersonator in Times Square

In my short stint in the corporate world, I noticed how much energy is wasted in offices. Partitioning people off into cubicles diffuses interpersonal connection and stifles individuality. Energy is never wasted in restaurants. Professional kitchens and busy dining rooms are kinetic; movement is always economical and focused. Success in restaurants is harder to measure empirically compared with conventional data-driven jobs. Giving people pleasure isn’t something that shows up on a P-and-L report.

When I started working in restaurants, the looser social constructs felt liberating. The people I worked with were free-spirited and artistic with colorful, hidden personalities like mine. Restaurant work made me feel like my personality was my biggest asset, nothing I’d ever felt quarantined in my cubicle. It was thrilling. My coworkers knew how to have a good time. We stayed out late. We drank a lot. We slept in. We’d have terrible hangovers, but we always rebounded quickly. We never called in sick, and we were always willing to work overtime.

The work was never easy, though. Reproach always seems to come more naturally than praise. I always felt like I was giving more than I was receiving in return, from guests and my own managers. For too long, restaurant workers have been treated like we’re expendable. Now, owners (and patrons for that matter) are learning the hard way how difficult it is to restart the engine when you never took care of the pit crew.

I’ve decided to leave the service industry for many reasons, but its dysfunctional work culture is at the top of the list. I’ve drawn the conclusion that restaurants, especially fine dining ones, can’t be incubators for workplace reform—at least not in their current profit-driven business models. Restaurants have become too commoditized, built to function more like amusement parks than like sanctuaries.

There’s a growing disconnect between affluent restaurant clientele and the rest of the world where restaurants have learned to profit by creating sterile bubbles that offer luxury to rich people, insulating them from the inconvenient intrusion of societal problems. Hospitality in the industrialized world, once considered a communal affair, has morphed into a capitalist funhouse defined by excess and isolation, auctioned off to the highest bidder. Prioritizing guests’ comfort in this way comes at the expense of the people tasked with providing the smoke and positioning the mirrors.

But the world is changing rapidly, and the restaurant industry has lagged behind. Social justice movements like #MeToo and Black Lives Matter have put the restaurant world under a microscope, and exposed the depths of its dysfunction. Most restaurants try to remain apolitical. We’re in the business of comfort, not confrontation. But serving food to a community is an inherently political act, and the more our food systems become intertwined with our politics, the more a restaurant owner’s silence is complicity.

The pandemic has shown us the power restaurants have to spur social change. The establishment would have us believe that guests shouldn’t have to worry themselves about everything that goes into preparing a meal when they pay a lot of money for one. Personally, I’m tired of making a living from a system that peddles privilege for less than it costs.

Losing my job so abruptly was a sobering reminder of how we, as restaurant workers, function more like independent contractors than full-time employees. Anthony Bourdain once famously noted that restaurant workers behave like mercenaries, hired guns that don’t like to stay in one place too long. Perhaps our ambivalence has helped offset the trauma of so many exploitative chefs and owners that hold the impermanence of our employment over our heads as a motivational tool. It certainly goes a long way toward explaining the lack of solidarity many restaurant workers have shown with owners when asked to return to their jobs.

Staffing issues aren’t new. The thirst for new food experiences has been outpacing the industry’s ability to grow its workforce for decades. Guests have become higher maintenance and more difficult to please. The foodie subculture, formulated on the flawed idea that dining out cultivates some kind of culinary expertise, breeds entitlement. By catering to people’s limitless need for luxury, the restaurant industry enables guests to ignore systemic problems that run rampant behind the scenes like exploitation of immigrants, workplace harassment, and stagnating wages.

leaving the restaurant industry
Restaurants across the country are having difficulty recruiting staff

Coverage of the labor shortage in restaurants tends to ignore the bigger picture. A lot of these jobs really suck, they’ve always sucked, and that’s why no one wants to work them anymore. The constipation in the labor market can be traced to the fact that these jobs have an increasingly terrible cost/benefit analysis. Minuscule pay raises won’t move the needle. People are moving on to pursue career opportunities with better wages, work-life balance, and more upward mobility.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able forgive the restaurant industry for the cruelty of laying off its workforce so quickly—close to six million restaurant jobs were lost at the peak of the pandemic. People who had worked their entire lives in hospitality, many who’d spent decades in the same restaurants, were cast aside like used candy wrappers. Restaurateurs like to stress family to encourage their staff to buy into a common purpose, but when times got hard, most of them abandoned us.

As much as I may act like I won’t, I’ll miss working in restaurants. The same adrenaline rush is hard to replicate in other jobs. But more than anything, I’ll miss the camaraderie of a restaurant staff. We enjoy good food and wine together because we’ve been trained to appreciate it. We treat other service workers with the respect they deserve because we’ve walked miles in their worn-out shoes. I’ll miss the thrill of getting a monster tip. I’ll miss walking away from someone who tried to make me feel small and letting them sit in their own shame.

What I won’t miss? People I haven’t heard from in years hitting me up for reservations; panicked phone calls from managers trying to find last minute coverage when I have plans; panicked phone calls from managers needing coverage when I don’t have plans; menu quizzes; not having any clean work shirts; not having any clean work socks; sore feet; chasing after people when they don’t leave a copy of their credit card slip; randos at my tables asking me details about what some celebrity ate there once; being asked my name by guests who just want to boss me around with a more personal touch.

To be honest, I’m not sure I ever had the proper temperament for the service industry. Some people live for the euphoric feeling of pleasing others. That was never me. I just wanted to do my job well and make enough money to support myself. In the meantime, I’ll continue writing about restaurants because I love them. I love the people who create them and continue to be awed by the resolve they’ve shown to keep them alive during this dreadful year and a half. You should too. In the meantime, I’ll focus on becoming a better guest, a process that we should all aspire to perform with infinitely more grace.

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