Free Breadsticks
Sometimes it’s about the little things.
(I know I said earlier that I’d be writing all new content here, but some stories are too good not to revisit. This post first ran on my blog a few years ago, in a much smaller and less-developed form. It felt great to rework it and add more thoughts and wisdom to it today.)
I’ve lived in the Midwest my entire life, and for most of that time, in the Suburbs. Anyone who’s spent much time here knows that means a lot of chain restaurants: Outback Steakhouse, Applebee’s, T.G.I. Fridays, Red Lobster, and — the king of them all — Olive Garden.
For the uninitiated, Olive Garden is an experience designed to transport you and your party to a rustic Italian villa: tan stucco, clay tile roof, balconies — the kind of place Palladio might have designed after a few glasses of red. The portions are generous. The menu, expansive. The atmosphere is, above all, welcoming. The chain’s slogan is “When you’re here, you’re family.”
And what a warm, welcoming family it is. There’s no estrangement in an Olive Garden, no passive-aggressive power struggles or long-suppressed family secrets. No, the family experience at Olive Garden is one where if little Tommy drops a meatball, everyone laughs and Grandma is right there to put another on his plate. It is, in its simplicity, a thing of beauty.
Some people might prefer the fettuccini alfredo or chicken parmigiana, but for me the standout dish is one that’s not even really on the menu: I’m talking about the breadsticks. With your meal, Olive Garden’s waiters always bring out a basket of breadsticks. These warm, fluffy, buttery torpedoes of deliciousness are enough to get my stomach growling just thinking about them. They’re light enough that you can eat a few without ruining your appetite, but still rich and clearly made with an outpouring of love.
I remember one dinner when my older brother Geoff and I were teenagers and our parents took the family out to Olive Garden. We got the idea in our heads to take as many of the (endless! did I mention they’re endless!?) breadsticks as we possibly could in one sitting. Geoff bowed out of the competition at 11 (he insists to this day it was 12), while I managed to scarf down 14 in all. I think we both stayed home from school the next day with stomach aches, but the smiles on the faces of the waiters who gathered to watch the end of our little “contest” — well, I’ll never forget that night.
At this point, you might be asking why an expert on architecture, business, and leadership is writing what feels like a food blog. Fair question! This is the important part: My favorite memories of Olive Garden revolve around food I never ordered.
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Let me say that again: I never ask for breadsticks, but for me the highlight of the meal is when they show up at my table.
What does that mean in a business context? You most likely have clients you work with, specific deliverables you’re expected to produce, specific deadlines you’re expected to meet. That’s the way this world works and we’d be in a fair amount of chaos without those guard rails.
But if that’s all you ever do, what sort of experience are you providing to your clients, to your team, to your community? Of course, it’s important to be wise with our time and avoid spending what could be billable hours on little “bonus” projects. As in all things, there’s a degree of balance to be found. (Olive Garden doesn’t bring around a basket of complimentary lobster, after all!)
All the same, when I wrote the earliest version of this post a few years back, I had the idea of putting in a little whiteboard in the office. On the top I wrote “Free Breadsticks” and encouraged the team to write down or tape up any ideas they had that might make some extra special memories in the office and beyond. Here are some of my favorites:
One time, we asked our model maker to 3D print some extra-small scale models of a project we were close to finishing up. Everyone who worked on it (and the client) got to take home a little ornament-model of the building to hang on their holiday tree.
One of our clients had two beloved border collies that she brought with her to every meeting. Our “free breadstick” there was to sneak them into the background of every rendering.
By far the best “free breadstick” we ever had was something called the Godzilla Picnic. A little background: we were getting ready to move offices and had quite a few study models that had piled up over the years. They weren’t in great shape, most had beaten-up corners, delaminating layers, snapped basswood, a few had some water damage from a minor roof leak. Essentially, they weren’t worth keeping and it was time to get rid of them. That’s when someone on my team proposed a little family activity to dispose of all the model remnants.
We held a little picnic in a nearby park, and invited all the team families, all of our neighbors, some clients, and some other industry friends. I manned the grill. All of the interns (with help from all the various children who showed up) piled all these old models into a makeshift “city” with impossible bridges, crazy towers, the works.
After we ate, we set up a few cameras around the city and turned the kids loose. They smashed. They stomped. They yelled and threw and (mock) battled, causing incredible carnage to the little city, all captured in slo-motion video. When Friday afternoons in the office turn toward the nostalgic, someone inevitably brings up the Godzilla picnic. Everyone agrees it was one of the best memories they’ve made at the office. And get this — even the clients whose early study models we smashed got a huge kick out of it. In some ways, I think they enjoyed it most of all.
So there you have it. Just a few little bonuses that nobody asked for and nobody paid for, but that laid down some lifelong memories of working with us. After all, when you’re here, you’re family.
