Everything I Need to Know I Learned in a Thai Restaurant

    When I was 3 years old, my parents opened a restaurant in the small town of Weatherford, Texas. It was the first Asian restaurant in the whole county. My dad—an immigrant from Thailand—saw it as an incredible business opportunity. He was right: Loyal customers kept our little family restaurant open for nearly 40 years.

    When I was a kid, I never gave much thought to what it meant to grow up in that restaurant. It was just my life. If you had asked me then, I would have said the best part was the endless fountain drinks and free spring rolls.

    But now I realize that I learned some big, important lessons about people and about life. Now I pass these lessons on to you.  

    Mmm, duck. Tender, with a crispy skin, and drizzled in a sweet, spicy sauce . . . 

    Sorry. Where was I?

    There is a well-known metaphor that compares a good restaurant to a swimming duck: On the surface everything looks calm and smooth. But underneath, the duck is furiously paddling its little feet to keep moving across the water. 

    This was a pretty good description of our restaurant. When customers came in, we wanted them to feel calm. Their table would be clean. The food would be hot and tasty. Their iced tea glass would be refilled before they could even ask.

    Back in the kitchen, it was a whole other story: crowded, hot, and noisy!

    As a little girl, my one restaurant dream was to work the big, gray cash register. Its brightly colored buttons made the most satisfying clack when you pressed them.

    When I turned 12, my parents decided that I was ready. On the big day, I proudly pulled up a stool and put on a big smile. I punched the register’s buttons. Clackety, clack, clack.

    One woman came up to pay with a credit card. No problem. I had been trained on this. But I must have gotten a little carried away with the clacking. Instead of charging her $50, I charged her $5,000.

    I started to sweat. I imagined this woman screaming at me and making a scene. I even thought I would have to pay for that $4,950 mistake out of my allowance!

    In the restaurant business, sometimes you hear people say, “The customer is always right.” But actually, sometimes the customer is extremely wrong. 

    One afternoon, my mom was ringing up customers. Clackety, clack, clack. Mom greeted the next customer in line. The elegantly dressed woman set her large designer handbag on the counter. Then she bumped her bag with her elbow, and it tipped over. Out spilled several sets of our silverware: knives, spoons, and forks (no chopsticks).

    Mom stood there, trying to figure out a polite way to say, Um, excuse me, but are you STEALING OUR SILVERWARE in your $400 purse?

    The woman simply finished paying, gathered up her bag, and left without a word. She left the silverware, but she did not leave a tip. Which brings me to another lesson:

    We had this longtime customer. He was a great big man who owned a small ranch where he raised horses. He always wore scuffed-up cowboy boots, and he always took his cowboy hat off when he came in to eat. He was a quiet man, a country man, and a real polite person. He was one of our favorites.

    Well, one day we heard some wild news: That guy had won the lottery! Overnight he had become a multimillionaire.

    I wondered how he would spend his money. A fancy mansion? A fast sports car? Would he still come in to eat, or would he be served caviar by his butler from now on?

    The next weekend, he wore the same scuffed-up boots, the same hat. He ordered the same thing and sat at the same table. He was the same quiet, polite person. The only difference was that when he finished his meal, he left $100 on the table as a tip.

    I figured that this guy probably knew what it felt like to be a duck. He could’ve spent his money on anything. But he chose to use it to thank people for their hard work. I always thought that was real classy.   

    My dad was an immigrant, born poor. He had opened a restaurant that people drove 100 miles to eat at. There was pride in what he could do. There was dignity in being excellent when others expected him to fail.

    The harsh truth is that plenty of terrible people never get their comeuppance. But they can’t take away our dignity. They can’t deny our excellence. And we belong here just as much as anyone else.

    If they can’t handle that, then no satay for them. Their loss.

    There is this term in social media: influencers. They are the people who are so popular that they can set global trends.

    I didn’t realize it until recently, but our restaurant was full of influencers. One of the biggest was our manager and headwaiter, my uncle Donis. Donis wasn’t on social media. He didn’t own anything fashionable. He didn’t jet to glamorous places. In fact, he rarely ever left Weatherford.

    When my uncle passed away in 2022, we received stacks of letters from customers. Many of them said similar things:

    “Donis always made us feel so welcome.”

    “He remembered our favorite dishes.” 

    “He treated us like we were family.”

    As I read through these messages, it hit me how much a small act of kindness can mean to someone. Too many people in this world feel forgotten or unimportant. Taking the time to learn someone’s name or to greet them warmly—you never know when that’s going to make a real difference in someone’s day. 

    We are all influencers. We all have the power to be good to the people in our everyday lives. Out of all the lessons I learned in the restaurant, that one is my favorite.

    That, and how to pick out the right dipping sauce for grilled chicken.

    Now, who’s hungry?