Making a dinner reservation now feels strangely impersonal.
You enter your details. Your contact information. The number in your party. The date. The time. Your credit card information. And finally, a message field that always feels more loaded than it should.
You hesitate, then type something simple. It’s my sister’s birthday.
You hope a human being will read it. You hope it will translate into something a little extra. A little acknowledgment. A quiet understanding that this night matters.
But it isn’t until you arrive at the restaurant that the evening actually begins.
At Beefbar NYC, we stepped inside for our 8:30 reservation, and for the first time, a person met us where an app could not. The host found the reservation easily and pronounced my name correctly.
Names are important.
Not because of confirmations or systems or efficiency. But because saying someone’s name is a small way of saying, I see you.
That’s why I make a habit of learning the names of the people taking care of me when I dine out. Not excuse me, sir. Not excuse me, ma’am. Names.
That night, it started with Julian. He complimented my outfit, asked where we preferred to sit, and listened when I admitted I wanted to be near the DJ. That area wasn’t available yet, so he suggested seating across from a stunning arrangement of vases. It felt considered. Thoughtful. Easy to say yes.
Then came Rob, the drink connoisseur. He told us to browse the menu if we wanted, but why would we, when Rob clearly knew what he was doing? He asked about our tastes and returned with recommendations that landed perfectly, including a cocktail called The Rose Also Rises, which felt like celebration in a glass.
Hannah was our server for the evening. She asked what we were celebrating, offered thoughtful suggestions, and made the entire night feel smooth without ever feeling rushed.
The food was absolutely delicious!
And if you take nothing else from this article, take this: Order the 20oz Bone in Ribeye Wagyu Steak.
The steak was so tender it barely required a knife. Ridiculous, really. The kind of dish that makes conversation pause for a moment, out of respect.
Throughout the night, we called Hannah by name. “Hannah, could we have another drink?” “Hannah, where’s the restroom?” “Hannah, would you mind taking a photo?”
Something shifts when you do that. The experience warms. It feels human. Not transactional.
I’ve learned that calling someone by their name often leads to a little extra care. A side arriving unexpectedly. A celebratory drink. A quiet kindness at the end of the bill. Not because you’re angling for something, but because acknowledgment tends to return itself.
And even when it doesn’t, it still matters.
At its core, it’s simple. The golden rule, dressed up in linen and candlelight. Treat people the way you’d want to be treated.
Dinner has a way of reminding us that we’re all just here, sharing the same human experience.
And sometimes, all it takes to elevate an evening is remembering someone’s name.
