The Restaurant of Mistaken Orders

Hi, how ya doing?” my lunch friend asked, arriving at the restaurant.

“Actually,” I said, dabbing at my eyes with a tissue, “I’m a wreck.”

Context sidebar. I have a condition – ironically, sometimes called “dry eyes” – which causes my eyes to water. Apparently, my eyes think they’re not getting enough lubrication (“dry eyes”) so they crank out a lot of extra moisture. At any moment I might have tears running down my face.

On this occasion, I couldn’t tell how much of my watery-eye-ness was “dry eyes” and how much was emotion. Just before the lunch date, I’d read about and watched a video called “The Restaurant of Mistaken Orders.”

And wept.

The Restaurant of Mistaken Orders

I’ve never been to Japan, but my understanding is that in the Japanese culture, mistakes are simply not acceptable. This is the country in which, when a train left the station 25 seconds early, the CEO of the railway issued a public apology and launched an internal investigation.

Perfectionism extends to restaurants. The article about The Restaurant of Mistaken Orders said, “…in Japanese restaurants, mistakes are not made. And on the off chance that a mistake is made, even a trivial one, the lengths that proprietors will go to make things right with their customers must, in the eyes of a Westerner, be seen to be believed.”

So how, in this culture, in Tokyo, is there The Restaurant of Mistaken Orders?

"You might think it's crazy. A restaurant that can't even get your order right," says its English introduction page. "All of our servers are people living with dementia. They may, or may not, get your order right."

One intention of the restaurant is to increase understanding of dementia. But it’s also a functioning business that must serve customers and make a profit.

In the video I saw servers – from middle aged to in their nineties – forget the specials and laugh. They’d deliver an order and say, “Is this your order? I can’t remember!”

Customers would say, “Actually, it’s not my order. But it’s okay.”

One woman said to the server who was in her eighties, “Can I take your picture with me? My mom is younger than you and she doesn’t want to go out any more. I’d like her to see you.” The server agreed to the picture and said, “I didn’t know if I could do this, but I’m having so much fun.”

The scene that did me in

In the video scene that completely did me in, a fortyish-looking man was about to play a cello, accompanied by his wife on a piano.

The man explained that a few years before, his wife – in her forties – had been diagnosed with early onset dementia. Devastating.

“She said she did not want to live,” he said. She withdrew from everyone and everything. Her career as a classical pianist had been her life. She stopped playing.

He’d convinced her to begin playing again, and they were about to perform.

They played a version of “Ave Maria” – with haunting cello melody and delicate piano arpeggio notes underneath – that’s so exquisite it can move me to tears even without the story. And yes, a few minutes in, the wife lost her place on the piano. Gently, with infinite kindness, the husband helped her find her fingering again, and they continued until the final lingering note.

A few seconds silence, and the entire restaurant rose for a standing ovation. Mine were not the only tears.

And then I left to meet my friend for lunch.

99 percent happy

So, how is the restaurant doing? They report, “37% of our orders were mistaken but 99% of our customers said they were happy.”

There’s something about managing expectations. There’s something about thinking of ways that people can be part of the community just as they are, with their gifts and limitations.

But there’s something even more important. In the perfectionist Japanese culture, what matters even more is to preserve harmony and relationships.

Kindness, realism and affection in action – and 99% happy.

A wabi sabi world

In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi sabi is a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of appreciating beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete" in nature.

With roots in Zen, wabi sabi inspires us to simplify everything and concentrate on what truly matters. Wabi sabi helps us slow down, reconnect with nature, and be gentler on ourselves.

And the relevance for us is…

More than a year and a half into the pandemic, cases are surging, not diminishing, where I live. Our province’s economy is in tatters and obviously not returning to “normal” any time soon – if ever.

Again this school year, students’ education is disrupted by on-and-off live or virtual classes. That has a direct impact on students, parents, teachers and the economy. On a personal note, the education disruption is directly impacting three generations of my four-generation family.

This does not feel like perfection.

As we head into the final quarter of 2021, my ability to fulfill some of my intentions and goals for this year is seriously in question. I’m noticing darker emotions and thoughts than I would prefer.

I’m also noticing I’m not the only one. Many of us are not finding it easy to maintain the state of mind or state of heart we would prefer for the long haul.

If ever there was a time for us to embrace “a wabi sabi world” and “our wabi sabi selves,” this might be the time.

With ourselves, and perhaps with others, this is a time for gentle kindness, like the man who helped his wife find the correct keys – and continue playing.

This week’s reflection questions

In what (if any) areas of your life do you feel imperfection?
How could you shift to kindness and gentleness
towards this ‘imperfection’?