The Cost of Excellence

If you want to understand hospitality, you do not begin with the dining room. You begin where the smiles stop and the pressure starts. You begin in the kitchen. In my case, that meant beginning with my mother.

When my sister and I were still at school, my mother, who had always loved cooking long before food became lifestyle content, took a job at Le Provençal, tucked underneath Charlie Parker’s in Exchange Square, Glasgow. Anyone who knew Glasgow in that period will remember Charlie Parker’s not merely as a bar, but the bar, the sort of place that made ordinary Glaswegians feel, for one drink at least, as though they had wandered into Manhattan. Downstairs, Le Provençal was modern French by the standards of the day and, to Glasgow eyes, as close to Michelin as most people were likely to get, whether Michelin agreed or not.

One afternoon, I went in after school and found my mother and another cook unloading their frustrations to the manager about the chef. He shouted, bullied, carried on, created drama and generally behaved as though basic decency were an optional extra not included in the menu price. The manager listened, nodded sympathetically, and then delivered what may still be the most concise summary of old-school restaurant management I have ever heard: Regrettable in the extreme, he said in effect, though it was entirely apparent that no remedy would be forthcoming.

My mother stayed another three years and then left to begin her own catering business. So, by the standards of the time, it could not have been that bad. Or perhaps that is precisely the point. Perhaps what the industry once normalized would now be recognized, correctly, as unacceptable.

That is why the latest debate around NOMA matters, and why its Los Angeles chapter has struck such a nerve. The resurfacing of allegations about the restaurant’s early kitchen culture has not simply reopened a conversation about Chef René Redzepi. It has reopened a conversation about the entire fine dining model. Redzepi has publicly apologized and has said he has spent years working on his flaws and changing how he leads. That matters, and it is far more than many in this industry have ever done. But apology, however necessary, is not the whole story.

NOMA is not just another restaurant with a difficult kitchen and a brilliant chef. It genuinely altered the trajectory of modern fine dining. It became one of the defining restaurants of its generation, repeatedly ranked among the best in the world, and more importantly, it changed the language of what fine dining could be. Before every serious operator began talking about locality, seasonality and provenance as if they had discovered them personally, NOMA built an entire philosophy around time, place and landscape. It reframed luxury, shifting it away from imported excess and toward hyper-local precision. It made geography itself feel valuable.

To eat there was not simply to have dinner. It was to experience a system operating at the highest level. Guests were welcomed with ease and recognition; the service felt effortless while being anything but; and the menu unfolded in a sequence of small plates timed with almost surgical precision. Often, the chef who made the dish would present it. It was hospitality as choreography, as theatre, as discipline disguised as warmth. When something operates at that level, people assume the culture behind it must be equally evolved. When it is not, the contradiction lands harder.

There is also a truth here the industry rarely says out loud. Some people call René Redzepi a genius; others, an artist. He is probably both. But expecting someone operating at that level of obsession and creative intensity to automatically be a great people manager is, at best, optimistic. Hospitality has spent decades promoting exceptional cooks into leadership roles and then acting surprised when they are not equally exceptional at leading human beings. Culinary excellence and leadership are not the same skill; we have simply behaved as if they are.

That problem begins early. In culinary school, chefs are taught how to cook, how to organize, how to execute, how to deliver service. What they have historically not been taught with equal rigor is how to manage people. Communication, emotional control, conflict resolution, coaching, delegation and accountability have all too often been treated as secondary, things that would somehow be picked up along the way. What the industry actually produced were highly skilled cooks and largely untrained managers. This has notably changed in many curriculums; however, it is still early days in what will be a generational shift.

That is why the NOMA story is not unique. It is simply the most visible version of an inherent issue.

So, are kitchens better today than they were fifteen years ago? Yes and no.

Yes, because there is more awareness, more scrutiny and less tolerance for behavior that was once dismissed as part of the job. Staff are more willing to speak up or leave. Investors are more aware of reputational risk. The language around culture has improved.

But also no, because the underlying pressures have not gone away. They have intensified. Labor is tighter, costs are higher, margins are thinner and expectations are higher than ever. Restaurants are expected to be creative, consistent, profitable, sustainable, people-focused and brand-perfect all at once. That is not a lighter burden; I would argue it is a heavier one, simply better packaged. Put another way, we have not removed the pressure; instead, we have made it more visible.

There is also a degree of contradiction in all of this that the industry rarely acknowledges. We continue to talk about talent shortages, about how difficult it has become to attract and retain great people, and yet we persist in presenting an image of the industry that is, at best, unappealing and, at worst, actively discouraging. We cannot lament the absence of talent while simultaneously showcasing an environment many would reasonably choose to avoid.

Which brings us to the uncomfortable question of why Redzepi is receiving such intense criticism when others built careers on behavior that was arguably worse. Gordon Ramsay’s public persona was defined by aggression, and it was broadcast, monetized and celebrated. Mario Batali’s fall involved far more serious allegations, and even his attempt at apology became infamous for the wrong reasons. Redzepi is judged differently because he represented something different. NOMA was positioned as thoughtful, progressive and evolved. When the reality appears more complicated, the reaction is sharper because it feels like a contradiction, not just a failure. In hospitality, hypocrisy is punished more harshly than brutality.

There is also the question of economics, which sits uncomfortably beneath all of this. Restaurants like NOMA operate at the edge of viability. Labor-intensive menus, constant innovation and uncompromising standards create extraordinary experiences, but equally extraordinary pressure. That pressure does not disappear; it flows downward. Many of the world’s best restaurants have historically been built on models that prioritized output over wellbeing, not because chefs are inherently cruel, but because the system demanded it.

That matters for investors and leadership because culture is no longer separate from performance. A toxic culture does not just affect morale. It affects retention, execution, brand equity and long-term value. The idea that you can separate the genius in the kitchen from the business has collapsed, they are the same engine.

There are, of course, counterexamples, and they are important. Thomas Keller is often cited not because he is perfect, [he also has some history], but because he demonstrates that exacting standards and respect are not mutually exclusive. His approach has long emphasized that hospitality extends to the team as much as the guest, and that precision does not require intimidation. That does not make him a saint, but it does dismantle the argument that excellence requires cruelty; it does not. The industry has simply found cruelty more theatrical.

What is missing from most of these conversations is not outrage or analysis, but design. Hospitality has become very good at identifying what is broken and far less disciplined about rebuilding it in a way that works commercially.

Kitchen culture will not evolve through awareness alone; leadership cannot remain accidental, instead it should be taught and measured from the outset. Culinary education remains fundamental, but the responsibility cannot sit with institutions alone. The industry has a clear opportunity to more actively support and value their role in balancing culinary mastery with the development of people leadership; ultimately, it is people who bring the craft to life, not the other way around. That means embedding communication, emotional discipline, feedback, accountability and team building into early career development as core competencies, not optional extras.

It is also not just the responsibility of culinary institutions. A vast number of chefs begin their careers without formal training, which makes it essential that they are shaped by the right examples, set by both their employers and industry leaders. At the same time, operators and investors need to confront a harder truth: culture cannot sit outside the business model. If a concept requires unsustainable labor practices to deliver its promise, then the model itself is flawed. No number of awards, press or full bookings changes that reality.

There is also a governance gap that the industry has historically avoided. Founder-led concepts and star chefs require the same level of structural oversight as any other high-performance business. Creativity does not need to be diluted, but it does need to be supported by leadership frameworks, accountability and clear cultural expectations. Other industries learned this years ago while hospitality is only just catching up.

None of this removes pressure from the kitchen, nor should it. Great restaurants are demanding environments. They always will be. But there is a difference between pressure that drives performance and pressure that destroys people. One builds great individuals and teams; the other burns them out and calls it tradition.

I often return to my mother’s story because it captures something fundamental. The industry did not change for her. She adapted to it, she stayed, learned, endured, and eventually left on her own terms. Today, fewer people are willing to make that trade, and that is not a weakness, it is a signal.

NOMA in Los Angeles is not really the story, it is the prompt. The real question is whether the industry is prepared to redesign its idea of excellence, or whether it will continue to repackage the same model and act surprised when the same issues resurface.

René Redzepi deserves considerable credit for acknowledging the problem and for attempting to address it publicly. That matters, and it is more than many in this industry have ever done. But acknowledgment cannot be the end of the conversation. Reporting, including from The New York Times, has detailed allegations of both physical and psychological mistreatment, accounts that, even taken in part, raise a more difficult question. Not simply how leadership evolves, but how such behavior was ever rationalized within a system that prides itself on excellence. Improvement is necessary, but it does not erase origin. And this is precisely the point. The issue is not confined to one chef, one restaurant, or one apology, it is endemic, and it has been tolerated for far too long.

Hospitality has always been very good at creating extraordinary experiences for guests; it is now being asked a far more difficult question: can it create an extraordinary experience for the people who deliver them? Excellence has always had a cost, the difference now is that we can no longer pretend not to see who is paying it.

Over the next week, I’ll be publishing a series on what’s really happening to restaurant brands right now, not just who is performing, but why some are gaining relevance while others are quietly losing it.

About The Author Robert Ancill

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Robert Ancill is a globally recognized restaurant consultant, design innovator, and hospitality futurist. Based in Los Angeles and originally from Glasgow, Scotland, he founded The Next Idea Group in 2002, an internationally respected hospitality concept and design agency that has led more than 800 restaurant and café remodels & launches across 24 countries.

Widely regarded as an authority on restaurant brand positioning, design, franchising, and emerging consumer behavior, Robert also serves as CEO of TNI Restaurant Consultants and as a board advisor to the AI-powered experience platform Atmosfy.

A leading voice in the future of hospitality, Robert produces annual trend reports exploring the impact of robotics, artificial intelligence, plant-based innovation, and the evolution of modern dining. He is the creator of The Tolerance Scorecard, a proprietary framework for evaluating brand relevance in a rapidly shifting market.

His 2025 trilogy of books includes Restaurant Marketing: The Ultimate Guide to Modern Restaurant Marketing, a comprehensive playbook for navigating today’s technology-driven landscape, and The Ultimate Guide to Restaurant Design, a masterclass in building future-ready spaces where every element works in concert to drive emotion, efficiency, and commercial performance.