Catching Excellence
Pride, Care, and the Power of Reinforcement
Most managers learn to manage by watching for mistakes.
A missed step.
A late ticket.
A forgotten garnish.
An empty water glass.
They hover just outside the moment, waiting for something to go wrong so they can step in and correct it.
It feels responsible.
It feels like leadership.
It feels like control.
It isn’t.
Over time, this way of managing produces tense rooms, guarded teams, and cultures where people work not to fail rather than to succeed. The focus becomes avoidance instead of excellence.
The better managers — the ones people will follow anywhere — are doing something else entirely.
They are watching just as closely.
But they are watching for what’s going right.
What Some Managers Get Wrong — and Why
Most new managers arrive at leadership through performance.
They were the fastest server.
The most reliable cook.
The one who followed the rules without being asked.
So when they step into authority, their instinct is to protect standards by enforcing them. They monitor compliance, correct deviations, and intervene quickly — because they believe improvement comes from pointing out what’s wrong.
What they haven’t learned yet is this:
Human beings don’t learn excellence the same way they learn rules.
Rules are enforced.
Excellence is reinforced.
The Brain Under Observation
When people believe they’re being watched for errors, the brain shifts into defense.
Risk-taking drops.
Creativity narrows.
Confidence tightens.
In restaurants, this shows up as robotic service, safe but joyless execution, and a team that asks permission instead of exercising judgment.
But when people sense they are being observed for success, something different happens.
They repeat what worked.
They begin to notice why it worked.
They take ownership — quietly, without being told.
Standards rise not through pressure, but through recognition.
What It Means to Catch Someone Doing It Right
This isn’t soft leadership or participation-trophy praise.
Catching someone doing it right requires more attention, not less.
It means noticing the moments that never trigger alarms:
a pacing adjustment no one requested
a decision made before a problem surfaced
a detail corrected before it was visible
These moments are easy to miss — especially if you’re busy hunting for mistakes.
But they are exactly where culture is formed.
A Moment at the Host Stand
It was a busy night. The board filled faster than expected and every guest believed their reservation was the exception.
A young host stood at the stand, calm but alert. A couple arrived early. Another party lingered well past their quoted time. A walk-in hovered with hopeful eyes.
Nothing was “wrong.”
The host noticed something quieter: the early couple looked tired, not impatient. Water was offered. The wait was adjusted slightly. They were seated at the first appropriate table — not the perfect one.
When a regular arrived moments later, the host acknowledged them by name, explained the situation briefly, and offered the bar — not as a delay, but as an invitation.
The room stayed balanced.
The floor stayed calm.
No manager intervention was required.
Most supervisors would walk past that moment without comment — because nothing went wrong.
The better ones said something later:
“I saw how you managed that rush at the door. You read the room well. That’s good judgment.”
That sentence didn’t just praise the host.
It taught them what mattered.
Praise Is Not the Same as Flattery
Some managers praise broadly.
“Great job, team.”
“Nice work tonight.”
It feels good. It teaches nothing.
Effective managers praise specifically. They name the action, the judgment behind it, and the impact it had.
Specific praise does three things at once:
It reinforces behavior
It teaches others what excellence looks like
It signals that judgment matters, not just compliance
Over time, people begin performing for the standard, not for the manager.
A Moment on the Line
Mid-service, the board was full but steady. Heat, noise, and timing pressed from every side.
A plate came together cleanly — protein cooked properly, garnish correct, sauce where it belonged. Nothing was wrong.
Before sending it, the cook paused.
He wiped the rim of the plate.
Repositioned the protein, adjusted the garnish slightly.
Looked at it once more — not for correctness, but for pride.
No ticket was late.
No call was missed.
No voice was raised.
Later, after the rush, the chef leaned in and said:
“I saw you wipe that plate and reset the fish and garnish.
That’s pride. That’s care. That’s what separates good from great.”
That moment mattered.
It told the cook that details count even when no one is watching.
That speed alone isn’t the standard.
And that pride and care define high performers.
That’s how kitchens learn what good looks like.
Why This Feels Uncomfortable at First
Catching people doing it right requires restraint.
It means letting small imperfections pass while larger behaviors form.
It means holding correction long enough to observe.
It means trusting that excellence can be shaped without constant interruption.
For new managers, this feels risky.
If I don’t say something, am I doing my job?
Yes — if you know what you’re reinforcing.
Correction Still Has a Place
This approach doesn’t ignore mistakes.
Correction matters when:
safety is involved
standards are clearly violated
patterns repeat after reinforcement
But correction should never be the primary language of leadership.
If people only hear from you when something is wrong, they stop listening when something is right.
When Authority Lowers Its Voice
There is a reason the strongest leaders rarely raise their voice — whether on the floor or in a meeting.
Volume creates quick compliance, but it does so by triggering fear rather than respect. And fear is a short-term tool with long-term costs.
A calm, measured voice carries more weight because it signals control, judgment, and intention. On the floor, where tension already runs high, raising your voice only adds noise to an already loud room.
In meetings, it does something worse: it shuts people down. When a leader speaks loudly in front of a group, the room doesn’t become more focused — it becomes more guarded.
A steady voice lowers the temperature, invites attention, and models how decisions should be made. Word choice matters just as much as volume. Leaders who pause, choose their language carefully, and correct without embarrassment teach their teams how to think, not just what to do.
Over time, people stop listening for tone and start listening for meaning. That’s when authority becomes steady rather than performative — and leadership begins to feel deliberate instead of reactive.
The Long Game
Restaurants built on correction burn through people.
Restaurants built on reinforcement grow them.
Over time, teams led this way:
self-correct faster
train new hires organically
hold each other accountable
take pride in invisible details
The manager becomes less central — not because they’re absent, but because the culture is doing the work.
That’s not loss of control.
That’s mastery.
Whether it’s a host quietly steadying the door or a cook wiping the rim of a plate, the moments that shape culture are almost always the ones that don’t call attention to themselves.
A Table 8 Truth
Competence isn’t knowing what’s wrong.
It’s knowing what to reinforce.
And leadership isn’t about catching failure early.
It’s about catching excellence before it disappears.
This essay is part of Lessons from Table 8.
Leadership is what remains when you’re not in the room.
For professional correspondence, the author may be reached at wzane@intelhospitality.com.
