The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer:
The restaurant business in Tucson has been hit so hard over the last few months, and we have lost too many of our culinary institutions over the last few weeks alone—Gee’s Garden Restaurant, Café Poca Cosa — and now Janos Wilder has announced his retirement.
The latter struck me on a personal level: I was a server at Janos for 13 years, and have an insider’s perspective on Mr. Wilder and his contributions to our community.
It was my first day on the job at the La Paloma Janos. I arrived at work and my manager directed me to the office. My new boss sat and talked with me for about an hour but the one thing that stuck in my mind was his opening to the discussion: “We’re not feeding people, we’re feeding their souls.”
He elaborated about how a primary goal for him was to find a way to fill that need, that something, that brought people to his restaurant on any given night. He acknowledged that was a goal that could not be attained for every guest, every night, but when it happened and we all did our job right and filled a need in another person over the course of their visit—that is almost magical.
The restaurant, though technically formal, was not stuffy. Staff were encouraged to be themselves tableside, and Janos never demanded to be called “chef” (not that there’s anything wrong with that). To staff and guests he was Janos. The answer to the most common question I fielded tableside regarding his name? No, he’s not Greek.
Guests may fondly recall the beautiful setting, the excellent service—and the food—that food. The green-tea smoked duck dish, the lobster in champagne cream sauce, the jerked pork with cranberry on the J Bar menu. I feel like Dorothy departing Oz, saying goodbyes to the memories of those plates.
The floor staff had excellent managers. We faced a rigorous training that never relented. We met before and after service as a crew to discuss the night. Meetings at 1 a.m. or later were not atypical.
Bussers, servers and food runners were grilled about every item on the menu—if a guest asked anyone on staff about a dish, we knew the answer stone cold. And Janos was not precious about the dishes; we made every effort to accommodate guest needs and special requests.
Our tips were pooled—everyone was included: front of the house, hosts, the bartender, the sommelier, managers (except Janos) and the kitchen shared the tips. Not all houses operate this way. Janos was one of the first restauranteurs in Tucson to figure out a way to get a health insurance option for his staff.
Staff members met future spouses and new lifelong friends as we worked together. Chefs, managers, somms and servers had Janos on their résumé as they moved across the nation, and the world to carry on in service. Janos covered host expenses for more than one staff member wake.
I only have 600 words: the accolades, the James Beard Award, the cookbooks, the position as a leader in the restaurant community, decades participating in charitable events, working with local gardeners, Native Seed SEARCH, helping Tucson to become the nation’s first capitals of gastronomy, and more. If you’re reading this you know all that, and I know Janos is happy to have all of that as part of his legacy in Tucson. I’ll remember him for something else—being a friend who strove to feed our souls.
