It begins the moment you step into the space. A certain sense of sweat and the need to fit in, to blend in and belong, starts to boil. Each corner becomes a victim of this gaze. Soft murmurs lead the way, smiles are exchanged. Then, the chairs are delicately pulled back.
The kings are seated now. Their wrists rocking back and forth on the edge of the table, index and middle finger carelessly clenching onto thick, glossed paper. A moody decision is taken back to the kitchen. What proceeds once the doors shut is an orchestration of chaos, an ode to gastronomy.
What most people (even the ones reading) get wrong is assuming that the grand show begins behind the kitchen doors. Rather, it begins the moment you walk in.
The smiles, the talk, the gentle wrapping into the idea of belonging—this is the quiet art of front housing.
Everybody, On The Floor
Very often, when we walk into a restaurant, we admire the art, the culinary craft, the flavour—or even the theatrics attached to it: a whiff of smoke oozing out, or a plate that carries an artistic flair. From the moment you walk in to the moment you step out the door, what often gets missed is the person who acts as the medium between the guest and the kitchen—an omnipresent figure leading the floor.
Being at the front of house means leading the show. All of it.
“I sometimes think hospitality is a game show you play every day,” shares Damini Maini, General Manager, The Bombay Canteen.
To the naked eye, the role of a front-of-house professional can feel limited to observing the room and being sandwiched between guest escalations. In reality, the position demands something much larger.
“There are situations nobody can really train you for. You have to figure them out in real time—how you respond, how you help someone, how quickly you make a decision, and sometimes, how much of a problem you can solve without anyone ever knowing there was a problem in the first place,” Damini shares.
One of the biggest misconceptions about the role is that front of house is simply about attending to guests and being warm, and Mirelle Pingfu, General Manager at Masque Restaurant & Bar Paradox, can easily nod to this.
She adds, “Warmth matters, of course, but front of house takes skill. You have to understand the food and drinks, read people, manage timing, solve problems and bring many different people together. When service feels effortless, it usually means a great deal of thought and work has gone into it.”
“That’s Not My Job”
You’d be considered an alien if you haven’t come across at least one Instagram reel or pap shot of a Bollywood celebrity storming out of their cars, hair flying (an almost salon-style blowout), shades on—speeding towards a restaurant or café.
Damini shares that being placed at some of the town’s busiest and most promising eateries does mean the occasional interaction with celebrities. But that’s about as glamorous—and momentary—as it gets when you’re front of house.
To lead the floor, there’s a certain sharpness, swiftness and adaptability required. “There’s also no real ‘that’s not my job’ in hospitality. If something needs to be done, you figure out how to do it,” she adds.
On Gender
One of the most powerful—and, at times, unsettling—conversations I find myself having with the people I rub shoulders with today is about the role gender continues to play in professional spaces: in politics, business, the arts, and everywhere in between.
Why is it that women in positions of leadership or authority can still find themselves having to establish their footing before they are allowed to simply stand in it?
We have had the conversations. About gender. About roles. About equality. About the invisible structures that determine who gets heard, who gets questioned, and who is assumed to belong at the head of the table. And yet, the persistence of these conversations tells us something in itself: the question of who gets to lead—and what a leader is expected to look like—is far from settled.
Speaking to two remarkable women leading the floor at Bombay Canteen and Masque, I found that leadership, for them, has not simply been about taking charge. It has also been about earning the room, navigating assumptions, and, at times, proving a point that their male counterparts may never have been asked to prove.
Sophin: Does gender play a role in this profession?
Mirelle: Women in leadership can sometimes feel they have to work harder to have their authority accepted while still being expected to be endlessly accommodating. I’ve learned that I can be warm and firm at the same time. Good leadership isn’t tied to gender, and I want the women on our team to know they don’t have to change who they are to be taken seriously.
Damini: It took me two or three years for my team to fully accept me as a leader. For a long time, I felt like I was constantly proving why I was there and why I deserved to be there. There’s an extra layer of credibility you sometimes have to establish simply because you are a woman in a position of authority. Even now, I’ve had government officers, officials and others walk into the restaurant and ask for “the male manager.”
Alas, the art of front housing is tied to an invisible skill set, where a great floor team is constantly reading the room—sensing who wants conversation and who wants quiet, who is celebrating and who is simply tired. The skill lies in adjusting to each of them without ever making it look like an adjustment.
