Not the obvious

Cheap or nasty?

I’ve been carving out micro-efficiencies in my business for years.

This includes scheduling meetings for 20 minutes, or 45 minutes, instead of a half hour, or hour (and, yes, you can get the same amount of work done).

Another is not driving, but being driven.

I started with Ubers, which gave me back 15 or 30 minutes on short hops, so I now answer emails and tweak slides while travelling to meetings. But increasingly I now get a driver to take me longer distances. Today, I was driven two hours each way to a three-hour meeting. So, I ‘earned back’ half a day of solid work. Now, to do that, I need a comfortable car that insulates me from the outside world, which feels like I’m in my office.

The service I use has quite a few late-model Mercedes and I’ve noticed something fascinating. Their seats look like leather, but they’re not. As far back as the 1950s Mercedes patented a material it calls MB-Tex. It’s vinyl that wears much better, cleans easier, and retains its ‘bounce’ better than leather. And, it’s cheaper. And 70 years later, over half of all Mercedes cars have this on their seats. (In fact, sit in an MB-Tex seat of a 40-year-old Mercedes, and it’ll often feel like new).

Now, you might ask, “But why would a prestige brand offer a ‘low cost’ option like this?”

It’s because it’s cheap - but not nasty.

It feels great (to me anyway) and I’m sure if I owned the car, I’d be glad of the ease of maintenance. But it got me thinking: what other premium brands have ‘cheap’ or ‘basic’ elements of their offering? It turns out lots do. Business class in most airlines has the same movies as economy. Apple computers have the same keyboards irrespective of price point.

This very careful merging of ‘base level’ offerings within the overall prestige brand enables Mercedes, or Apple, or Qantas, to spend money where it’s actually noticed by the customer, and where it really enables them to differentiate themselves.

Question: How do you spend money where it’s actually noticed by the customer, and how can you save money by embedding basic elements into your high-end offerings?

Magic

I was born legally blind.

As a small child, because of my severe short-sightedness, and astigmatism in both eyes, I’d sit in class quite unaware that the teacher was writing on the blackboard.

This meant that I had to listen. Carefully. In fact, so well that nobody worked out that I had limited vision until my second year at school. But, I still apply the skills I learned as a 5 year old today.

I learned to pay close attention to what people are saying — and sorting the signal from the noise. So, if we were learning about the pyramids, I’d ‘triangulate’ what the teacher said, with the questions the other kids would ask, and work out my own ‘theory of pyramids’ in my mind’s eye.

Fifty years later, I earn my living from this skill (amongst others): I will spend an hour, or a morning, or a day, in a room with dozens of people, asking them targetted questions, listen to their discussions and, pretty much in ‘real time’, provide a summary of what I’ve heard, either verbally or as a sketch on a whiteboard or flipchart.

I’ve even had groups applaud when I’ve done this! Why? Because even though they’ve done the talking, they’ve never synthesised it concisely or coherently.

So, the question I often get asked is, “How do you do that, Andrew? It seems like magic. Can I learn how to be better at it?”

I don’t tell them to go back in time and remove their eyesight so they get better at listening. But, that’s exactly what they should do, so instead I suggest they build the ‘synthesis muscle’ by listening to a radio interview, or a podcast, and after 3 - 5 minutes, switch it off. Then summarise in three dot points what they heard. I say, “Your test should be if you played your summary back to the person who was speaking, they’d nod and say, “Yes, that’s exactly what I said””.

And, we can scale this up significantly.

Today, I spent 3 hours with 25 people who are a single leadership team, asking how they can more sharply focus their efforts on what truly matters. Another time recently, it was 70 people each from different organisations and perspectives in a ‘think tank’ format arriving at a ‘consensus statement’ on a ‘big issue’.

But whether it’s 3 people, or 300, my point is this: If you practice asking the right questions, and practice listening intently for similarities (“What am I hearing repeatedly?”) and differences (“How are the views truly different?”) as well as directions (“What do people want that they don’t have now?”), you can easily cluster the group’s thinking in a way that both makes sense (validation) and provides a sense of progress (momentum).

Question: How can you train yourself, and your team, to become more expert at discerning ‘signals’ from ‘noise’?

Not a restaurant review

Can groups, not just individuals, possess genius?

We often applaud top-scoring sportspeople (instead of the entire team infrastructure). We take delight in Academy Award winning actors’ movies (without even thinking about the studios’ or crews’ contributions). We look up at an amazing building and admire an architect's vision (but forget that a developer conceived it, a bank funded it, a government authorised it and builders built it).

Whenever such extraordinary performance happens, I’m enormously curious about what goes on in the background, behind the ‘star’, almost invisibly. And, so I’m republishing this piece I wrote in 2012, when I visited Monaco to be at a global meeting of a group of consultants I’m part of.

One night I had a rare chance to observe - up close - a team that is recognised as one of the world’s best. My hotel found me a last minute spot at the chef’s table at the Atelier (“workshop”) de Joel Robuchon. He was then the most ‘starred’ chef in the world: 31 Michelin stars amongst his 12 restaurants. The one I ate at had two.

I ate alone, and deliberately chose not to do what I’d usually do (read a book, or my phone). I wanted to enjoy my meal - and watch. Not just the other patrons, but the kitchen. From the chef’s table I was literally arm’s length from their activity: 12 kitchen staff, plus 10 on the floor, serving about 60 diners.

Now, I’ve never run a restaurant and have been into precious few commercial kitchens, but I marvelled at several things that Robuchon’s team were doing — all night long — that put them in the genius category. Moreover, I'd say that these apply to most collective efforts that aspire to be outstanding. So, keep reading and see how many of these your partnerships, teams or joint endeavours display:

1. They’re attuned. They’re constantly aware of each other and move seamlessly, as if they’ve got tremendous peripheral sensitivity to where everyone else is. Even when concentrating, their ears are open and listening to the chef’s instructions, always confirming that they’ve heard with a “Oui Chef!”

2. They’re choreographed. Everyone’s constantly moving, in a quiet hurry. There’s no noise. They don’t even have to play music to drown out the ambient noise, because there is none. Never a clink of glasses, crockery, nothing dropped. It’s a little like the proverbial duck: legs underwater paddling furiously, but on top, just gliding serenely.

3. They ask questions. I left a few mouthfuls of my fourth (of five) courses, simply because I was getting full. The waiter immediately came and asked me if I enjoyed the course. And, it wasn’t just a mechanical statement: he asked twice, almost disbelieving me and asked me to please tell him if there was something not entirely to my taste.

4. Systems appear personalised. Because I wasn’t involved in talking to anyone, I got to eavesdrop a lot. So, I heard the staff have the same interactions with everyone as they had with me. I was offered a course 'compliments of the chef'. How nice, I thought. Then I saw everyone got one. Doesn't that seem fake, I hear you ask? Yes, it’s a system, but delivered with such rapport, that it creates a connection. Because every customer responds differently to the same basic enquiries, and that’s where the personalisation then kicks in.

5. The boss tests, over and over. The chef doesn’t cook. He’s the only one there, by the way, who looks like he’s over 40. He gives instructions and, more importantly, he tests. Constantly checking, prodding, tasting, feeling, smelling. A nod, a shake of the head is all it takes for the staff to know what to do. It’s feedback overdrive.

6. Incredible fine tolerances. Every course has been over-engineered, with nothing left to chance. Caviar is weighed (in fact, everything is weighed); lobster is sliced to a specific thickness, a mousse of eggplants is tapped for endless minutes until it coats the bottom of a plate just so.

7. Those who know the most help the others learn. All it takes is a glance for a less experienced team member to call over someone who’ll watch, or guide, or give a word (rarely more) of advice. I got the impression that for the juniors, every night is a huge learning experience.

8. Inseparable complexity. You can watch, as I did, how they assemble a plate of crab. At least a dozen basic ingredients, topped with a galaxy of microscopically chopped herbs. In the mouth, you can’t taste the individual ingredients, only the whole, which is truly amazing.

9. Everyone concentrates fully. There are no vacant stares, never a person just standing by. Whatever is done is done with full attention: bent over a plate placing tiny peas, chopping capsicum, stirring a sauce. The chef's eyes especially are constantly scanning or fixed on something.

10.Flexible options. Of course there’s a menu; you can’t walk in and ask for a burger or a piece of salmon. But, the menu is there as a frame: it's got enough flexibility built into it that you can construct the meal you like. I ended up ordering five of the small courses. No main course. No dessert. Other people were ordering the 9 course tasting menu. Others did a more traditional 3 course thing.

11. Science and art. The science is in the system: every ingredient is weighed, tested, and, where possible, prepared in advance. The only food actually cooked right there is what has to be cooked then and there. Everything else is prepped. The art is channelled through the chef - he’ll give a sauce three more stirs, rearrange a plate, and ask someone to help a young chef carve the ham just so.

12. Maintain as you go. All the mundane maintenance tasks are built-in. The kitchen, being on full display, is never less than spotless. Knives are sharpened on the go, benches and boards are wiped. Mess is invisible. They’re like magicians - watching them closely, I never worked out where the dirty pots go!

13. Everyone knows their job. Like a Balinese gamelan orchestra that just ‘knows’ when to start playing or rise to the crescendo, this was a team where everyone knows the job they have to do. That doesn’t at all mean they’re in their little bubble: there’s constant communication, usually very subtle, and they often came together in little groups to assist on a task.

The genius of cooking on display that night stayed with me all these years. And, of course, there’s much more going on than what I am able to detect on a single visit. But, when I look at these 13 factors, I don't just see a 2-star Michelin restaurant. I see any group of people that want to combine their efforts to serve their clients or customers in an extraordinary fashion.

Question: What ‘rules’ enable your collective efforts to be outstanding?

I love to know you’re enjoying reading, so please click the "Like". And, do drop me a line as well if something here strikes you or your team. Watch out for group-level genius on your own travels, and until next Friday, stay well.

Andrew