The Service Every Hotel Needs to Stop - NOW!

You’ll be astonished to hear that consultants in general, and yours truly in particular, can occasionally be prone to bouts of ego-fuelled, self-indulgent pomposity. No, really. This can, if you’re not careful, be dangerous for you, your team, and most of all, your clients. Dangerous because when you receive a request for help from a client, your ego is flattered. The risk is that your focus shifts to how your stunning brilliance will be praised, rather than whether you can, you know, actually help. A pretty fundamental element of being a consultant, especially if you’re planning to make it a career.

As you well know, I’m not immune from this, but have been saved more than once by my, how shall we put this, lack of diplomacy? It happened again recently after receiving just such a request. The project was to address a specific area of F&B across a global brand, working with their senior corporate team. With my ego in full flow and the pompous-meter set to eleven, I began writing the scope, already visualising the feature in the trade press about how visionary I’d been.It took my MD to point out the slight problem that, while we could meet the brief, we probably shouldn’t. Not a high point in our relationship, but given that I was already on record as saying the particular issue they were seeking to address was “an irrelevant and pointless commercial endeavour”, it was difficult to disagree. Actually, I said it was “fucking pointless”, but I’m trying to polish my professional image in post-production.

She was, of course, also right about the fact we should decline in the most diplomatic way possible. And given that wasn't exactly one of my strengths, as my previous comments demonstrated, she decided to handle it herself. Which she did, brilliantly. I was reminded that the only role left for me in the process was to remain discrete about the details, no anecdotes and definitely no articles. So there you have it, while I’d love to share with you the challenge we declined to address, I can’t. Which is a shame, because it affects so many hotels, is so challenging, yet the solution so simple. But if we can keep it between us, and you promise not to tell anyone else, I’ll share with only you that it was…..room service.

While my turn of phrase was unfortunate, you have to agree room service is the hospitality equivalent of a landline—an expensive, outdated inconvenience that somehow still exists even though nobody actually wants it anymore. Sure there’s a certain nostalgic charm to the idea of a silver-domed tray appearing at your door, seemingly by magic, a culinary miracle worker. But let’s be real: when was the last time anyone actually raved about their room service experience? Exactly. It’s more likely they were muttering obscenities under their breath as they tried to decipher the mystery mush, cold fries and curled club sandwich that arrived an hour late and cost twice as much as it should. I recall a conversation with a highly regarded GM in one of the best-performing hotels in her region, where she pointed out that her guests could “order anything they want from outside that would be better, come in half the time at half the price that her team could”. Not sure, then allow me to make my case.

First up: the food. No matter how stellar your kitchen is, room service will always manage to turn it into something that resembles a school cafeteria disaster. Your chefs may be plating up the on-trend dishes downstairs, but once they’re entombed in that steaming hot box of doom and wheeled through endless corridors, it’s a miracle if the food doesn’t emerge looking like it was salvaged from a plane crash. Fries are as limp as a wet noodles, eggs have solidified into some unidentifiable rubbery mass, and the salad? A sad, wilted reminder that greens once had a vibrant life outside of this gastronomic purgatory. No guest is biting into a stale croissant thinking, “Ah yes, this is exactly what I paid $30 for.”

Then there’s the whole experience of ordering room service, which is, quite frankly, the culinary equivalent of waiting for a cable guy who never shows up. After deciphering the menu—which, by the way, looks like it was designed by someone who’s never actually eaten food—your guest places the order. They’re promised a 30-minute delivery time. Fifty minutes later, after they’ve resigned themselves to starvation and started nibbling on minibar pretzels, there’s a knock at the door. Hooray! But what’s that smell? Oh right, it’s disappointment, served with a side of “Why did I do this to myself?”

Now let’s talk about what happens after the food arrives. Your guest, wrapped in a bathrobe that screams “This isn’t covering anything properly,” awkwardly invites the server in. The server, wrestling with a cart that barely fits through the doorway, proceeds to set up a tiny dining table in the middle of the room. They awkwardly arrange the cutlery, make polite conversation that both parties desperately want to end, and then—cue the dramatic pause—wait for the tip. It’s the world’s most uncomfortable handshake, with both parties pretending this transaction isn’t weird as hell. Because really, who wants to tip someone for delivering them cold pasta and soggy garlic bread?

And that’s just the guest's perspective. Room service is a logistical nightmare that would make even the most seasoned Operations Manager cry. Your kitchen, which is already juggling banquets, restaurant service, and possibly an unruly wedding party, has to drop everything to whip up a single club sandwich with no bacon, extra mayo, hold the fries, and a side of aioli that no one even knows how to make. This one measly order disrupts the entire flow of service, slowing down operations for everyone. And that’s assuming everything goes smoothly, which, of course, it never does.

Then there’s the sheer waste of resources. You’ve got a server tied up with one order for who knows how long, carts clogging up hallways, and plates that never seem to make it back to the kitchen in one piece. I swear, room service trays have a tendency to turn into ghost ships—abandoned in hallways, half-eaten meals congealing into modern art pieces, as staff and guests alike pretend they don’t see them. When someone finally does collect them, it’s with all the enthusiasm of someone scraping something disgusting off a shoe.

And let’s not even start on the financials. Despite all the headaches, room service usually operates at a loss. Between the food waste, labour costs, and overheads, you’re basically burning money every time someone orders the $35 Caesar salad that ends up mostly uneaten. The worst part? This is all for a service that’s only getting less popular. A recent study showed that less than 10% of guests even consider ordering room service, and the numbers are shrinking faster than the mini-bar inventory after a stag party.

So, what’s the alternative? It’s time to think outside the silver dome. Why not partner with local restaurants for curated in-room dining options? Your guests get fresh, exciting food, and you get to skip the logistical horror show. Or how about offering high-quality grab-and-go items in a stylish market setup? Guests can grab what they need, when they need it, and you’re not stuck hauling trays all over the property. Better yet, embrace the new wave of tech-driven dining. Set up an app where guests can order delivery from local hotspots directly to their room. No more sad trays, no more logistical nightmares, and no more complaints about lukewarm lasagna. Everyone wins, and your staff can focus on what they do best—providing stellar service, not scrambling to find that rogue bottle of ketchup someone in Room 512 demanded five minutes ago.

In short, room service is a zombie that needs to be put out of its misery. It’s a drain on your resources, a bane to your staff, and a letdown for your guests. It’s time to evolve and leave this relic behind, before it drags your F&B programme down with it. Your guests—and your P&L—will thank you.

Although not my MD who will be furious if she knows we’ve been chatting, so please, this is between us right?