A returning rhetoric
“Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.”
In the history of modern political rhetoric, few phrases have had as much impact as the one spoken by John F. Kennedy in 1961, during his inaugural address. It was a call to collective commitment, civic sense, and pride in contributing to something greater than oneself. And yet, as often happens with powerful words, this one too, has, over time, been twisted, reduced, and manipulated. Today, especially in the world of work, it is often evoked—explicitly or not—to shift responsibility and push workers to accept increasingly demanding conditions in the name of loyalty, passion, and adaptability. The implicit message is clear: expect nothing, give everything, and ask for nothing in return.
The paradox of the dining room
In the hospitality industry, and especially for those who work front of house, this rhetoric of sacrifice has found particularly fertile ground. Staff are expected to be flawless, empathetic, knowledgeable, elegant, present. To endure long shifts, fast-paced rhythms, and absurd requests. To smile even when there’s nothing to smile about. To be the visible face of hospitality, yet almost never receive proportionate recognition—neither financial nor symbolic.
The crisis no one wants to see
Every year, with almost choreographed punctuality, newspapers, entrepreneurs, and commentators rush to discuss the “staffing crisis”: no one wants to be a waiter anymore, young people are unwilling to work, professional roles are disappearing. And each time, the tone is one of reproach: the work ethic, dedication, and sense of duty are said to be lost. But rarely does anyone pause to consider why this profession has lost its appeal. The issue is not just about workers’ availability, but about the systemic absence of recognition — social, economic, human — that would make the job worth choosing, respecting, and valuing.
The silence of insiders
The most bitter paradox is that the least recognition for front-of-house staff often comes from those who work within the industry itself — chefs, managers, entrepreneurs, consultants. Instead of becoming advocates for a cultural shift, many prefer to remain silent. When someone tries to raise the issue — talking about emotional burdens, job insecurity, and lack of prospects — the sector, more often than not, looks the other way. It’s rare to see public discussions where real attention is given to the dining room. And even rarer for such discussions to be welcomed or amplified. Perhaps because talking about those who serve isn’t Instagrammable, doesn’t generate likes, and isn’t glamorous. Perhaps because facing reality would challenge too many certainties: the polished image of fine dining, the hegemony of the plate as the only form of expression, the success narrative built entirely around the chef and design. And so, the dining room remains the great unspoken in the world of hospitality. Visible to all, but acknowledged by few. Essential, yet still marginal in the storytelling and policies of the sector.
Honneth and the denial of recognition
The philosopher and sociologist Axel Honneth developed a theory of recognition that is particularly helpful in reading this scenario. According to Honneth, an individual’s ability to build a stable and healthy identity depends on the recognition they receive in three key areas: the affective, the legal, and the social sphere.
In the world of hospitality, front-of-house staff are often ignored in each of these dimensions. Affectively, they are invisible: no one takes care of those who serve, no one acknowledges their daily emotional load. Legally, many contracts are fragile, uncertain, underpaid, or even completely irregular. Socially, the role of the waiter is still perceived as temporary, subordinate, and low-skilled — a stepping stone, or a last resort for those with no other options, not a profession in its own right.
The job that demands everything
And yet, those who work on the floor handle a complex range of relationships, emotions, and skills. They don’t just carry plates: they listen, anticipate, observe, and translate the kitchen’s language into experience for the guest. They need emotional intelligence, language skills, cultural knowledge (not just gastronomic), and balance. None of this can be improvised — it is built over years. And still, it goes unrecognized.
Goffman’s invisible stage
In his book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Erving Goffman described social interaction as a stage where each of us performs a role. The waiter is the ultimate actor. They play a part with grace and consistency, masking fatigue and frustration, adjusting their voice and body to embody the very idea of hospitality. But in this daily theater, the attentive audience is often missing: no one applauds, few notice — especially not the managers. Front-of-house staff are forced to stay on stage even when working conditions are unjust and dignity is trampled.
The false promise of meritocracy
To all this we must add another modern distortion: the trap of meritocracy. The idea that those who work the hardest, who have “passion,” who “make a difference,” will eventually be rewarded. It’s a seductive narrative — but it only holds up if a real system of recognition exists. In the absence of protections, salary increases, career progression, or even just basic respect, meritocracy becomes a tool of exploitation: it serves to keep workers in line, to delude, to justify abuse as an individual failure.
Blaming the worker
This rhetoric of sacrifice is not just an empty discourse: it is a structure that prevents change. It fuels guilt and discourages demands. It tells you that to complain is dishonorable, that if you love your job, you must endure everything. But there is no love that justifies injustice. And there is no passion that can replace a decent contract, fair pay, and a company culture based on respect.
The wrong question
Perhaps it’s time to reverse the question. No longer: why does no one want to do this job? But rather, why is this job still considered unworthy? Why does the restaurant industry — which literally survives on service — continue to neglect those who make it possible? Why is there so much investment in food design, and so little in the dignity of staff?
Service as a relationship
Service is not sacrifice. It is a relationship. A human gesture. A moment of listening, care, attention. If we want it to become a real career choice again, we must restore its value. And that starts with a simple word, long denied: recognition. Because without recognition, there is no service. And without service, there is no hospitality.