Wardrobe directions for the number-one restaurant in North America — a conversation, not a proposal.
Every element has been considered by hand — except, still, the wardrobe.
You sprout the grains and run the ferments in-house. You set the temperature of the room. You choose the ceramics by hand. The one thing still bought off a catalogue is what the team wears — and the team is the part of the room that moves, beside the guest all night.
The moment you say uniform, you're compared to a linen-service catalogue — a line item to be minimised.
The moment you say wardrobe, it belongs to the same considered world as the pantry, the room, and the plate.
Not costume. Refined, tactile clothing in the KERCHER house language — cut for anyone who wears it, made with the same hand as the food.
Smyth upstairs and The Loyalist below hold two different feelings. The wardrobe should read each room — two directions follow.
One garment for everyone is the old way. Design by position instead — a considered piece for every person on the floor, each cut for anyone who wears it and each telling part of the same story, across both rooms.
The number-one restaurant in North America earns devotion. A few pieces let a guest take a little of it home.
Made in small numbers. Naturally dyed. Unmistakably Smyth.
KERCHER × Smyth. An apron, dyed by hand from botanicals.
The same obsessive, in-house craft that fills your pantry — the ferments, the infusions — can colour the cloth. Tie it to a seasonal chef’s-table dinner and a small capsule launch: the team wears it, a short list of guests can own it, and the story writes itself.
The most common tell in any dining room is a jacket that doesn’t fit — sleeves an inch too long, shoulders a size off. In the number-one room in North America, it’s unthinkable.
A team that fits reads as a team that’s cared for.
KERCHER’s make moves fast enough that every piece is cut to the person and replaced through a simple reorder. New hires are onboarded into the system; nothing ill-fitting ever reaches the floor; there is no closet of dead stock to manage.
You invest in the people, not the uniform order.
The number-one restaurant in North America should set the standard for how a team looks, too.
You have already built an entire world by hand. The wardrobe is the last layer — the moving one — and getting it right makes Smyth the reference every serious kitchen looks to.