It seemed like a fun idea to take the family to dinner at the Chelsea restaurant of celebrity chef Masaharu Morimoto.  My kids had watched him on Iron Chef, and since my son was in town (who damn near had a stroke when Wolfgang Puck came out to ask him how he enjoyed his meal at Spago), the time seemed right.  I had been there before, courtesy of my pal Brian Cuban, and enjoyed it. So why not?

We had the tasting menu, a pricey proposition at $135 per person that was to consist of eight courses.  The meal was hit and miss, with some courses being fabulous and others peculiar and even unpleasant. Oh well, different strokes, though a dab of sorbet in a shot glass is not a course. But what was neither acceptable nor forgivable was the service.  The wait staff was pleasant and enthusiastic, but did not understand what service meant at that level.

There were basic mistakes, water glasses that were not refilled until I had to beg someone to do so. Busboys trying to take away plates while people at the table were still eating. Or taking three of four plates, and never returning for the fourth. A butt shoved in my face while serving the table next to us, so close that I could see the fillings in my neighbor’s teeth. And a tray touching my nose as the waiter bent over the unclothed table to faux fuss over the way the plate was turned.

This might have impressed someone who had never experienced good service, an out-of-towner perhaps, but we have a few decent restaurants in New York, and we know better. I take no issue with Olive Garden’s wait staff being unduly perky and familiar. That’s what I expect there.  At the prices charged at Morimoto, however, it’s not my job to beg for water.  And the green tea lady fingers, turning an otherwise overly sweet tiramisu into savory, was just wrong.  What was he thinking?

There are lawyers who charge a little. There are lawyers who charge a lot.  There are lawyers to whom clients come because they are young and enthusiastic, even if lacking in experience. There are lawyers who are experienced, and clients come to them for that specific reason.  Though we may not “sell” ourselves in the way that someone sells a product or non-professional service, we nonetheless offer our services for sale.  We are, therefore, obliged to deliver.

The adage, under-promise and over-deliver, reflects an approach to work and life that has always served people well.  It’s gone out of fashion, however, as marketeers instruct people to always be closing, just bang the crap out of the sale to get the person to fork over the cash. Say anything. Say everything.  The theory being that if you don’t score the case, it doesn’t matter what happens later because it won’t be happening with you.

So the lesson is over-promise to the point of deceit.  Lie, in other words, to persuade the client that you’re the lawyer he should retain, that your fee is worth it, if not quite a value proposition, and achieve the success born of hype.  But what of the delivery?

You will get away with it much of the time. Unsophisticated clients will not be capable of distinguishing good from mediocre (or bad) lawyering.  They may make up for the laxity by calling hourly for updates, until you hate them. Or they may be so hands-off as to disappear when you need them most.  But they will not be capable of understanding that they are not receiving the level of service a client is entitled to receive from a lawyer.

Others will know.  They will know that your sales pitch is hype and that you are making promises you can’t deliver.  They will know that your fee is out of line with your experience and reputation, or that you’re a bait-and-switch lawyer, promising the hope of acquittal at trial when you will be pushing to cop a plea by the third court appearance.

A call came in a couple of weeks ago from a person who retained a moderately experienced lawyer in another jurisdiction.  She bit on the sale pitch, and as soon as the fee was paid, was shunted off to an associate she did not retain and who never seemed to know much of anything about her case or why he charged for something on the bill.

I advised her to speak with the lawyer she thought she retained, even though he had never done anything that impressed me as reflecting deep thought. He responded that he was too important for her, and that her expectation that he fulfill his promises made her an undesirable client. He told her he could no longer represent her. He did not, of course, refund the unexplained charges.

Distraught, I hooked her up with another lawyer. Also moderately experienced, the new lawyer was someone who gave a damn and would work her butt off to do her best.  Unlike the first lawyer, she was not too big for her britches. Unlike the first lawyer, she would over deliver.

After a lovely dinner at Spago, Wolfgang Puck walked around asking diners if they enjoyed their meal.  He’s not only renown as a chef, but his cred from experience cannot be denied. Yet, he cared enough to make it personal, to work the room, to ask how he did. We are never any better than our last meal. Or motion.

I never saw Masaharu Morimoto last night. I have no clue whether he was there or not. I didn’t see him the time before when I dined there either.  And I won’t go back.  Morimoto overcharged and under-delivered. Not even an Iron Chef can get away with that.