How to Build a Restaurant Legacy, According to Thomas Keller and José Andrés

The line is busy, the tickets keep printing—but in kitchens everywhere, a quiet question simmers beneath the noise: how long can this last? In a business built on constant reinvention, permanence feels elusive. As pressures mount—from rising food costs to burnout to leadership transitions—chefs and restaurateurs are grappling with identity and the fragile hope that what they’re building—restaurants, teams, ideas—might somehow endure.

The restaurant industry has never been a gentle place to build a future. One in three restaurants in the U.S. won’t make it past their first year—a sobering statistic underscored by the National Restaurant Association's (NRA) estimate of a 30% failure rate in the industry. This reflects not just economic volatility but deeper structural fragilities: vague concepts, poor team leadership, and undercapitalized openings.

The pandemic only amplified these cracks, forcing more than 110,000 closures in 2020 alone, according to the NRA. But if failure has a pattern, so does survival. From clearly defined ideas to adaptive business models and better management practices, longevity in hospitality is no longer about luck or legacy—it’s about learning how to lead in the long run.

A week ago, 700 people gathered under a tent in Copenhagen for the return of MAD, the influential symposium founded by chef René Redzepi. After a seven-year hiatus, the event came back with a provocation: Built to Last. Over two days, the industry’s most prominent voices reflected on what legacy means now: how to stay curious, build culture, protect creativity, and lead without losing yourself in the process. We gather some of the best reflections from the American chefs present at the event.

How Justin Pichetrungsi Is Reinventing Family Restaurant Legacy at Anajak Thai

Before stepping into the kitchen at Anajak Thai Cuisine, one of San Fernando Valley’s most popular restaurants, Justin Pichetrungsi spent a decade in the entertainment industry. A graduate of ArtCenter in Pasadena, he fulfilled a childhood dream at Disney Imagineering, contributing to projects for Pixar, Marvel, and Lucasfilm during the development of films like Zootopia and Finding Dory. But while immersed in animation and design, he watched his parents struggle to keep the family restaurant afloat—especially after the 2008 recession.

Gradually, Pichetrungsi began helping out—working service shifts, cooking in the kitchen, and eventually overhauling the wine list, a first step in reshaping the restaurant’s identity. When he officially took over Anajak in 2019, the business was barely staying afloat. But what began as an act of duty soon grew into a full-fledged passion, setting the stage for the restaurant’s remarkable transformation. “I often wonder why it doesn't happen in America more often,” he said, about passing restaurants down through generations. “I look at myself and I'm like, that's why. It's kind of challenging. But perhaps we believe that we can become independent within one generation. And so we kind of leave the past behind.”

He has shared lessons on what it means to take over a family restaurant, beginning with a deep respect for those who came before him—the paintings of his grandfather, once a court artist for Thailand’s King Rama IX, still adorn the walls—and an understanding that stepping into a new generation brings both costs and opportunities. He introduced a sharp, thoughtfully curated wine program and launched the now-famous Thai Taco Tuesdays, which regularly draw crowds down the block. Still, he never aimed to replace his father. “I’ll never cook on the wok as well as he can,” he says. “But hopefully my muscle memory is kind of like his.” For him, the key is recognizing each generation’s contributions without trying to argue your way into change. “The best way is to prove them by doing,” he says.

Thomas Keller on Mentorship, Generational Restaurants, and Quiet Leadership

Thomas Keller’s path to becoming one of America’s most influential chefs—the only one in the country with two restaurants awarded three Michelin stars—was shaped as much by failure as by success. Before The French Laundry, there was Raquel, a New York City restaurant he ultimately had to close. Keller has never shied away from calling it a failure, but a formative one—an experience that taught him how to grow, adapt, and lead.

In 1994, he took over The French Laundry in Yountville, California, carrying forward the vision of Don and Sally Schmitt, who had founded the restaurant in 1978. For Keller, it wasn’t just a takeover—it was a commitment to legacy. “We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us. And the wonderful thing about our profession is that we’re so interconnected, generation after generation after generation. And I love that,” he says. “A true legacy is what you leave others to build on themselves—which, in turn, builds their own legacy.”

His purpose, Keller explains, is to ensure that The French Laundry continues as a generational restaurant. At the heart of his philosophy is a belief in mentorship—not just teaching, but empowering others to surpass him. “Make people better than you are. That is how you create generational wealth,” he says. “As a chef, give a younger person an idea, let them develop it, and let them own it. That’s a beautiful thing to happen.”

For Keller, pride doesn’t come from accolades, but from seeing chefs who came up through his kitchens rise and lead. His vision of legacy is built on discipline, humility, and the quiet, daily repetition of craft. “Do a little better than you did yesterday,” he advises. “Shine your shoes a little better. Dress a little better. Sharpen your knives. Whatever you need to do—every single day.”

Erin Wade’s Culture-First Model for Sustainable Restaurant Management

At her Oakland restaurant Homeroom, Erin Wade transformed a comfort food staple into a multimillion-dollar enterprise—and a testing ground for progressive workplace reform. The chef, entrepreneur, and Princeton-trained policy expert is known not only for serving up tens of thousands of bowls of macaroni and cheese each year, but also for reshaping the way restaurants can be managed. Under her leadership, Homeroom became a model for feminist business practices, where frontline workers helped craft internal policies and workplace harassment was addressed with legal rigor.

“All it takes is one jerk to ruin a really great thing,” Wade says. “A restaurant is no different.” To combat toxicity, she implemented weekly all-staff meetings that brought together employees from every part of the business. These open forums became a cornerstone of her management style—allowing for swift identification of issues, collaborative problem-solving, and direct input on training and operations. “Having dozens of great minds around a table every week makes a huge difference—how efficient your business is, how well you serve your customers, how well you retain your team,” she explains.

Listening to her staff also meant finding new ways to protect them. Wade developed a color-coded system that allowed employees to discreetly signal for help during service in cases of customer misconduct. The protocol, now known as Not on the Menu, became so effective it was adopted by the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission as a recommended national best practice. Today, it’s used in restaurants and bars across the country. “The truth is, a great culture needs to be protected,” Wade says. “Don’t assume it’ll sustain itself.”

José Andrés on Empowerment, Failure, and Purpose-Driven Restaurants

There are many superlatives to describe chef José Andrés—Emmy Award–winning television personality, New York Times bestselling author, educator, and internationally recognized humanitarian, twice named to Time magazine’s list of the 100 most influential people in the world. But perhaps one of the most telling is that he’s the driving force behind a sprawling culinary empire: the José Andrés Group, which encompasses 40 restaurants in the United States and abroad, including the two-Michelin-starred minibar in Washington, D.C. In 2010, Andrés founded World Central Kitchen, a nonprofit that delivers meals on the front lines of humanitarian, climate, and community crises, and has since served more than 450 million meals in disaster areas and war zones. The idea was born from a simple but powerful realization: “In restaurants, we feed a few. I wanted to feed many more,” he says.

Over the course of his decades-long career, the Spanish-born chef—who made the U.S. capital his culinary and political home base—has come to embrace failure as a vital part of success. “Success is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm,” he says, mentioning even big names keep learning—as curiosity and humility are crucial in this industry. “Dream big. Dream loud. And if you fall short, still, it’s okay.”

That same philosophy applies to how he leads. “How do I do it? I let people do what they do best,” he says. “You empower the people who are actually there, on the ground. I wouldn’t be where I am without so many others.” For Andrés, building leadership means recognizing the talent around you—and creating the conditions for people to thrive. The work succeeds because of the people on the ground. For the chef, empowerment is more effective than control.

He speaks of his restaurants not as businesses, but as stories. As dreams, however imperfect or costly. “I wish I were a painter like Picasso, whose works sell for five million dollars. Instead, I open restaurants and end up five million in debt,” he jokes. “Honestly, I don’t know how to run a kitchen or make money with restaurants—and I have forty of them.” Then, with the mix of self-deprecation and conviction, he adds: “But my dreams were like anyone else’s. We just need to dream big—and not lie to ourselves about it.”