The internet loves a good "insider" story, especially when it involves a New York City reporter, a plate of Steak au Poivre, and the viral linguistic gymnastics of a political firestorm. When Donald Trump weighed in on the James Comey drama years ago, the term "86" hit the mainstream harder than a Friday night rush in Midtown. The media treated it like a charming bit of kitchen lore—a secret handshake shared between the grease-stained line cook and the elite political commentator.
They got it wrong.
The standard narrative suggests "86" is a badge of honor, a colorful artifact of Americana that means "to eject" or "to be out of stock." Whether it originated from Article 86 of the New York State Liquor Code or the 86th floor of the Empire State Building is irrelevant trivia for people who have never worked a double shift on their feet. In the real world, 86 isn't a "hilarious anecdote." It is a mathematical admission of failure. If you are 86ing an item, or a person, you are witnessing a breakdown in the supply chain, the management, or the culture.
Stop romanticizing the chaos.
The Myth of the Charming Kitchen Chaos
The "Steak au Poivre" anecdote—where a dish is crossed off the menu with a flourish—is sold as the heartbeat of a high-functioning restaurant. It’s framed as "agility." I’ve spent twenty years in the trenches of the hospitality industry, from dive bars to Michelin-starred temples of ego. I can tell you that when a kitchen 86s the signature dish, it’s not a quirky moment of "the true meaning of 86." It’s an embarrassment.
It means the inventory manager failed. It means the sous-chef didn't check the walk-in. It means the restaurant is bleeding money because they can’t fulfill the very promise they printed on the menu. To the casual observer, it’s a "cool insider term." To the P&L statement, it’s a red line through your profit margin.
When political pundits co-opt this language to describe firing a public official or "canceling" a figure like Comey, they are accidentally revealing the truth: the system has already broken. You don't "86" something that is working. You 86 the rotten, the depleted, and the broken.
The Logistics of Incompetence
Let’s dismantle the "People Also Ask" questions that usually follow these viral moments. People want to know the "true origin" of 86 because it feels like a treasure hunt. The real question should be: Why do we still rely on a culture that prizes frantic recovery over basic competence?
- Is 86ing a customer a sign of a good bar? No. It’s a sign of a security failure. If someone has reached the point where they need to be "86'd," you missed five opportunities to de-escalate the situation earlier.
- Does 86 apply to politics? It applies to the optics of disposal. In the Comey context, the term was used to signal a clean break. But in a kitchen, an 86’d item stays on the menu board as a ghost—a reminder of what you can't have. It doesn't disappear; it haunts the service.
Imagine a scenario where a high-end steakhouse runs out of peppercorns for its au poivre. The server has to do the "walk of shame" to every table, apologizing for the kitchen's lack of foresight. That isn't "hilarious." It’s a loss of social capital. Every time a brand or a politician "86s" a problem, they are telling the public: "We didn't see this coming, and now we're scrambling."
The Toxic Romance of the "Hard" Life
We have a weird obsession with the "gritty" nature of the service industry. We watch shows like The Bear and read Bourdain (who would have hated the sanitized, Twitter-friendly version of this anecdote) and we think the stress is the point.
The competitor article treats the term like a fun linguistic bridge between the kitchen and the West Wing. This is the "lazy consensus." It assumes that the struggle is beautiful. It isn't. The industry uses 86 because it is a short, sharp sound that can be heard over the roar of a hood vent. It’s a tool born of necessity in an environment of extreme decibels and high heat.
When you strip it of its utility and use it to describe a political "burn," you’re commodifying the stress of workers who are often underpaid and overworked. It’s "blue-collar cosplay" for the laptop class.
The Cost of the "86" Mentality
In business, "86ing" is the ultimate pivot. And pivots are expensive.
- Waste of Prep: If you 86 a dish halfway through service, the components of that dish (the prep work that took six hours) are now useless.
- Customer Friction: You’ve broken the contract with the consumer.
- Morale Decay: The front-of-house team now has to take the heat for a back-of-house mistake.
I’ve seen owners lose their shirts because they thought being "fast and loose" with their menu was part of the charm. "Oh, we’re out of the halibut? Just 86 it!" That halibut cost $22 a pound. If it’s sitting there because you didn't sell it fast enough, or you didn't order enough to meet demand, you’re failing at the most basic level of commerce.
Why You Should Stop Saying It
If you aren't standing behind a line or a bar, using "86" makes you look like you're trying too hard. It’s the linguistic equivalent of wearing a chef’s coat to a dinner party.
More importantly, it reinforces the idea that disposal is the only solution to mismanagement. In politics, "86ing" someone is a lazy way of avoiding the hard work of reform. It’s a quick fix. A temporary removal. But just like in a kitchen, the 86 list is cleared at the end of the night, and tomorrow, you’re back to the same broken ordering system that caused the shortage in the first place.
The "nuance" the media missed is that 86 isn't about the act of leaving; it's about the failure to remain.
If you want to be an industry insider, stop looking for "hilarious anecdotes" in the wreckage of a bad service. Start asking why the steak was missing in the first place. The real "meaning" of 86 isn't a secret code. It’s a white flag.
Burn the menu and start over.
