If you’re like me, any time you go to a bar, you think of Jon Taffer. Whether the bar is humming along with great efficiency or struggling to take a simple order, I always wonder how the boisterous creator and host of Bar Rescue would size the place up. On the show, which debuted in 2011 on what was then known as Spike TV, Taffer travels the country and visits bars experiencing various degrees of disarray. Sometimes the bar itself is decrepit—wallpaper peeling, fridges malfunctioning, live animals in residence—and sometimes the people in charge are aiding and abetting its downfall through their own mismanagement.
That’s where Taffer comes in. It’s right there in the title of the show. He rescues the bar. The makeover is the hook of the show. When viewers tune in, they can count on Taffer turning a rundown watering hole into a beautiful, fully operational palace with beer taps as far as the eye can see and a revamped food menu. But the beauty of Bar Rescue is that the human interest stories wrapped around the bar are typically much more compelling that whatever issue they’re having in the kitchen. Taffer's knack for addressing both sets of problems holistically—often by yelling at the bar owners like a baseball manager going at a beleaguered umpire—is why he’s endured for 250 episodes.
Taffer, who turns 70 in November, has seen it all and then some. Long before he was a mainstay of basic-cable pop culture, he was tending bar and playing drums in Los Angeles, where he crossed paths with musical legends like Linda Ronstadt and Jackson Browne. Now, he lives in the suburbs on the northwest side of Las Vegas, in what he calls a “very normal area.” Before his 250th rescue hits the Paramount Network on Sunday, Taffer called in from that Nevada residence to talk through his life as the Forrest Gump of the hospitality industry.
GQ: I read that in one of your earliest business deals, you ended up losing $600,000. What did you learn from that, or any of the other mistakes you made at the beginning of your career?
Jon Taffer: I hate to be a dropper of cliches, but we do learn more from failures than we do success. That wasn’t a business failure, it was a personality judgment failure. I thought that handshakes meant something. I found that this man wasn’t quite as he’d presented himself. It taught me that good people do good things, and non-trustworthy people do non-trustworthy things. That was an important lesson in my life—a defining moment, if you will. I learned to judge partners more carefully. I also learned how to do my paperwork better. [chuckles]
Shit, the failure that I see on Bar Rescue every week is unimaginable. People $400,000 in debt, living in their parents’ basement. The unbelievable depths of failure that I’ve seen has made me a far better businessperson, for sure.
That personality judgment part is interesting. Because I think when people go to a bar, personality is a big part of it. A lot of people’s favorite bars are based on the bartenders’ personalities or how friendly the owner is.
Yeah, so many businesses are that way. Wouldn’t you say this article is going to have your personality in it, to some degree? That’s what makes creativity great.
I was gonna be a big shot. I had saved some money, I was investing in this business. After that experience [of losing $600,000], I had nothing, and I got knocked down a bunch of pegs. So, I went back and became a bartender again. I had to start working again for somebody else and work my way up a second time. That second time up meant more to me than the first time, because I understood why I was doing it. It made me.
I’m sure rescuing bars wasn’t always the dream. When you first got started, what was the vision you had for yourself?
Oh boy. I love the hotel business. I started tending bar when I was in college. Then I became manager for a company called Beefsteak Charlie’s out of New York, with the all-you-can eat shrimp salad bar. I learned how to butcher meat in the walk-ins and develop salad bars. Then I went to upstate New York and was food-and-beverage director at a property—a very famous one—called Grossinger’s in the Catskill Mountains. Our own ski mountain with lifts, our own reservoir, a toboggan run, our own airport, pretty incredible! I learned all about the hotel industry there.
From there I became a hotel general manager and became vice president of marketing for a hotel company. As that happened, it was the mid-’80s, tax codes changed. Hotel restaurants used to be money losers. Suddenly, all the write-offs disappeared. So, hotels had to learn how to make money with restaurants and bars, which they never had to do before. I was really good at it! I built a lot of my success through food and beverage revenue. I wound up doing close to 400 hotel bars and restaurants for companies like Ritz-Carlton, Hyatt, Marriott, all of them. Hong Kong to Europe to South Carolina, and everywhere else in the middle!
So, how does the transition to reality TV happen?
I was very well-known in the hospitality industry as a bar and restaurant concept developer and a speaker. One day I gave a speech in Vegas, at Caesar’s. At the end of the speech, somebody came up to me and said, “You should be on TV, man.” At that time, Kitchen Nightmares was just starting with Gordon [Ramsay]. I thought about it, went home and wrote something up called On the Rocks. It was the story of troubled bars, and I was going to come in and rescue them. I put together a sizzle reel, and I had never wanted to be on TV! Never thought about being on TV, but I’m the kind of guy where if someone throws something at me, I have great tenacity. I’m sticking with this.
I had been a consultant to Paramount for Bubba Gump Shrimp Company—you’re gonna like this story. I asked my friends at Paramount to put some TV people in a room. I go over and pitch my idea. They look at me and they say, Jon, you’ll never be on TV. You’re too old. You’re not good looking enough. It will never happen. I drive out of the Paramount gates thinking this is never going to happen. But, the only person who can say no to me is me. I sent the sizzle reel to four production companies. Cold, I didn’t know any of them. I get four out of four offers! Now, I don’t know what to do. I’m not an entertainment guy. All I know is this company called 3 Ball Productions had The Biggest Loser at the time. I signed with them, and about a month later we shot a pilot. Spike picked it up in no time, and here we are 13 years later. I thought I’d do a pilot and go home. You wanna hear full circle? When they said to me, You’ll never be on TV, that was on the Paramount lot. Where am I today? On the Paramount Network!
You mentioned Gordon Ramsay. I’m sure that’s someone that you drew a little inspiration from for Bar Rescue?
Yeah.
Were you watching tape of him the way athletes watch tape of their opponent?
It’s funny you ask that. I’m probably one of the top-rated speakers in the hospitality industry.
Sure.
But I’ve never been to a seminar of somebody else’s. Specifically, and purposefully, because I don’t want to lift content. I want my brain to be original, so I’ve never watched an episode of Kitchen Nightmares beginning to end—on my mother’s grave. I know the format and the style, and sure, I’ve watched clips. I get that he’s aggressive and blah blah blah. But I’ve never looked at someone and said I want to be more like them or less like them.
If you ask me how many reality shows I’ve watched in my life, I can tell you: Shark Tank, I’ve seen maybe eight or ten episodes. Daymond [John] is a good friend of mine. I enjoy watching Shark Tank. My wife has forced me to watch Housewives every once in a while.
Nothing wrong with that.
But I’ve never watched any of the other business transformation shows. I really like to go at it my way. The term I use is, I don’t want to contaminate my brain to prevent original thought. If I accept what somebody else does, then it doesn't allow me to come at it with a completely blank blackboard. I’ve built my whole career that way. Some people would say I’m an idiot. Why wouldn’t you learn from them?
Right, I think a lot of people at the beginning were thinking, Oh, this is just an American version of Gordon Ramsay. But the more you watch the show you realize that isn’t really the case.
There’s a big difference. Gordon does it on his own; I have experts. Gordon, [Robert] Irvine, Bobby Flay, Guy [Fieri], all my friends. They’re all chefs! I’m the only one in that space who’s not a chef. So, I go at it as a businessman, not a chef. I guess the approach is different from the get go, for that reason. Also, other hosts tend to fly in and fly out. I’m there the whole time. It’s a crazy four days. I work with the design and the business plan, down to the POS [point of sale] systems. I’m very busy when I’m there! But because I’m doing all that, there’s more to the story compared to the chef approach. Nothing is scripted, nothing is prepared. It’s all real time.
I’ll tell you something funny. The original On the Rocks that I wrote up? I said it was a cross between a restaurant rescue show and Mission Impossible. I was gonna pick the files like the beginning of Mission Impossible and then fly in. That was the premise of it.
How many episodes of Bar Rescue did you realistically think you were going to do?
During the first season, I would have said I’m an arrogant asshole to even suggest that I’d make it to Season 2. That’s the way I’ve always looked at it, to tell you the truth. TV contracts are that way. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever had a multi-year TV contract. It’s typically year-by-year. Let’s see how it does, then we’ll give you another year. The statistical likelihood from pilot to pickup is something like four percent.
At the end of Season 1, I’m waiting to see if the network will pick up Season 2. We know it’s been successful because we’ve seen the numbers every week. I said to the vice president, “I’m guessing the statistics from one to two are better than pilot to one, right?” Nope! Even worse! Then at the end of Season 2 I asked the same thing. Don’t most shows that make it to Season 2 more likely make it to Season 3? No! It’s always been statistically against us to make it to the next season. You know, Dr. Phil is a very good friend of mine. I love Phil McGraw. Phil always said something to me that’s very powerful. “Getting on TV is one thing, staying on TV is another.”
How do you balance your television persona—lots of yelling and screaming at people—with your real life persona? I’m sure you’re not as abrasive in your day-to-day life as you are on TV.
Both are completely real. Bar Rescue, I have four days. I show up the first day, I get in the makeup chair, I go do recon. At the end of recon, I go in and have my interaction with the owners. Positive, negative, I don’t know how it’s going to be! What people don’t know is, after that we turn the cameras off. I put all the staff members and the owners in vans out in the parking lot, and I go in and design the bar that night. I’m given the demographic and the psychographic reports and the competitive information of other bars—if there’s four sports bars down the street, I’m not going to build a sports bar.
On day two of the shoot, we do what you see on television: stress test and training. What you don’t see is that I have to perfect the design. Wallpapers, bar stools, POS systems, all the equipment for the bar and kitchen. I need that in 24 hours! A little insight, if you look at a Bar Rescue episode, often you’ll see that the bar stools don’t match. The reason why is that I can’t get 60 of the same bar stools in 24 hours. At the end of the second day, the logo has to be done, the menu, the drink recipes. We build it the night of day two, all day on day three, and half the day on day four. We remodel it in 36 hours. On the afternoon of day four—as soon as the sun goes down—those same vans pull up with everybody blindfolded. I line them up and reveal the bar that night. Then we take two days off and do it all again.
Here’s my point. Jon Taffer, this is me. If you said to me, “Jon, I want you to do a 60-day project in four days. By the way, those four days, you really only get seven or eight hours of productive time. In essence, I’m asking you to do a 60-day project in seven hours.” Yup, I’m a raving maniac, man. There’s a clock ticking in my head. You with me? Top it with, this guy’s house is on the line. He’s $400,000 in debt. He just looked in my eyes, crying. I’m his last fucking chance. This guy is counting on me and I’ve only got four days. You put anyone in that situation, and you’re going to see pushing, screaming, and yelling. I gotta either push them out of the way or get them on board. So the answer is, it is completely authentic. What you’re seeing is me—most people would tell you I’m a nice guy—in a pressure cooker.
Do you consider yourself a yeller in real life?
No, not really. I think everybody in my company believes they’re treated with respect.
When you interact with fans, do they ever ask you to be mean to them?
Probably one-third of the people I take pictures with say, “Can you scream at me?” I don’t want to be thought of as a screaming guy! I want to be thought of as a helpful guy. I say this to my critics often: I get a hug in the end. And that hug is real. The ones that fought me the most are the ones that hug me the tightest. Those hugs tell you that you’re doing something right. If you got hugged like I did, you’d scream louder next week.
The image of masculinity that you present is fascinating. Because you’re right, while you are known as a raving maniac, there’s also very tender moments.
You see me cry on the show!
I don’t know if I should use the term “softy”, but you definitely have a heart. Still, it’s always going to be Jon Taffer, the guy who yells at bartenders that are down on their luck.
The owner sort of defines that. If they are that way, I have to scream at them. Some people respond to the pat on the back more than the screaming. My job is to get them out the other side of this thing better than we came into it. If screaming does it? Fine. If hugs and pats on the back do it? Fine. I’m trying to save this person’s life. I really look at it that way.
What’s the bar that you felt like was in the worst shape when you got there?
Headhunters in Austin, Texas. That’s the one that had a Class Five cockroach infestation. We had to shut it down, tent the building, and fumigate it. I’m sitting at the bar with my wife, and cockroaches are walking across her toes. There were bugs in the bottles. That’s the one that comes to mind that was really disgusting.
There’s a few others. There’s one we did in Murfreesboro, Tennessee that had fungus growing out of the wall the size of your freaking head. That’s the stuff that gets me mad. You want to lose money? That’s one thing. But getting people sick? Nah, nah, nah. That’s where we draw the line.
What about the personal story that has stuck with you the most?
We did one years ago, Bonny and Read’s in Hollywood, Florida. I just heard from them, they’re celebrating their 20th anniversary. Jamie was the owner’s name. His son had gotten killed and he was frozen in mourning for a long time. He and I had a very heavy conversation. I asked him when the mourning ends and his life begins again. The two of us sat there and cried together. He agreed that the mourning had to end and his life had to start the next day. That was one of the heaviest scenes I’ve ever had.
There’s another one called MoonRunners. That was the Alexander family. When I met them, the brother and sister were ready to kill each other. The parents were stuck in the middle. Now, they’re dear friends of mine, the family is doing great, and they just signed two new locations for MoonRunners. The ones that touch me the most are the family ones. When you can create a college fund because of the success of the business? That’s powerful stuff for me. We wear microphones under our shirts. So, when we hug, we’re covering the microphones and you don’t hear what’s said. The things that are whispered in my ear during those hugs are unbelievable. You changed my life, Jon. My wife and I slept in the same bed for the first time in eight years.
You’ve lived quite a life, both on screen and off. Is it true that you used to be in a band called Hollywood Joe?
I was. It was sort of rockabilly-ish. A little Stray Cats-like. When I was a kid, I took serious drum lessons for nine years. I was jazz trained, and I had a Ginger Baker-style drumset with a double bass and kazillion drums. When I went to Los Angeles originally, it was to play the drums, and I had the opportunity to play with a lot of great people. Still to this day, in my playroom if you will, is a significant electronic drumset and my flight simulator cockpit.
You’re also credited as the inventor of NFL Sunday Ticket. You’ve been mentioned in a Saturday Night Live sketch. And you worked at the legendary Troubadour nightclub in Los Angeles in the ‘70s?
Oh, boy. I’ll tell you a funny story about the Troubadour. The Washington Redskins lost a game to the Cowboys or someone in the playoffs. I had a bet with a friend of mine, and he had the Redskins. That night, Doug Weston, the owner of the Troubadour, gave the club to the Native Americans. There were 600 Native Americans—drummers, comics, fashion, art, all of it was there. The guy who played Chief from Cuckoo’s Nest was there. This was before gaming, when the Native American community was suffering.
My friend walks in the front door of the Troubadour thinking it’s the normal rock and roll crowd. He screams to me, at the top of his lungs across the room, “Those fucking Redskins!” To make a long story short, he got injured. It was a terrible misunderstanding. Everyone hugged and made up at the end of it.
Another quick story—the front door at the Troubadour had a closet next to it, and the restrooms were all the way in the back. Customers used the restrooms; there were no employee restrooms. So, if a bartender had to take a leak, he’d have to leave the bar and go all the way in the back, stand on line, it’s like a 20-minute ordeal. In those days, Tropicana orange juice came in glass bottles. You can see where I’m going. In the closet, there was an orange juice bottle that the bartender would piss in. I didn’t know that. I get behind the bar one night, go into that closet to get a jug of wine, and when I open the door some bottle falls from the top shelf and sprays up. I was covered in pee.