When Business Sits Down and Becomes Human

It is Monday morning, and I sit there with my coffee, thinking how strange it is that something as simple as food can change everything between people.

I always liked good food. Not just eating—no, the whole thing. The smell, the place, the people sitting together. For me, that is where business really starts. Not in a meeting room with PowerPoint and bad air, but at a table where someone says, “Come, sit, have a drink.”

I remember one of the big meetings from my old job. We didn’t go to some cheap conference hotel. My boss said no, we do it properly. So we met in Schwarz, near our factory, and in the evening we went to Innsbruck, to the Hofburg. They built a kind of glass house inside, like a greenhouse, full of light. During the day it was all structured—stands, information, distributors walking around, asking questions. Very correct, very organized.

But the evening… that was something else.

There was music, a live band, even a show where people danced and built a grinding tool with their bodies like a kind of theatre. And the food—ah, the food. Tuna, just slightly cooked on the outside, still raw inside. Potato cakes with salmon and horseradish. Later deer, carpaccio so thin you could almost see through it. Steaks that were perfect.

I was there for several days, and yes, every evening it was almost the same. Same music, same menu. But still, every evening felt different. Maybe because people relaxed more. Maybe because after a few hours together, they stopped being “distributors” and became just people.

And then I remember another event, even better in a way. We took our distributors to Copenhagen. From there by train to Malmö. Old town, small hotel, and in the evening we brought them to a place near the sea. We had two big barbecues on the terrace—one for fish, one for meat. The theme was something like “Mexico meets Indonesia.” I still don’t know exactly what that means, but I remember the taste.

You walked with your plate, chose your ingredients, and the cook prepared it fresh. Salmon, shrimp, meat, spices… everything. People were laughing, walking around, talking. No pressure. No formal structure. Just connection.

That is the difference.

Because I also know the other side. Recently I was in Frankfurt, in a hotel meeting room. Small room, good coffee machine, yes. Nespresso, very nice. But the feeling… it was not the same.

We sat there, listening, waiting, looking at the new sales director. Nobody really knew what would come next. People were careful. Polite. But also a bit tense. And for me, speaking English three days nonstop—it makes me tired. In the evening we ate in the hotel. It was okay. You don’t go hungry. But nothing stays in your memory.

That is the thing. You forget these meetings very fast.

But I never forget the evenings at a table.

I learned this over many years. There was one customer—I went to him for four years. Four years. Always the same answer: no. He had his suppliers, his system, everything was fixed. And still I came back, again and again. Not pushing, just talking, explaining, showing what we could do.

Then one day I said, come, let’s go eat.

We sat in a restaurant in Kiel, nothing special, just a good place. We talked, we laughed, we ate. And suddenly, he looked at me and said, “Okay. You come next week. We talk again.”

That was the moment.

Not because of the food alone. No. It was all the time before, all the conversations. But the dinner—that was the highest point. That was where everything came together.

In an office, the phone rings, people come in, there is always something. You never have full attention. But at a table, in the evening, there is nothing else. The person is there. Present. Listening.

And something changes. People become more honest. More open. They speak not only about business, but also about life. You start with technical details, and suddenly you talk about family, about problems, about plans. And then you understand each other.

I always let the other person choose the restaurant. It’s simple. I ask, “Where do you like to go?” For me, it doesn’t matter. I eat almost everything—okay, not cats, not dogs, not hedgehogs. But everything else is fine.

And I never put my phone on the table. Never. I hate that. When someone sits there and talks into the phone while you try to have a meal—it destroys everything. A meal is respect. It’s time together. You don’t share that with the whole room.

Sometimes, after dinner, we stay longer. One more drink. Maybe go to the bar. Then the conversation becomes even more relaxed. Private. Human. That is where trust grows.

In a meeting room, you talk facts. Numbers. Conditions. It is necessary, yes. But it is only the first step. The real work happens later, when people feel comfortable.

I like both worlds. You need both. First the structure, then the connection. But if I have to choose, I always choose the table.

Because I have seen it again and again—good food, good atmosphere, good company… that is when people open up. That is when decisions happen without pressure. That is when business becomes something more than business.

It becomes a relationship.

And those are the things I remember. Not the slides. Not the meeting rooms. But the evenings. The taste of the food. The sound of laughter. The feeling that for a moment, everything was simple.

That is where the real deals are made.