Well, who wouldn't be concerned with a rival who has committed some $40 million--$15 million for real estate acquisition and another $25 million to build and operate restaurants--of his personal money for 2004 alone? That will bring Turner's total investment in the chain to $60 million. Turner, says McKerrow, who has invested $5 million of his money, "has committed whatever resources we need."
"This has gotta work," says Turner. "This is gonna work. I've got wives to take care of!"
Including his time. "Ted doesn't get into the day-to-day operations of the company," says McKerrow. "That's my job." Still, the two partners "talk on the phone pretty much every day." Turner's job, McKerrow says, "is to be the creative genius in this firm--and the public face of Ted's Montana Grills."
Already there are plans for 20 to 24 new restaurants in 2004, "backfilling" out of Denver, Nashville, and Columbus, plus Washington, D.C., Jacksonville, Wichita, Kansas City, Omaha, Richmond, and Raleigh-Durham, along with the two in Manhattan. In 2005, says McKerrow, the chain expects to open an additional 30 to 36 units, including locations in Texas, California, Florida, and Alabama. Every one will be company-owned--no franchising.
So far, all of the restaurants are making money, says McKerrow. Asked when the chain as a whole will achieve profitability, he says: "We need 18 to cover our margins." The goal post, though, adds Turner, "stands a mite higher than that."
Just how high?
Five hundred restaurants, and, says Turner, "$1 billion in revenue." It's a goal the two partners think they can achieve in nine to 10 years. But to get there will require ever deeper pockets. Not surprisingly, says McKerrow, the investment bankers "have all come to us. Wachovia, Bank of America, you name it. But we're not ready for them." Why not? "We worry about losing our 100% entrepreneurial spirit," McKerrow explains. "We figure we can get as high as 100 restaurants without financing and with Ted's own bison herd to supply all our needs. After that, it's a different story." We're sitting at a big table in the back of the flagship Ted's on Luckie Street in downtown Atlanta. The headquarters of Turner's personal company, Ted Turner Enterprises, occupies two floors of the building; his penthouse sits atop it. From his spacious office on the eighth floor, he can even look out upon his old fiefdom at the nearby CNN Center--if he wants to, that is.
I'd spent the morning at the Ted's Montana Grills University--the state-of-the-art training ground for Ted's chefs. David Wood, a "proprietor-in-training" for a soon-to-open unit in Lexington, Ky., had shown me around. Here, heavy-duty professional stoves, there video cameras and TV monitors the better to watch the preparations. A former chef, Wood told me how impressed he was with the fresh ingredients used at Ted's. Looking around I could see why: huge bottles of extra virgin Italian olive oil, cans of imported tomatoes, fancy and expensive ingredients by the standards of most chains.
Now, over lunch, I was getting my chance to taste the product--and take in the ambience. Though Turner had told me that, in sympathy with the world's poor and hungry, he was going on a diet--Could it be that there is an ounce of body fat left on that body?--he orders what he calls a "Naked Burger," a bison burger with no fixings. "There are people starv'n in Rwanda," he says, picking at his medium rare Naked Burger, "and folks in this country throwing good food away. Wasting it! Makes me sick."
Utterly undeterred by Turner's latest soliloquy, McKerrow insists that we try some of just about everything, from the homemade French fries--a bit bland, alas--to the hot and steamy bison pot roast, labeled "comfort food for the 21st century." Rather good it is too. The old-fashioned southern lemonade arrives just right, not too sweet, not too, well, southern. The straws, as Turner is quick to point out, are made of recyclable paper. The customers, he adds, "like to feel good about the environment. We know they do."
From the beginning, McKerrow did customer-satisfaction surveys: not least to find out how Americans would feel about eating bison. To his considerable surprise, he found that they wanted it. Today, says McKerrow, 55% of the orders at Ted's are bison-related: burgers, stew, and steaks, among them. (Other entrees include fish, chicken, hamburgers and beef steaks derived from cattle.) It's all made the same day from fresh ingredients, too--the meat is never frozen. "And you don't think that don't cost something extra?" Turner says, thumping the table. "Why we have to have real chefs," says McKerrow.
But it's when my own, personal Naked Burger arrives that Turner's face brightens. There's a little American flag sticking up in the middle of it. "What do you think about that?" he asks, eyeing me a bit suspiciously. When I say something to the effect that I think it's just fine, that no one party has a monopoly on the American flag, he practically turns over the table. Half up on his feet, half hollering, Turner announces in a voice that can be heard several tables away: "You see! You can be for the American flag and hate war. I hate this war in Iraq! And I am a patriot!"
"And an entrepreneur, Ted," says George McKerrow, smiling.
"Darned toot'n, I am," says Ted, resuming his place. "Darned toot'n."
