How Chef Jason Santos Turned Failure Into a Restaurant Empire

Celebrity chef and restaurateur Jason Santos may be known for his colorful concepts and appearances on shows such as “Hell’s Kitchen” and “Bar Rescue,” but some of his most valuable lessons came from failure. The chef behind Buttermilk & Bourbon, Citrus & Salt, Butterbird and Ghost Light Tavern in Boston shares how he moved beyond ego, learned to put the business first and built a restaurant group rooted in evolution, strong systems and taking care of people.

Q: What was your path into professional kitchens?

A: I went to culinary school, and my first experience was an internship at the Marriott. It was a good company, but the food felt a bit inferior and I wanted more. My first real job out of school was for Chris Schlesinger at East Coast Grill, a James Beard Award–winning chef. That’s where I learned what really good food is, and I learned it quickly.

Q: You’ve worked in high-pressure, TV-driven environments. How do you see chef “toughness” and TV personas?

A: I don’t believe you have to be a jerk to be good at what you do. In this industry, a lot of chefs lean into the tough, swearing, angry persona, but for me it’s about passion—and passion is infectious. On TV, though, it’s a show first. With people like Gordon Ramsay or John Taffer, there’s a performance aspect. I’m not always the nicest guy on those shows either, but you know what you’re signing up for. If it’s too polite, it doesn’t make good TV.

Q: What led you to open your first restaurant?

A: At the time I was a “hotshot” chef getting a ton of press and awards. I felt unstoppable and thought, “I’m making this owner a lot of money, it’s time to make money for myself.” I opened a very small, 35‑seat upscale restaurant on a quiet side street in Boston’s financial district—terrible location in retrospect. I’d been warned not to open under 75 seats because it’s hard to make money, but my ego said, “They’ll come.” They didn’t, at least not enough. Between bad location, small capacity, and me focusing on fame, travel, and ego instead of the business, the restaurant failed after about two years.

Q: How did that failure affect you?

A: It crushed me at the time—my confidence, my ego, everything. I went from making great money and being on top of the world to not paying bills, laying people off, cooking seven nights a week just to try to get 10 people in the door. But I now see it as the best thing that ever happened to me. It forced me to see exactly what I did wrong: putting myself first instead of the business, not paying enough attention to numbers and consistency, not being in the restaurant enough. I learned that the restaurant has to come first.

Q: After your first business failed, how did you approach the next one differently?

A: With the first place, because [my business partner Jack] funded it, I didn’t have enough skin in the game. I didn’t have that fear and urgency. When we did the next big restaurant—Abbey Lane—I insisted on writing a check myself. I had $62,000 in the bank and wrote a check for $61,500 to buy into the partnership. If that failed, I’d essentially be on the street. I needed that fear to keep me focused and responsible.

Q: Tell us more about Abbey Lane, and what did you learn from it?

A: Abbey Lane was an American restaurant in the theater district—touristy, very business‑oriented, doing things like steak tips, nachos, and upscale bar food. It did great numbers, around $100,000 a week, but culinarily it was safer and more predictable than what I was used to. It taught me that sometimes you give the neighborhood what it wants and build a strong business, even if it’s not your most creative food. It also reinforced the idea that concepts have a shelf life—you need to evolve before guests move on without you.

Q: Some of your concepts have changed over time (for example, Back Bay Harry’s, Nash Bar, Ghostlight). How do you think about “closing” versus evolving?

A: From the outside, it might look negative: one name closes, another opens. But to me, the space has been a living, evolving business for over a decade. Back Bay Harry’s was brown, boring, a “little bit of everything” conceptually, which doesn’t fly as much anymore. We flipped concepts—Nash Bar, then Ghostlight Tavern—as the market and neighborhood changed. The lesson is: you must evolve with guests’ tastes; what was cool 10 years ago isn’t necessarily what works now.

Q: How has your view of the restaurant “ecosystem” changed over time?

A: When I was younger, I only cared about the food and about myself. Over time I realized a restaurant is an ecosystem: food, hospitality, service, décor, atmosphere, and how people feel walking out. Good food gets them in the door once; everything else brings them back.

Q: What operational changes have you made to scale and streamline?

A: I’ve had to get better at relinquishing control and trusting people. I’ve brought in an operations manager, Rick, to handle things like Amazon orders and standardized systems. We created opening checklists, so managers always know what supplies they need and when. We use forward‑thinking tools to manage inventory and forecasting. And we recently hired a dedicated catering and event manager to speed up response times—a huge lesson influenced by my wife, who works in sales, and drilled into me how critical fast follow‑up is.

Q: What’s your philosophy on paying and retaining staff in a high‑turnover industry?

A: You have to treat people really well if you want them to stay. That means real wages—even dishwashers are paid well over $20 an hour. I focus on building a core group of long‑term people. For example, Doug started as an oyster shucker and now runs the restaurants. We reward that level of commitment with equity and real growth opportunities. It’s about work–life balance and respect, not just a paycheck.

Q: When hiring, what do you look for?

A: I hire more for character than for experience. I’d rather have a good person with work ethic, honesty, and humility than a hyper‑experienced person with a bad attitude. Skills can be taught; integrity and drive usually can’t. I also accept that sometimes you take a chance on someone who’s not fully “ready” but has the right potential—that’s where you can build great leaders.