The Essential Private Event Contract Checklist

Most event organizers focus on dates, capacity, and cost. Those are the big three, and they are good questions. They are also, in a lot of emails, the only three — which is how the parts of an event that decide how it feels get sorted out later, informally, in a text thread, usually when there is no time left to change anything.

The contract is where all of that gets handled early instead. For a document whose entire job is to keep your evening from going sideways, it has a rough reputation. Here is the checklist we use to make sure an event actually goes as planned, and here is what to look for in an event contract — ours or anyone else’s.

What “Private” Means Inside an Actual Building

“Private” does a lot of work in event agreements. It can mean a room with a door. It can mean a section of the dining room with a partition and a host steering traffic away from you. It can mean the whole place, yours, doors closed.

Any of the three can be the right one. A partitioned section works beautifully for a mixer and works badly for a speech, so you want to know which one you bought before you write the speech.

Our building on Gold Hill Road has been standing since 1977, and buildings that age have quirks you can use to your advantage if you plan ahead. There are additions that can be just for your team, or you can have something semi-private. You need to be clear in advance about what you need.

So ask directly. Is the restaurant open to other guests during our event, and if so, where are they sitting. Then get the answer written into the agreement, because email threads have a way of vanishing on exactly the week you need them.

The Number, and the Day It Stops Moving

Every event agreement has a guarantee: the headcount you commit to paying for, and the date it locks. Usually somewhere between three days and two weeks out.

Check both directions. Can the number go up after the lock date, and by how much? Most kitchens can absorb a few. Very few can absorb twenty extra on a Saturday like we can.

Then check the direction people forget, which is down. You will almost always pay the guarantee even when fewer people show up. It is worth understanding why: the food was ordered, the schedule was written, and the table we held for you is a table we already told somebody else we couldn’t give them.

Minimums, Room Fees, and What Actually Counts

A food and beverage minimum is a commitment to spend a set amount on food and drink. Hit it and the space costs nothing extra. Come in under and you pay the gap.

A room fee is a flat charge for the space, often stacked on top of what you spend. We don’t charge those, but we understand why many places must to stay afloat. There are a lot of costs in the hospitality industry that guests don’t always see — insurance, regulatory costs, and more.

Plenty of agreements use both a food and beverage minimum and a room fee. Most places like us scale the minimum by day of week, because a Saturday at seven is a different animal from a Wednesday at two.

The question that clears all of it up is what counts toward the minimum. Food, yes. Alcohol, usually. Sales tax and service charge, often no. A $3,000 minimum measured before tax and service charge is a bigger number than $3,000, and making that clear in the contract is key for the budget — and of course for your CFO.

While you are working on that section, understand all the taxes and other charges you may incur. These are a few of the possibilities and typical definitions:

• Service charge. Set by the restaurant to cover the labor cost of the serving crew when it isn’t already built into the food and beverage prices.
• Gratuity. Goes directly to the staff. In the United States, most servers, bartenders, runners, and bussers make less than minimum wage. They count on gratuity, and it drives them to give the best service they can.
• Hospitality tax. A tax above and beyond sales tax, charged by local government entities.
• Sales tax. This one should be fairly straightforward.
• Other taxes or regulatory fees. Depending on the venue and location, any number of additional fees and taxes may apply. For example, is it a park where you have to get insurance and your own temporary liquor license for the event? Or is it a venue like Maisie’s that already has insurance and a liquor license of its own?

Deposits, and the Way Out

Deposits hold dates. Cancellation terms decide what happens when your CEO drops a board meeting on top of your client dinner in the second week of November.

Find out how much is due and when, whether it credits toward your final bill or sits on its own, and where the refund lines fall. Most agreements step them: full refund up to a date, partial inside that, nothing in the last stretch. Normal. Just know where the steps are.

Then ask the question that saves the most money. Is a postponement treated differently from a cancellation? It usually is. Moving a date is a much cheaper conversation than losing one.

The Clauses Often Overlooked

• Menu lock date. When selections go final, and what can still move afterward.
• Outside food. A bakery cake, branded cookies, or a care package for a client with a specific need. Some kitchens will plate it, some charge for the privilege, some can’t take the allergen risk at all. Ask before you order.
• Overtime. Your event has an end time. Learn the hourly rate for running past it, and whether running past it is even possible.
• Weather. Anything outdoors needs a call-by deadline and an indoor plan, both written down. In Tega Cay in August, this is a live concern rather than a formality.
• Vendors and load-in. Your band, your photographer, and your rental company. Who do they talk to, when can they arrive, do they need to show insurance. Anything with amplifiers goes through JaQuan Snellings, who runs our bar and our front of house and who will tell your drummer which door to use and exactly where not to park.
• The stage. We are a restaurant and entertainment venue, which means some nights there is live music happening whether or not your event planned around it. If your date has a band on it, that belongs in the agreement instead of being discovered at seven o’clock.
• Damage and cleanup. Know what counts as ordinary wear and what generates a charge. Confetti is the great villain of this industry. It works its way into floorboards laid in 1977 and it never comes back out.
• Certificate of insurance. Some companies require one from the venue, some venues require one from you. Sort it early, while it’s a two-day errand.
• Two names. Yours: the person who can approve a change on the day of without making four phone calls. Ours: the person you can reach at 5:15. Both on the document. Include an alternate decision-maker too — if you’re stuck in a board meeting, the venue needs to know who is empowered to make a budget or layout call on your behalf.

The Part That Lives Outside the Contract

Two things almost never make it into the agreement, and both of them matter more than half the clauses that do.

The first is allergens. Dietary needs tend to live in an email thread, which is a poor home for information the kitchen depends on. Ask how the kitchen wants it and when they need it. Ours is straightforward: allergies, dietary needs, anything the kitchen should know — tell us when you reach out. Most plates here can be made vegetarian, vegan, or gluten-free. When something can’t, we’ll say so plainly. That last sentence is the one to listen for, wherever you book. Plenty of places will tell you anything is possible in July and then figure it out in December.

The second is dogs. We are named after a rescue foxhound with one working eye, and dogs are welcome here. That is usually the part people like best about us, and it is occasionally the part that needs a sentence in your plan. If you’re hosting clients, one of them may be allergic, and one of them may be quietly terrified. Ask us how the room works and we’ll walk you through it.

One More Thing

None of the above is legal advice. What we can tell you is that twelve questions now beats one surprise later. The agreement is the unglamorous scaffolding that lets an evening feel effortless.