By Memorial Day weekend the Hamptons has its tables set, its wine lists printed, and its kitchen pass tickets stacking up before the first toast is made. What it frequently does not have is anywhere for the people doing that work to sleep.

A piece published this week by Curbed puts a granular frame on a situation that locals in the service industry have been describing for years: chefs doubling up in bunk beds, bartenders taking up residence on boats moored at local marinas, and a housing market so compressed by second-home demand that a studio running $1,500 a month is considered a find. The outlet spoke with workers navigating shift schedules around whatever informal sleeping arrangement they could stitch together before high season hit.

The geography makes the math especially brutal. The East End of Long Island does not have the density of workforce housing that a comparably priced urban market might offer as a pressure release. There is no cheaper adjacent neighborhood to commute in from. The nearest realistic alternative — Riverhead, Patchogue, parts of Suffolk County that didn't catch the post-pandemic price surge in quite the same way — can mean two hours in a car each direction. For a line cook working a split shift, that math stops working fast.

Employers have begun responding with varying degrees of creativity. Some have converted garages and pool houses into staff quarters. Others have negotiated bulk leases on off-season rentals, holding them through the summer and passing the cost back in reduced wages or room-and-board arrangements. Neither solution is tidy, and neither addresses the structural problem: the housing stock the Hamptons built was not designed around a working population.

The Curbed report cites workers describing informal networks — a group text, a marina bulletin board, a tip passed between departing and arriving seasonal staff — as the primary market for affordable beds. The $42 lobster roll goes out on time. The question is whether the person who plated it has anywhere to go when the kitchen closes.