Big things are happening in craft food hospitality.
Oh, you’ve noticed? Closures of classic spots, hipster dives, mom ‘n’ pops. You’ve read about it in this here rag.
Much of the following espresso-fueled rant below was penned by me at a friend’s threat in September of 2021. It was just as we got revved up and reopened our restaurant after the pandemic, full speed — and headed for the wall. Not all this Nostradamus-ishness was completely accurate, but here it is. Names have been omitted to protect the innocent.
***
No one asked me, but no one ever has.
We blew it. We had the opportunity to change, no, to fix the way we treated ourselves, our staff and the way we did business.
It’s no secret that the handmade food business has a rather crappy reputation from the maker’s side of things. Thank you, Food Network, for taking us kitchen folks from behind the swinging doors to rock-star status. Well, that and the glorifying of the seriously negative food-throwing, self-indulgent rages and general diva-ness. We could go on about art and misbehaving for days, but if you surgeon, car mechanic or insurance agent acted like that …? Right.
And yes, there was this plague that shut us down, that made us pivot till we were dizzy, made us spend, made us get dollars from the government and, in many cases, made us disappear.
It’s not over, this disappearing part.
What? Every place is jammed. How can that be?
Please note abbreviated hours, closed sections of tables and fewer days open. Less cash flow but all the same fixed expenses.
This is a recipe for trouble.
***
Aside from seeing family and friends, the most missed and anticipated activity post-plague was eating out. Singles wished for camaraderie, groups wished to be groups and everybody wanted to love another person’s idea of what a mundane vegetable might be transformed into.
Somehow, we blew it.
Do you recall when beer was just beer? Hello, “craft beer,” costing twice as much. Whiskey and gin are now members of “craft distilling.” Twice as much buckage on these fronts, too, if not more.
To be clear, these craft brewers and distillers aren’t rolling in dough. Their business model was, like ours, created to express an idea that hadn’t been widely available for decades. The handmade, the personal, the soulful and special. So, they charge the bucks. Yes, “craft” anything costs more, sometimes significantly more.
For example, a chair from Jeff Bezos’ Amazon will, in fact, hold your ass. A Windsor chair made by a local craftsperson will also hold said glutes, but the experience is different. It comes down to value. The Windsor will last for generations. Jeff’s chair? Well, you know.
What do our colleagues do differently? They do things we never really addressed. They have reasonable hours, reasonable wages, a path to retirement, bigger truck and TV, a family, kids, Disneyland, vacations, A LIFE.
The days of the prima donna chef are, as I see it, toast. The suffering hero mindset should be taken out and keelhauled. The craft brewers and distillers merely offered what any business that requires people does. They offered flexible schedules, living wages, bennies, a life.
As one of the great staffers at my recently closed Cafe Miranda pointed out years ago, there were very few young folks getting into the business. Like, for a decade or more. Now, we geezers are timing out. We bleeding and scarred heroes are a thing of the past.
Trouble, with a rather large T.
***
Are you, dear customer, fan and (I hate this word) foodie, ready to pay significantly more for your (pick one) drizzle, smear, display of craft, ego, passion, heart, innovation, comfort, soulfulness, wackiness, pancake, falafel?
I hope you are. The alternative is dinner with our colleagues at the arches.
This is no crying wolf. It is the hard reality. We are having the love beat out of us. Short staff, insanely small margins, wild seasonal cash flow swings, skyrocketing rents and costs. This is business? Nope. This is survival.
Sure, a fair number of us are doing just dandy, thank you very much. Single small mom-and-pops, however, are in danger of the poof – gone. Yes, we can dig deeper, do more hours, ignore our relationships and come to despise what we live for. Scalable outfits have a better chance due to their inherent economies. Small and mid-size operations have that big “T” going on. Look out, pal.
What to do? As I said, no one asked, but here it is.
Put your money where your mouth is. Say that aloud. In the mirror. To your foodie pals. At the gym. On a soapbox. This is the reality. It is an economic imperative that the efficient trumps the handmade. So you choose, you have the power.
For my fellow lifers, servers, cooks, chefs and dear hydroceramic engineers, there is nothing wrong with being paid like a carpenter. No offense to the trades, but we do trust that the lights will go on, the house won’t fall down and the toilet flushes. Customers put our trade into their mouths. Think about it. Ask for that pay. Partner with your employers to make it so.
For the owners and managers, you must now, before the window closes, not be afraid to charge what handmade food is worth. Yes, you will be priced significantly more than our friends at the chains. These friends work on a 20% or 30% margin. How would your staff be, how would hiring go, how would your P&L look if there were real living wages, job retention as a result of them and an unheard-of 20% margin? Yep, dreaming? Nope. Do it now or regret it (and still have to do it) later.
If we keep doing what we have done, we will continue to face the same struggles.
Skip the “hidden” charges. Don’t make going out for dinner like getting a hotel room in New York City, where a rate of $300 plus this ‘n’ that charge becomes $450. Charge the price. We are all worth it.
This is universal in the handmade world, from the pancake flipper at the diner to the avant garde of edible foam. Our business models, which I and my colleagues worked to the max for decades, are no longer viable. Low pay, free labor for resumé garnishment and bad tippers need to disappear.
The new models will have to be built on the crucial element: people.
Yes, on the strength of customers, but it’s the folks who work those nights, weekends, who miss their friends and kids I’m referring to. Owners included.
If you had a widget factory, you’d invest in widget machines. We need to invest in people. Get it? Job retention, higher skill, potential mental stability, less drama, better margins and cheaper in the long run. I speak from both sides, as a line cook for 35 years and then as an owner for decades. (Good for my split personality, as well.)
***
I closed my beloved Cafe Miranda in Rockland last June as staff shortages, no immediate resolutions and my own geezerness combined to shut down the life’s work that I thought would outlive me.
I am guilty of all I have written about here.
On the week we closed — the week after the 29th anniversary — I sat crying with Evelyn Donnelly, cafe co-founder, and recalled the staffs over the years. Their talent, passion, skill, kick-assed-ness. Where did they go?
They went to the trades, used their degrees, became sailors, got advanced degrees, became arborists, contractors. The few who kept at it did so at their own places. Miranda always paid above-average wages. Miranda did not pay enough. I did not understand or realize that Cafe Miranda was not these workers’ end-all. I should never have had that expectation, one I truly regret.
What can I do? This missive, for one. The other is to tell you, our valued customers, to look in that mirror and decide if we are worth it. You, the market, will decide. Tell us that, yes, it is OK.
Ditto for my colleagues. Raise the prices. Servers get that raise, raise the back-of-the-house wage, command yourself and our trade organizations and the media to change the servant narrative, establish food-service employee guilds, establish buying coops for hospitality businesses and pass legislation to make benefits achievable for real small businesses.
Then you’ll see that place in your town — the place that knows your name, the place that you trust — survive. Prosper, too.
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