72 JULY 2020
has already emptied shelves and folks are nervous to head out to
public spaces. They’re also more willing to support a small local
business in a time of adversity. Every time an order is placed, our
Toast app lets off a loud “ding!” The two of us and our remaining
staff member, Beata, cheer loudly in our empty restaurant.
MARCH 20: Two days in, we start sourcing pastries from a second
local baker. We double our usual order for eggs, and we are selling
out of most essentials like chicken, milk, and bread daily. (But
also fancy stuff, like Camembert, Olympia Provisions saucisson,
Benton’s bacon, and every single one of our cakes; the people
want comfort!)
APRIL 2: We’re contacted by Freshpet, a local company that
wants to buy $4,000 worth of gift cards to ease the challenges
their employees are facing and support family-owned restaurants
in the area; we are one of five they chose. When I read the email,
my eyes well up with tears. I’m overwhelmed by their generosity.
APRIL 16: One month in and we appear to have pulled off one
hell of a Hail Mary. Our business has not only survived, it has done
well enough for us to hire back some staff and pay our rent and
fixed costs for the month. Our wholesale orders have quadrupled,
and we’re a critical part of an ecosystem that helps sustain our
community, other small businesses, and staff.
APRIL 24: Through our egg supplier, we hear of a local farm that
lost its biggest wholesale account. They have an enormous surplus
of eggs, and we offer to help sell as many as we can. We share a
rallying cry on our social media channels that goes viral, reaching
almost half a million people. We do something we never thought
we’d do—sell 36,000 eggs in one week. Even though we sell the
eggs at cost, it brings hundreds of new customers to Tucker, and
suddenly the amount of our Baldor order increases by 2,400% in
a week compared to Before Times.
APRIL 29: It’s been a rough few days between dealing with vicious
backlash from vegans over the egg drive and an impatient customer
threatening us with negative online reviews to get the outcome
they want over a technical glitch. But then we receive some totally
unexpected good news—we’re approved for a Paycheck Protection
Program loan. This means we can plan to hire back all our staff
at the $15 per hour they were getting paid before (twice the state
minimum wage) and hopefully sustain our new business.
M AY 1: As we head into months of uncertainty, we’re planning to
make retail a permanent part of our business model. I feel a strong
affinity for the “too small to fail” mantra that has emerged during
this time; small, nimble businesses like ours that adapted quickly
might just make it. The future of restaurants is not so different from
their past in that respect—it’s still about creativity and innovation.Melanie Hansche is the deputy editor of Food & Wine and the co-owner of
Tucker in Easton, Pennsylvania.I MISS THE BUZZ, THE PRES-
SURE, the scuff of my fellow chefs
shuffling between their sections.
I miss the smell of bacon, melt-
ing cheese, bones roasting in the
oven for stock, onions coloring
up on the flatty. I miss the blind-
ing heat that hits you so hard in
the face from the Rational that it
throws you off your feet. I miss thesmiles of customers. But the thing
I miss the most? My family. I miss
being chased around, ‘Chef’ this,
‘Chef’ that. I will never take that for
granted again. I miss the way my
job made me feel bulletproof. Being
away makes me realize just how
lucky I am.” —Ashleigh Collins, chef at
Brooklands Tavern, Perth, AustraliaEverything
is different
nowIT NOW SEEMS LIKE A CENTURY AGO. One day, making meringues at
the Manhattan restaurant where I worked, I noticed they weren’t
crisping as they should, even after many hours in the oven. Instead
of smooth, glossy domes, they were mottled and lumped, like little
ugly space rocks. I was getting frustrated, when my chef pointed
at the window. Rain was pelting down, and steam fogged up the
panes—the sugar in my egg whites was absorbing the moisture, and
all hopes of my meringues ever drying properly were scratched.
“We work in a physical world,” one of my fellow cooks said. What
could I do, except hope for a sunny day tomorrow?
We work in a physical world. Things drop, get smashed, spill,
burn, don’t rise, rise too much, sour, ferment. Hands and arms are
covered in scratches and burns, from knife wounds to steel wool
scratches, the oil spots from the fryer.
There were times in the past few years I thought I would be
fired, but I never imagined it would happen like this. The rate of
escalation has been the most shocking part. In a matter of days,On Hold
Like millions of workers in the hospitality
industry, line cook Jane Brendlinger was
laid off. Now, she’s waiting for an entire
industry to reboot.We asked cooks, dishwashers,
farmers, and others in the
restaurant ecosystem what their
worlds look like right now.