Tradisionele resepte

E-tabel: die toekoms van restaurant-spyskaarte?

E-tabel: die toekoms van restaurant-spyskaarte?

'N Onderhoud met Mark Boyle, verkoopsdirekteur vir E-Table.

Kos bestel in 'n restaurant via iPad is so 2010. Dit is die toekoms van restaurante, ten minste volgens Mark Boyle, verkoopsdirekteur vir E-Table, 'n projeksiebestelstelsel wat reeds in verskeie restaurante voorkom.

Kan u die E-Table-konsep kortliks verduidelik?
E-Table plaas diners in beheer van die bestelproses. Hulle kan kos en drank bestel direk na die kombuis of kroeg.

Wat was die inspirasie vir hierdie idee?

Die stigters van die onderneming het op die idee gekom terwyl hulle 'n maaltyd was terwyl hulle nie die aandag van die bedienende personeel kon trek nie.

Wat is die komponente en hoe werk dit?

Die E-Table-stelsel gebruik oorhoofse projeksie om 'n spyskaart en ander digitale beelde aan 'n tafelblad van 'n restaurant te lewer.

Beelde word op tafels geprojekteer? Meng mense nie in nie?
Geprojekteerde afbeeldings lê oorvoedingsgeregte in ons restaurant, maar die stelsel kan ontwerp word soos kliënte wil. Ons het eintlik 'n duidelike vertoning, d.w.s. geen projeksie oor die bord nie.

Hoe reageer mense op die stelsel?
Daar is twee aanraakpanele by elke tafel ingebou, waarmee gaste deur die spyskaart kan blaai, bestellings kan plaas en met die stelsel kan kommunikeer.

Is daar geluide?
Daar kan wees, maar ons gebruik dit nie in ons eie restaurante nie.

Wat is die voordeel om E-Table te gebruik bo iPads?
Met projeksietegnologie kan oppervlaktes waterdig, verhard en maklik wees om skoon te maak, wat dit meer geskik maak vir eet- en drinkwinkels.

Hoe implementeer 'n restaurant hierdie stelsel?
Ons en ons vennote kan volledige werkoplossings bied, insluitend hardeware, sagteware en dienste, wat die handelsmerk, spyskaart en taal van 'n kliënt aan die tafelblad lewer.

Hoeveel kos dit om te implementeer?
Dit hang af van die grootte van die restaurant. 'N Restaurant met 'n minimum van 70 sitplekke of meer en 'n gemiddelde rekening van $ 35 of meer kan binne 12 maande 'n opbrengs op belegging behaal, onderhewig aan hul sakemodel.

Watter soort onderhoud benodig die stelsel?
Ons bied sagteware -onderhoud en kan restaurantpersoneel of vennote oplei in die hardeware -instandhouding, wat gewoonlik met die vervaardigers se waarborge gepaard gaan.

U merk op dat die stelsel kliënte in staat stel om te bestel en restaurante in staat stel om kliënte tevrede te stel en die personeelkoste met ongeveer 30%te verminder. Wat daarvan as u bestel en besef dat u nie iets wil hê nie, of as u nie weet dat daar dinge is waarvoor u allergies is nie? U dui nog steeds wagpersoneel aan, nie waar nie?
U kan 'n kelner met die stelsel bel. U kan die komponente/bestanddele van elke gereg op die stelsel uitlig, wat deur restaurantpersoneel maklik bygewerk kan word deur die inhoudsbestuurstelsel.

Het u nie personeel nodig om die stelsel by te werk nie? Is dit werklik meer effektief en koste-effektief?

Die inhoudsbestuurstelsels is ontwerp om eenvoudig en maklik te wees om te gebruik. Voltydse personeel hoef nie die stelsel te bestuur nie.

Twee restaurante gebruik hierdie tegnologie in die Verenigde Koninkryk, en is daar 'n ander restaurant op pad in Nederland?
Reg. Inamo is sedert Augustus 2008 oop, Inamo St. James sedert Desember 2010, en Izkaya in Rotterdam open in Maart 2011.

Watter uitwerking het dit op restaurantervarings gehad waar dit geïmplementeer is?
Inamo en Inamo St. James kry steeds baie positiewe terugvoer van gaste en baie herhalende sake.

Die stelsel maak voorsiening vir advertensies aan tafel. Sommige mag redeneer dat dit in die tyd van oorlading van inligting nog 'n advertensie in 'n privaat sfeer verteenwoordig. Hoe reageer jy daarop?
'N Gebruiker van die E-Table-stelsel kan kies hoeveel of hoe min advertensies hy via die E-Table-platform wil lewer. Dit kan gebruik word om groepsgeleenthede soos korporatiewe etes, partytjies, ens.

Wat dink jy is die uitwerking op die menslike element van restaurantinteraksie?
Wagpersoneel bring en verwyder steeds skottelgoed, sodat menslike interaksie voortduur.


Ek is bang dit is te laat om restaurante te stoor

Leë tafels staan ​​by 'n onderdak buite in 'n kafee in Brooklyn. Aangesien gevalle van koronavirus weer toeneem in New York, verskerp die stad beperkings op restaurante. Foto deur Spencer Platt / Getty Images

Toe die sjef van Louisville, Edward Lee, die deure van sy restaurante moes sluit - 610 Magnolia, MilkWood en Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, sowel as Succotash in Washington. DC - as gevolg van Coronavirus, het hy sy fokus verskuif na die hulp van restaurante in nood. Sy klein niewinsorganisasie, Die LEE -inisiatief, het die Restaurant Workers Relief Program geloods, wat meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien aan werknemers in die bedryf regoor die land wat hul werk verloor het of 'n aansienlike vermindering van die ure gehad het weens die pandemie. Die niewinsorganisasie het onder meer ook meer as $ 800 000 in klein volhoubare boerderye belê. Ons het met hom gepraat oor die stryd waarmee die bedryf tans te kampe het, en hoe dit is om 'n florerende niewinsorganisasie te bedryf terwyl u eie ondernemings wankel.

'Dit is die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant -era, en ek ken nie 'n sjef wat opreg is nie, wat nou hoopvol voel. Ons het maaltye, ons kry tente en verwarmers. Maar aan die einde van die dag is ek op die Titanic, emmers water probeer gooi om kop bo water te hou. Ek veg om my restaurante en sjefs en boere met wie ons al dekades lank verhoudings het, te red. Maar 'n deel van my is baie pragmaties. Ons kry geen bailout van die federale regering nie en ons kry nie leierskap nie - staat, federaal, selfs lokaal. Ons is aan ons eie lot oorgelaat.

Die opsies vir restaurante is nou om meer in die skuld te staan ​​of te sluit. As ons nou 80 persent van ons inkomste verdien, is dit 'n wonderlike dag. Dit is soos 'n Saterdagaand met al die tafels bespreek. Maar dan is daar dae dat ons 15 persent van ons normale inkomste verdien het. Dit is dae waar dit eintlik goedkoper is vir my om die ligte af te hou en die deure toe te maak.

Dit is die skommelinge wat ons regtig seergemaak het. Ons maak staat op patrone en voorspelbaarheid vir voorraad, personeel, alles. Nou het ons geen idee nie. Sommige daarvan hou verband met COVID, sommige hou verband met die protesoptredes, en sommige hou verband met vrese van verbruikers oor uiteet by restaurante. Soms is dit net 'n virale artikel op Facebook wat verbruikersvertroue beïnvloed. 610 Magnolia het resessies deurstaan. Inkomstegewys was verlede jaar ons beste jaar ooit. En ons was op koers om dit te oortref in 2020. Daar is koue troos om te weet dat 'n hele reeks restaurante moet sluit.

Sjef en restauranteur Edward Lee.

Ek spandeer nou die meeste van my tyd aan my nie -winsgewende organisasie, The LEE Initiative en die Restaurant Workers Relief Program, dit is die enigste ding wat my gefokus, hoopvol en trots hou. Dit is baie vreemd dat een sektor van my lewe ongelooflik suksesvol is: ons het tot dusver meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien en meer as 30 noodkombuise regoor die land oopgemaak. Tog sien ek die ander sektor van my lewe voor my oë verkrummel. Dit is 'n emosionele achtbaan - soos om te sien hoe een van jou kinders sweef terwyl die ander in jou arms sterf. Ek voel soms wonderlik. Dan voel ek skuldig omdat ek wonderlik voel. Dit is moeilik om te navigeer.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop. Vir elke poging wat ons doen, staan ​​dit net nie 'n kans teen die ekonomiese agtergrond van wat restaurante hierdie winter gaan ondervind nie. En wat ons nou sien, is dat mense wat basies as middelklas beskou word - wat hul hele lewe lank gewerk het en nooit op welsyn was nie - skielik voedselonseker is. Dit is 'n heel nuwe demografie wat nie voorheen bestaan ​​het nie. Sommige is te trots of te skaam om te erken dat hulle voedselonseker is. Dit is mense wat ek ken: kroegmanne, kelners, skottelgoedwassers, lynkokke.

Ongelukkig vir restaurantmense, vertaal ons vaardighede nie goed na ander nywerhede nie. Ons fokus op een ding: gasvryheid. En as die bedryf verbrokkel, het u 'n hele bevolking mense wat nie toegerus is om ander werk te verrig nie. Ek het 29 jaar van my lewe hieraan gewy, ek kan nie sommer stropdasse of versekering verkoop nie. Tog sien die maghebbers dit nie. Hulle beskou restaurantwerkers nie as 'n waardevolle sektor van ons samelewing nie. Hulle gesindhede is: 'Wel, hulle kan ander werk gaan soek.' Dit is net nie die geval nie.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop.

Daar is 'n groot gevoel van verlatenheid. U wy u lewe aan die restaurantbedryf, u betaal u belasting, en dan besef u dat daar nêrens hulp kom nie. Mense ly aan 'n diep, diep depressie. En die laaste ding wat u in die restaurantbedryf wil hê, is dat u restauranteienaar, sjef, GM of kelner depressief is, nie waar nie? Die hele punt van die gasvryheidsbedryf is dat u na my restaurant moet kom en van u depressie vergeet. Dit is ons wat die vermaak verskaf, ons positiewe energie is aansteeklik. Dit laat jou wonderlik voel om in 'n restaurant vol mense te wees wat hul werk met passie en vreugde verrig.

Ons is nie professionele akteurs nie. Almal is op die rand van emosionele ineenstorting. Dit is hartverskeurend om te sien hoe toegewyde jong mans en vroue wat 'n kunswerk geslyp het en hierdie pragtige ding wat ons noem die restaurant -renaissance, gemaak het, wat trots en wêreldwye aandag aan 'Amerikaanse kookkuns' gebring het en twee dekades gelede nie eens bestaan ​​het nie, jy weet ... om $ 8 kaasburgers te maak net om betaalstaat te maak.

Maar dis waar ons is. Tog ry jy by die plaaslike McDonald's en daar is 20 motors wat gereed is vir deurry. Dit breek jou hart om dit te sien, en om te weet dat teen die tyd dat al die onafhanklike restaurante weggaan, dit te laat sal wees. Die kliënte sal sê: 'Wat 'n skande.' Die kans om hulle te red, is nou.

Ouers soos ek kan nie draai nie; ek sit vas in wat ek doen. Maar daar is baie uiteenlopende jonger mense - soveel swart en Latino's en Indiese sjefs wat pas begin het - wat sê: 'Wag 'n bietjie, miskien is dit nie die loopbaan vir my nie.' Hulle het die kreatiewe energie en die krag en die jeugdige uitbundigheid wat die restaurantbedryf nodig het. As ons hulle verloor, sien ek nie 'n bedryf wat iets te bied het nie.

Die omhulsel van die restaurant kan oorleef, maar die pragtige energie daarbinne nie. As die mense nie daar is nie, of as die mense depressief is omdat hulle voel dat niemand vir hulle omgee tydens die pandemie nie, sal hulle nie dieselfde passie en energie en vreugde daaraan bring as hulle terugkom nie. Dit is net 'n werk - daar is geen verskil tussen die werk by 'n kettingrestaurant nie. Dit is vir my die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant. Ons sal sien. Ek hoop desperaat dat ek verkeerd is. ”

Ons het die afgelope jaar gevolg hoe die restaurantbedryf die Coronavirus hanteer het. Vir meer refleksies van die mense aan die binnekant, lees ons Restaurant Diaries -reeks.


Ek is bang dit is te laat om restaurante te stoor

Leë tafels staan ​​by 'n onderdak buite in 'n kafee in Brooklyn. Aangesien gevalle van koronavirus weer toeneem in New York, verskerp die stad beperkings op restaurante. Foto deur Spencer Platt / Getty Images

Toe die sjef van Louisville, Edward Lee, die deure van sy restaurante moes sluit - 610 Magnolia, MilkWood en Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, sowel as Succotash in Washington. DC - as gevolg van Coronavirus, het hy sy fokus verskuif na die hulp van restaurante in nood. Sy klein niewinsorganisasie, Die LEE -inisiatief, het die Restaurant Workers Relief Program geloods, wat meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien aan werknemers in die bedryf regoor die land wat hul werk verloor het of 'n aansienlike vermindering van die ure gehad het weens die pandemie. Die niewinsorganisasie het onder meer ook meer as $ 800 000 in klein volhoubare boerderye belê. Ons het met hom gepraat oor die stryd waarmee die bedryf tans te kampe het, en hoe dit is om 'n florerende niewinsorganisasie te bedryf terwyl u eie ondernemings wankel.

'Dit is die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant -era, en ek ken nie 'n sjef wat opreg is nie, wat nou hoopvol voel. Ons het maaltye, ons kry tente en verwarmers. Maar aan die einde van die dag is ek op die Titanic, emmers water probeer gooi om kop bo water te hou. Ek veg om my restaurante en sjefs en boere met wie ons al dekades lank verhoudings het, te red. Maar 'n deel van my is baie pragmaties. Ons kry geen bailout van die federale regering nie en ons kry nie leierskap nie - staat, federaal, selfs lokaal. Ons is aan ons eie lot oorgelaat.

Die opsies vir restaurante is nou om meer in die skuld te staan ​​of te sluit. As ons nou 80 persent van ons inkomste verdien, is dit 'n wonderlike dag. Dit is soos 'n Saterdagaand met al die tafels bespreek. Maar dan is daar dae dat ons 15 persent van ons normale inkomste verdien het. Dit is dae waar dit eintlik goedkoper is vir my om die ligte af te hou en die deure toe te maak.

Dit is die skommelinge wat ons regtig seergemaak het. Ons maak staat op patrone en voorspelbaarheid vir voorraad, personeel, alles. Nou het ons geen idee nie. Sommige daarvan hou verband met COVID, sommige hou verband met die protesoptredes, en sommige hou verband met vrese van verbruikers oor uiteet by restaurante. Soms is dit net 'n virale artikel op Facebook wat verbruikersvertroue beïnvloed. 610 Magnolia het resessies verweer. Inkomstegewys was verlede jaar ons beste jaar ooit. En ons was op koers om dit te oortref in 2020. Daar is koue troos om te weet dat 'n hele reeks restaurante moet sluit.

Sjef en restauranteur Edward Lee.

Ek spandeer nou die meeste van my tyd aan my nie -winsgewende organisasie, The LEE Initiative en die Restaurant Workers Relief Program, dit is die enigste ding wat my gefokus, hoopvol en trots hou. Dit is baie vreemd dat een sektor van my lewe ongelooflik suksesvol is: ons het tot dusver meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien en meer as 30 noodkombuise regoor die land oopgemaak. Tog sien ek die ander sektor van my lewe voor my oë verkrummel. Dit is 'n emosionele achtbaan - soos om te sien hoe een van jou kinders sweef terwyl die ander in jou arms sterf. Ek voel soms wonderlik. Dan voel ek skuldig omdat ek wonderlik voel. Dit is moeilik om te navigeer.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop. Vir elke poging wat ons doen, staan ​​dit net nie 'n kans teen die ekonomiese agtergrond van wat restaurante hierdie winter gaan ondervind nie. En wat ons nou sien, is dat mense wat basies as middelklas beskou word - wat hul hele lewe lank gewerk het en nog nooit op welsyn was nie - skielik voedselonseker is. Dit is 'n heel nuwe demografie wat nie voorheen bestaan ​​het nie. Sommige is te trots of te skaam om te erken dat hulle voedselonseker is. Dit is mense wat ek ken: kroegmanne, kelners, skottelgoedwassers, lynkokke.

Ongelukkig vir restaurantmense, vertaal ons vaardighede nie goed na ander nywerhede nie. Ons fokus op een ding: gasvryheid. En as die bedryf verbrokkel, het u 'n hele bevolking mense wat nie toegerus is om ander werk te verrig nie. Ek het 29 jaar van my lewe hieraan gewy, ek kan nie net stropdasse of versekering verkoop nie. Tog sien die maghebbers dit nie. Hulle beskou restaurantwerkers nie as 'n waardevolle sektor van ons samelewing nie. Hulle gesindhede is: 'Wel, hulle kan ander werk gaan soek.' Dit is net nie die geval nie.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop.

Daar is 'n groot gevoel van verlatenheid. U wy u lewe aan die restaurantbedryf, u betaal u belasting, en dan besef u dat daar nêrens hulp kom nie. Mense ly aan 'n diep, diep depressie. En die laaste ding wat u in die restaurantbedryf wil hê, is dat u restauranteienaar, sjef, GM of kelner depressief is, nie waar nie? Die hele punt van die gasvryheidsbedryf is dat u na my restaurant moet kom en van u depressie moet vergeet. Dit is ons wat die vermaak verskaf, ons positiewe energie is aansteeklik. Dit laat jou wonderlik voel om in 'n restaurant vol mense te wees wat hul werk met passie en vreugde verrig.

Ons is nie professionele akteurs nie. Almal is op die rand van emosionele ineenstorting. Dit is hartverskeurend om te sien hoe toegewyde jong mans en vroue wat 'n kunswerk geslyp het en hierdie pragtige ding wat ons noem die restaurant -renaissance, gemaak het, wat trots en wêreldwye aandag aan 'Amerikaanse kookkuns' gebring het en twee dekades gelede nie eens bestaan ​​het nie, jy weet ... om $ 8 kaasburgers te maak net om betaalstaat te maak.

Maar dis waar ons is. Tog ry jy by die plaaslike McDonald's en daar is 20 motors wat gereed is vir deurry. Dit breek jou hart om dit te sien, en om te weet dat teen die tyd dat al die onafhanklike restaurante weggaan, dit te laat sal wees. Die kliënte sal sê: 'Wat 'n skande.' Die kans om hulle te red, is nou.

Ouers soos ek kan nie draai nie; ek sit vas in wat ek doen. Maar daar is baie uiteenlopende jonger mense - soveel swart en Latino's en Indiese sjefs wat pas begin het - wat sê: 'Wag 'n bietjie, miskien is dit nie die loopbaan vir my nie.' Hulle het die kreatiewe energie en die krag en die jeugdige uitbundigheid wat die restaurantbedryf nodig het. As ons hulle verloor, sien ek nie 'n bedryf wat iets te bied het nie.

Die omhulsel van die restaurant kan oorleef, maar die pragtige energie daarbinne nie. As die mense nie daar is nie, of as die mense depressief is omdat hulle voel dat niemand vir hulle omgee tydens die pandemie nie, sal hulle nie dieselfde passie en energie en vreugde daaraan bring as hulle terugkom nie. Dit is net 'n werk - daar is geen verskil tussen die werk by 'n kettingrestaurant nie. Dit is vir my die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant. Ons sal sien. Ek hoop desperaat dat ek verkeerd is. ”

Ons het die afgelope jaar gevolg hoe die restaurantbedryf die Coronavirus hanteer het. Vir meer refleksies van die mense aan die binnekant, lees ons Restaurant Diaries -reeks.


Ek is bang dit is te laat om restaurante te stoor

Leë tafels staan ​​by 'n onderdak buite in 'n kafee in Brooklyn. Aangesien gevalle van koronavirus weer toeneem in New York, verskerp die stad beperkings op restaurante. Foto deur Spencer Platt / Getty Images

Toe die sjef van Louisville, Edward Lee, die deure van sy restaurante moes sluit - 610 Magnolia, MilkWood en Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, sowel as Succotash in Washington. DC - as gevolg van Coronavirus, het hy sy fokus verskuif na die hulp van restaurante in nood. Sy klein niewinsorganisasie, Die LEE -inisiatief, het die Restaurant Workers Relief Program geloods, wat meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien aan werknemers in die bedryf regoor die land wat hul werk verloor het of 'n aansienlike vermindering van die ure gehad het weens die pandemie. Die niewinsorganisasie het onder meer ook meer as $ 800 000 in klein volhoubare boerderye belê. Ons het met hom gepraat oor die stryd waarmee die bedryf tans te kampe het, en hoe dit is om 'n florerende niewinsorganisasie te bedryf terwyl u eie ondernemings wankel.

'Dit is die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant -era, en ek ken nie 'n sjef wat opreg is nie, wat nou hoopvol voel. Ons het maaltye, ons kry tente en verwarmers. Maar aan die einde van die dag is ek op die Titanic, emmers water probeer gooi om kop bo water te hou. Ek veg om my restaurante en sjefs en boere met wie ons al dekades lank verhoudings het, te red. Maar 'n deel van my is baie pragmaties. Ons kry geen bailout van die federale regering nie en ons kry nie leierskap nie - staat, federaal, selfs lokaal. Ons is aan ons eie lot oorgelaat.

Die opsies vir restaurante is nou om meer in die skuld te staan ​​of te sluit. As ons nou 80 persent van ons inkomste verdien, is dit 'n wonderlike dag. Dit is soos 'n Saterdagaand met al die tafels bespreek. Maar dan is daar dae dat ons 15 persent van ons normale inkomste verdien het. Dit is dae waar dit eintlik goedkoper is vir my om die ligte af te hou en die deure toe te maak.

Dit is die skommelinge wat ons regtig seergemaak het. Ons maak staat op patrone en voorspelbaarheid vir voorraad, personeel, alles. Nou het ons geen idee nie. Sommige daarvan hou verband met COVID, sommige hou verband met die protesoptredes, en sommige hou verband met vrese van verbruikers oor uiteet by restaurante. Soms is dit net 'n virale artikel op Facebook wat verbruikersvertroue beïnvloed. 610 Magnolia het resessies deurstaan. Inkomstegewys was verlede jaar ons beste jaar ooit. En ons was op koers om dit te oortref in 2020. Daar is koue troos om te weet dat 'n hele reeks restaurante moet sluit.

Sjef en restauranteur Edward Lee.

Ek spandeer nou die meeste van my tyd aan my nie -winsgewende organisasie, The LEE Initiative en die Restaurant Workers Relief Program, dit is die enigste ding wat my gefokus, hoopvol en trots hou. Dit is baie vreemd dat een sektor van my lewe ongelooflik suksesvol is: ons het tot dusver meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien en meer as 30 noodkombuise regoor die land oopgemaak. Tog sien ek die ander sektor van my lewe voor my oë verkrummel. Dit is 'n emosionele achtbaan - soos om te sien hoe een van jou kinders sweef terwyl die ander in jou arms sterf. Ek voel soms wonderlik. Dan voel ek skuldig omdat ek wonderlik voel. Dit is moeilik om te navigeer.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop. Vir elke poging wat ons doen, staan ​​dit net nie 'n kans teen die ekonomiese agtergrond van wat restaurante hierdie winter in die gesig staar nie. En wat ons nou sien, is dat mense wat basies as middelklas beskou word - wat hul hele lewe lank gewerk het en nooit op welsyn was nie - skielik voedselonseker is. Dit is 'n heel nuwe demografie wat nie voorheen bestaan ​​het nie. Sommige is te trots of te skaam om te erken dat hulle voedselonseker is. Dit is mense wat ek ken: kroegmanne, kelners, skottelgoedwassers, lynkokke.

Ongelukkig vir restaurantmense, vertaal ons vaardighede nie goed na ander nywerhede nie. Ons fokus op een ding: gasvryheid. En as die bedryf verbrokkel, het u 'n hele bevolking mense wat nie toegerus is om ander werk te verrig nie. Ek het 29 jaar van my lewe hieraan gewy, ek kan nie net stropdasse of versekering verkoop nie. Tog sien die maghebbers dit nie. Hulle beskou restaurantwerkers nie as 'n waardevolle sektor van ons samelewing nie. Hulle gesindhede is: 'Wel, hulle kan ander werk gaan soek.' Dit is net nie die geval nie.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop.

Daar is 'n groot gevoel van verlatenheid. U wy u lewe aan die restaurantbedryf, u betaal u belasting, en dan besef u dat daar nêrens hulp is nie. Mense ly aan 'n diep, diep depressie. En die laaste ding wat u in die restaurantbedryf wil hê, is dat u restauranteienaar, sjef, GM of kelner depressief is, nie waar nie? Die hele punt van die gasvryheidsbedryf is dat u na my restaurant moet kom en van u depressie vergeet. Dit is ons wat die vermaak verskaf, ons positiewe energie is aansteeklik. Dit laat jou wonderlik voel om in 'n restaurant vol mense te wees wat hul werk met passie en vreugde verrig.

Ons is nie professionele akteurs nie. Almal is op die rand van emosionele ineenstorting. Dit is hartverskeurend om te sien hoe toegewyde jong mans en vroue wat 'n kunswerk geslyp het en hierdie pragtige ding wat ons noem die restaurant -renaissance, gemaak het, wat trots en wêreldwye aandag aan 'Amerikaanse kookkuns' gebring het en twee dekades gelede nie eens bestaan ​​het nie, jy weet ... om $ 8 kaasburgers te maak net om betaalstaat te maak.

Maar dis waar ons is. Tog ry jy by die plaaslike McDonald's en daar is 20 motors wat gereed is vir deurry. Dit breek jou hart om dit te sien, en om te weet dat teen die tyd dat al die onafhanklike restaurante weggaan, dit te laat sal wees. Die kliënte sal sê: 'Wat 'n skande.' Die kans om hulle te red, is nou.

Ouers soos ek kan nie draai nie; ek sit vas in wat ek doen. Maar daar is baie uiteenlopende jonger mense - soveel swart en Latino's en Indiese sjefs wat pas begin het - wat sê: 'Wag 'n bietjie, miskien is dit nie die loopbaan vir my nie.' Hulle het die kreatiewe energie en die krag en die jeugdige uitbundigheid wat die restaurantbedryf nodig het. As ons hulle verloor, sien ek nie 'n bedryf wat iets te bied het nie.

Die omhulsel van die restaurant kan oorleef, maar die pragtige energie daarbinne nie. As die mense nie daar is nie, of as die mense depressief is omdat hulle voel dat niemand vir hulle omgee tydens die pandemie nie, sal hulle nie dieselfde passie en energie en vreugde daaraan bring as hulle terugkom nie. Dit is net 'n werk - daar is geen verskil tussen die werk by 'n kettingrestaurant nie. Dit is vir my die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant. Ons sal sien. Ek hoop desperaat dat ek verkeerd is. ”

Ons het die afgelope jaar gevolg hoe die restaurantbedryf die Coronavirus hanteer het. Vir meer refleksies van die mense aan die binnekant, lees ons Restaurant Diaries -reeks.


Ek is bang dit is te laat om restaurante te stoor

Leë tafels staan ​​by 'n onderdak buite in 'n kafee in Brooklyn. Aangesien gevalle van koronavirus weer toeneem in New York, verskerp die stad beperkings op restaurante. Foto deur Spencer Platt / Getty Images

Toe die sjef van Louisville, Edward Lee, die deure van sy restaurante moes sluit - 610 Magnolia, MilkWood en Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, sowel as Succotash in Washington. DC - as gevolg van Coronavirus, het hy sy fokus verskuif na die hulp van restaurante in nood. Sy klein niewinsorganisasie, Die LEE -inisiatief, het die Restaurant Workers Relief Program geloods, wat meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien aan werknemers in die bedryf regoor die land wat hul werk verloor het of 'n aansienlike vermindering van die ure gehad het weens die pandemie. Die niewinsorganisasie het onder meer ook meer as $ 800 000 in klein volhoubare boerderye belê. Ons het met hom gepraat oor die stryd waarmee die bedryf tans te kampe het, en hoe dit is om 'n florerende niewinsorganisasie te bedryf terwyl u eie ondernemings wankel.

'Dit is die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant -era, en ek ken nie 'n sjef wat opreg is nie, wat nou hoopvol voel. Ons het maaltye, ons kry tente en verwarmers. Maar aan die einde van die dag is ek op die Titanic, emmers water probeer gooi om kop bo water te hou. Ek veg om my restaurante en sjefs en boere met wie ons al dekades lank verhoudings het, te red. Maar 'n deel van my is baie pragmaties. Ons kry geen bailout van die federale regering nie en ons kry nie leierskap nie - staat, federaal, selfs lokaal. Ons is aan ons eie lot oorgelaat.

Die opsies vir restaurante is nou om verder in die skuld te staan ​​of te sluit. As ons nou 80 persent van ons inkomste verdien, is dit 'n wonderlike dag. Dit is soos 'n Saterdagaand met al die tafels bespreek. Maar dan is daar dae dat ons 15 persent van ons normale inkomste verdien het. Dit is dae waar dit eintlik goedkoper is vir my om die ligte af te hou en die deure toe te maak.

Dit is die skommelinge wat ons regtig seergemaak het. Ons maak staat op patrone en voorspelbaarheid vir voorraad, personeel, alles. Nou het ons geen idee nie. Sommige daarvan hou verband met COVID, sommige hou verband met die protesoptredes, en sommige hou verband met vrese van verbruikers oor uiteet by restaurante. Soms is dit net 'n virale artikel op Facebook wat verbruikersvertroue beïnvloed. 610 Magnolia het resessies deurstaan. Inkomstegewys was verlede jaar ons beste jaar ooit. En ons was op koers om dit te oortref in 2020. Daar is koue troos om te weet dat 'n hele reeks restaurante moet sluit.

Sjef en restauranteur Edward Lee.

Ek spandeer nou die meeste van my tyd aan my nie -winsgewende organisasie, The LEE Initiative en die Restaurant Workers Relief Program, dit is die enigste ding wat my gefokus, hoopvol en trots hou. Dit is baie vreemd dat een sektor van my lewe ongelooflik suksesvol is: ons het tot dusver meer as 'n miljoen maaltye bedien en meer as 30 noodkombuise regoor die land oopgemaak. Tog sien ek die ander sektor van my lewe voor my oë verkrummel. Dit is 'n emosionele achtbaan - soos om te sien hoe een van jou kinders sweef terwyl die ander in jou arms sterf. Ek voel soms wonderlik. Dan voel ek skuldig omdat ek wonderlik voel. Dit is moeilik om te navigeer.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop. Vir elke poging wat ons doen, staan ​​dit net nie 'n kans teen die ekonomiese agtergrond van wat restaurante hierdie winter in die gesig staar nie. En wat ons nou sien, is dat mense wat basies as middelklas beskou word - wat hul hele lewe lank gewerk het en nooit op welsyn was nie - skielik voedselonseker is. Dit is 'n heel nuwe demografie wat nie voorheen bestaan ​​het nie. Sommige is te trots of te skaam om te erken dat hulle voedselonseker is. Dit is mense wat ek ken: kroegmanne, kelners, skottelgoedwassers, lynkokke.

Ongelukkig vir restaurantmense, vertaal ons vaardighede nie goed na ander nywerhede nie. Ons fokus op een ding: gasvryheid. En as die bedryf verbrokkel, het u 'n hele bevolking mense wat nie toegerus is om ander werk te verrig nie. Ek het 29 jaar van my lewe hieraan gewy, ek kan nie net stropdasse of versekering verkoop nie. Tog sien die maghebbers dit nie. Hulle beskou restaurantwerkers nie as 'n waardevolle sektor van ons samelewing nie. Hulle gesindhede is: 'Wel, hulle kan ander werk gaan soek.' Dit is net nie die geval nie.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop.

Daar is 'n groot gevoel van verlatenheid. U wy u lewe aan die restaurantbedryf, u betaal u belasting, en dan besef u dat daar nêrens hulp is nie. Mense ly aan 'n diep, diep depressie. En die laaste ding wat u in die restaurantbedryf wil hê, is dat u restauranteienaar, sjef, GM of kelner depressief is, nie waar nie? Die hele punt van die gasvryheidsbedryf is dat u na my restaurant moet kom en van u depressie vergeet. Dit is ons wat die vermaak verskaf, ons positiewe energie is aansteeklik. Dit laat jou wonderlik voel om in 'n restaurant vol mense te wees wat hul werk met passie en vreugde verrig.

Ons is nie professionele akteurs nie. Almal is op die rand van emosionele ineenstorting. It’s heartbreaking to watch dedicated young men and women who’ve honed a craft and made this beautiful thing we call ‘the restaurant renaissance,’ which brought pride and global attention to ‘American cuisine’ and two decades ago didn’t even exist, you know…making $8 cheeseburgers to-go just to make payroll.

But that’s where we’re at. Yet you drive by the local McDonald’s and there are 20 cars lined up for drive-through. It breaks your heart to see that, and to know that by the time all of the independent restaurants go away, it’ll be too late. The customers will say, ‘What a shame.’ The chance to save them is right now.

Old-timers like me can’t pivot I am stuck in what I’m doing. But there are a lot of diverse younger people—so many Black and Latino and Indian chefs who are just starting out—saying, ‘Wait a second, maybe this isn’t the career for me.’ They have the creative energy and the verve and the youthful exuberance that the restaurant industry needs. If we lose them, I don’t see an industry that has anything to offer.

The shell of the restaurant may survive, but the beautiful energy inside may not. If the people are not there, or the people are depressed because they feel like no one cared about them during the pandemic, they’re not going to bring the same passion and energy and joy to it when they come back. It’s just a job—no difference between that and working at a chain restaurant. That, to me, will represent the end of the independent restaurant. Ons sal sien. I desperately hope I’m wrong.”

We’ve been following how the restaurant industry has been coping with the Coronavirus throughout the year. For more reflections from the people on the inside, read our Restaurant Diaries series.


I’m Afraid It’s Too Late to Save Restaurants

Empty tables stand at a covered outdoor area at a cafe in Brooklyn. With coronavirus cases on the rise again in New York, the city is tightening restrictions on restaurants. Photo by Spencer Platt / Getty Images

When Louisville chef Edward Lee was forced to close the doors to his restaurants—610 Magnolia, MilkWood, and Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as Succotash in Washington. D.C.—due to Coronavirus, he shifted his focus to helping restaurant workers in need. His small nonprofit, The LEE Initiative, launched the Restaurant Workers Relief Program, serving more than a million meals to industry employees across the country who lost their jobs or had a significant reduction in hours due to the pandemic. The nonprofit has also invested more than $800,000 in small sustainable farms among other initiatives. We talked to him about the struggles the industry faces right now, and what it’s like to run a thriving nonprofit as your own businesses falter.

“This is the end of the independent restaurant era, and I don’t know any chef in their right mind who feels hopeful right now. We have meal kits we’re getting tents and heaters. But at the end of the day, I’m on the Titanic, trying to throw out buckets of water to stay afloat. I’m fighting to save my restaurants and chefs and farmers whom we’ve had relationships with for decades. But part of me is very pragmatic. We’re not getting a bailout from the federal government and we’re not getting leadership—state, federal, even local. We’ve been left to our own devices.

The options for restaurants right now are to go further into debt or to close. If we make 80 percent of our income now, that’s a great day. It’s like a Saturday night with all the tables booked. But then there are days when we’ve done 15 percent of our normal revenue. Those are days where it’s actually cheaper for me to keep the lights off and close the doors.

It’s the fluctuations that really hurt us. We rely on patterns and predictability for inventory, for staffing, for everything. Now we don’t have a clue. Some of it is COVID-related some of it is related to the protests and some of it related to consumer fears about eating out at restaurants. Sometimes it’s just a viral article on Facebook that affects consumer confidence. 610 Magnolia has weathered recessions. Revenue-wise, last year was our best year ever. And we were on pace to beat that in 2020. There’s cold comfort in knowing an entire wave of restaurants will have to close.

Chef and restauranteur Edward Lee.

I devote most of my time now to my nonprofit, The LEE Initiative and the Restaurant Workers Relief Program it’s the only thing keeping me focused, hopeful, and proud. It’s very odd to have one sector of my life be incredibly successful: We’ve served over a million meals to date and opened more than 30 relief kitchens around the country. Yet I’m seeing the other sector of my life crumble before my eyes. It’s an emotional roller coaster—like watching one of your children soar while the other dies in your arms. I feel great sometimes. Then I feel guilty about feeling great. It’s hard to navigate.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami. For every effort we do, it just doesn’t stand a chance against the economic backdrop of what restaurants are going to face this winter. And what we’re seeing now is people who are basically considered middle class—who’ve worked their whole lives and never been on welfare—are suddenly food insecure. That is a whole new demographic that didn’t exist before. Some are too proud, or too ashamed, to admit that they’re food insecure. These are people I know: bartenders, waiters, dishwashers, line cooks.

Unfortunately for restaurant people, our skill set doesn’t translate well to other industries. We’re hyper-focused on one thing: hospitality. And when the industry crumbles, you have an entire population of people not equipped to do other jobs. I’ve devoted 29 years of my life to this I can’t just go sell neckties or insurance. Yet the people in power don’t see that. They don’t see restaurant workers as a valuable sector of our society. Their attitudes are, ‘Well, they can go find other jobs.’ That’s just not the case.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami.

There’s a huge feeling of abandonment. You devote your life to the restaurant business, you pay your taxes, and then you realize there’s no help coming from anywhere. People are suffering through a deep, deep depression. And the last thing you want in the restaurant business is for your restaurant owner, chef, GM, or waiter to be depressed, right? The whole point of the hospitality industry is for you to come to my restaurant and forget about your depression. We’re the ones who supply the entertainment our positive energy is contagious. It makes you feel great to be in a restaurant full of people who execute their jobs with passion and joy.

We’re not professional actors. Everyone’s on the edge of emotional breakdown. It’s heartbreaking to watch dedicated young men and women who’ve honed a craft and made this beautiful thing we call ‘the restaurant renaissance,’ which brought pride and global attention to ‘American cuisine’ and two decades ago didn’t even exist, you know…making $8 cheeseburgers to-go just to make payroll.

But that’s where we’re at. Yet you drive by the local McDonald’s and there are 20 cars lined up for drive-through. It breaks your heart to see that, and to know that by the time all of the independent restaurants go away, it’ll be too late. The customers will say, ‘What a shame.’ The chance to save them is right now.

Old-timers like me can’t pivot I am stuck in what I’m doing. But there are a lot of diverse younger people—so many Black and Latino and Indian chefs who are just starting out—saying, ‘Wait a second, maybe this isn’t the career for me.’ They have the creative energy and the verve and the youthful exuberance that the restaurant industry needs. If we lose them, I don’t see an industry that has anything to offer.

The shell of the restaurant may survive, but the beautiful energy inside may not. If the people are not there, or the people are depressed because they feel like no one cared about them during the pandemic, they’re not going to bring the same passion and energy and joy to it when they come back. It’s just a job—no difference between that and working at a chain restaurant. That, to me, will represent the end of the independent restaurant. Ons sal sien. I desperately hope I’m wrong.”

We’ve been following how the restaurant industry has been coping with the Coronavirus throughout the year. For more reflections from the people on the inside, read our Restaurant Diaries series.


I’m Afraid It’s Too Late to Save Restaurants

Empty tables stand at a covered outdoor area at a cafe in Brooklyn. With coronavirus cases on the rise again in New York, the city is tightening restrictions on restaurants. Photo by Spencer Platt / Getty Images

When Louisville chef Edward Lee was forced to close the doors to his restaurants—610 Magnolia, MilkWood, and Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as Succotash in Washington. D.C.—due to Coronavirus, he shifted his focus to helping restaurant workers in need. His small nonprofit, The LEE Initiative, launched the Restaurant Workers Relief Program, serving more than a million meals to industry employees across the country who lost their jobs or had a significant reduction in hours due to the pandemic. The nonprofit has also invested more than $800,000 in small sustainable farms among other initiatives. We talked to him about the struggles the industry faces right now, and what it’s like to run a thriving nonprofit as your own businesses falter.

“This is the end of the independent restaurant era, and I don’t know any chef in their right mind who feels hopeful right now. We have meal kits we’re getting tents and heaters. But at the end of the day, I’m on the Titanic, trying to throw out buckets of water to stay afloat. I’m fighting to save my restaurants and chefs and farmers whom we’ve had relationships with for decades. But part of me is very pragmatic. We’re not getting a bailout from the federal government and we’re not getting leadership—state, federal, even local. We’ve been left to our own devices.

The options for restaurants right now are to go further into debt or to close. If we make 80 percent of our income now, that’s a great day. It’s like a Saturday night with all the tables booked. But then there are days when we’ve done 15 percent of our normal revenue. Those are days where it’s actually cheaper for me to keep the lights off and close the doors.

It’s the fluctuations that really hurt us. We rely on patterns and predictability for inventory, for staffing, for everything. Now we don’t have a clue. Some of it is COVID-related some of it is related to the protests and some of it related to consumer fears about eating out at restaurants. Sometimes it’s just a viral article on Facebook that affects consumer confidence. 610 Magnolia has weathered recessions. Revenue-wise, last year was our best year ever. And we were on pace to beat that in 2020. There’s cold comfort in knowing an entire wave of restaurants will have to close.

Chef and restauranteur Edward Lee.

I devote most of my time now to my nonprofit, The LEE Initiative and the Restaurant Workers Relief Program it’s the only thing keeping me focused, hopeful, and proud. It’s very odd to have one sector of my life be incredibly successful: We’ve served over a million meals to date and opened more than 30 relief kitchens around the country. Yet I’m seeing the other sector of my life crumble before my eyes. It’s an emotional roller coaster—like watching one of your children soar while the other dies in your arms. I feel great sometimes. Then I feel guilty about feeling great. It’s hard to navigate.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami. For every effort we do, it just doesn’t stand a chance against the economic backdrop of what restaurants are going to face this winter. And what we’re seeing now is people who are basically considered middle class—who’ve worked their whole lives and never been on welfare—are suddenly food insecure. That is a whole new demographic that didn’t exist before. Some are too proud, or too ashamed, to admit that they’re food insecure. These are people I know: bartenders, waiters, dishwashers, line cooks.

Unfortunately for restaurant people, our skill set doesn’t translate well to other industries. We’re hyper-focused on one thing: hospitality. And when the industry crumbles, you have an entire population of people not equipped to do other jobs. I’ve devoted 29 years of my life to this I can’t just go sell neckties or insurance. Yet the people in power don’t see that. They don’t see restaurant workers as a valuable sector of our society. Their attitudes are, ‘Well, they can go find other jobs.’ That’s just not the case.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami.

There’s a huge feeling of abandonment. You devote your life to the restaurant business, you pay your taxes, and then you realize there’s no help coming from anywhere. People are suffering through a deep, deep depression. And the last thing you want in the restaurant business is for your restaurant owner, chef, GM, or waiter to be depressed, right? The whole point of the hospitality industry is for you to come to my restaurant and forget about your depression. We’re the ones who supply the entertainment our positive energy is contagious. It makes you feel great to be in a restaurant full of people who execute their jobs with passion and joy.

We’re not professional actors. Everyone’s on the edge of emotional breakdown. It’s heartbreaking to watch dedicated young men and women who’ve honed a craft and made this beautiful thing we call ‘the restaurant renaissance,’ which brought pride and global attention to ‘American cuisine’ and two decades ago didn’t even exist, you know…making $8 cheeseburgers to-go just to make payroll.

But that’s where we’re at. Yet you drive by the local McDonald’s and there are 20 cars lined up for drive-through. It breaks your heart to see that, and to know that by the time all of the independent restaurants go away, it’ll be too late. The customers will say, ‘What a shame.’ The chance to save them is right now.

Old-timers like me can’t pivot I am stuck in what I’m doing. But there are a lot of diverse younger people—so many Black and Latino and Indian chefs who are just starting out—saying, ‘Wait a second, maybe this isn’t the career for me.’ They have the creative energy and the verve and the youthful exuberance that the restaurant industry needs. If we lose them, I don’t see an industry that has anything to offer.

The shell of the restaurant may survive, but the beautiful energy inside may not. If the people are not there, or the people are depressed because they feel like no one cared about them during the pandemic, they’re not going to bring the same passion and energy and joy to it when they come back. It’s just a job—no difference between that and working at a chain restaurant. That, to me, will represent the end of the independent restaurant. Ons sal sien. I desperately hope I’m wrong.”

We’ve been following how the restaurant industry has been coping with the Coronavirus throughout the year. For more reflections from the people on the inside, read our Restaurant Diaries series.


I’m Afraid It’s Too Late to Save Restaurants

Empty tables stand at a covered outdoor area at a cafe in Brooklyn. With coronavirus cases on the rise again in New York, the city is tightening restrictions on restaurants. Photo by Spencer Platt / Getty Images

When Louisville chef Edward Lee was forced to close the doors to his restaurants—610 Magnolia, MilkWood, and Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as Succotash in Washington. D.C.—due to Coronavirus, he shifted his focus to helping restaurant workers in need. His small nonprofit, The LEE Initiative, launched the Restaurant Workers Relief Program, serving more than a million meals to industry employees across the country who lost their jobs or had a significant reduction in hours due to the pandemic. The nonprofit has also invested more than $800,000 in small sustainable farms among other initiatives. We talked to him about the struggles the industry faces right now, and what it’s like to run a thriving nonprofit as your own businesses falter.

“This is the end of the independent restaurant era, and I don’t know any chef in their right mind who feels hopeful right now. We have meal kits we’re getting tents and heaters. But at the end of the day, I’m on the Titanic, trying to throw out buckets of water to stay afloat. I’m fighting to save my restaurants and chefs and farmers whom we’ve had relationships with for decades. But part of me is very pragmatic. We’re not getting a bailout from the federal government and we’re not getting leadership—state, federal, even local. We’ve been left to our own devices.

The options for restaurants right now are to go further into debt or to close. If we make 80 percent of our income now, that’s a great day. It’s like a Saturday night with all the tables booked. But then there are days when we’ve done 15 percent of our normal revenue. Those are days where it’s actually cheaper for me to keep the lights off and close the doors.

It’s the fluctuations that really hurt us. We rely on patterns and predictability for inventory, for staffing, for everything. Now we don’t have a clue. Some of it is COVID-related some of it is related to the protests and some of it related to consumer fears about eating out at restaurants. Sometimes it’s just a viral article on Facebook that affects consumer confidence. 610 Magnolia has weathered recessions. Revenue-wise, last year was our best year ever. And we were on pace to beat that in 2020. There’s cold comfort in knowing an entire wave of restaurants will have to close.

Chef and restauranteur Edward Lee.

I devote most of my time now to my nonprofit, The LEE Initiative and the Restaurant Workers Relief Program it’s the only thing keeping me focused, hopeful, and proud. It’s very odd to have one sector of my life be incredibly successful: We’ve served over a million meals to date and opened more than 30 relief kitchens around the country. Yet I’m seeing the other sector of my life crumble before my eyes. It’s an emotional roller coaster—like watching one of your children soar while the other dies in your arms. I feel great sometimes. Then I feel guilty about feeling great. It’s hard to navigate.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami. For every effort we do, it just doesn’t stand a chance against the economic backdrop of what restaurants are going to face this winter. And what we’re seeing now is people who are basically considered middle class—who’ve worked their whole lives and never been on welfare—are suddenly food insecure. That is a whole new demographic that didn’t exist before. Some are too proud, or too ashamed, to admit that they’re food insecure. These are people I know: bartenders, waiters, dishwashers, line cooks.

Unfortunately for restaurant people, our skill set doesn’t translate well to other industries. We’re hyper-focused on one thing: hospitality. And when the industry crumbles, you have an entire population of people not equipped to do other jobs. I’ve devoted 29 years of my life to this I can’t just go sell neckties or insurance. Yet the people in power don’t see that. They don’t see restaurant workers as a valuable sector of our society. Their attitudes are, ‘Well, they can go find other jobs.’ That’s just not the case.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami.

There’s a huge feeling of abandonment. You devote your life to the restaurant business, you pay your taxes, and then you realize there’s no help coming from anywhere. People are suffering through a deep, deep depression. And the last thing you want in the restaurant business is for your restaurant owner, chef, GM, or waiter to be depressed, right? The whole point of the hospitality industry is for you to come to my restaurant and forget about your depression. We’re the ones who supply the entertainment our positive energy is contagious. It makes you feel great to be in a restaurant full of people who execute their jobs with passion and joy.

We’re not professional actors. Everyone’s on the edge of emotional breakdown. It’s heartbreaking to watch dedicated young men and women who’ve honed a craft and made this beautiful thing we call ‘the restaurant renaissance,’ which brought pride and global attention to ‘American cuisine’ and two decades ago didn’t even exist, you know…making $8 cheeseburgers to-go just to make payroll.

But that’s where we’re at. Yet you drive by the local McDonald’s and there are 20 cars lined up for drive-through. It breaks your heart to see that, and to know that by the time all of the independent restaurants go away, it’ll be too late. The customers will say, ‘What a shame.’ The chance to save them is right now.

Old-timers like me can’t pivot I am stuck in what I’m doing. But there are a lot of diverse younger people—so many Black and Latino and Indian chefs who are just starting out—saying, ‘Wait a second, maybe this isn’t the career for me.’ They have the creative energy and the verve and the youthful exuberance that the restaurant industry needs. If we lose them, I don’t see an industry that has anything to offer.

The shell of the restaurant may survive, but the beautiful energy inside may not. If the people are not there, or the people are depressed because they feel like no one cared about them during the pandemic, they’re not going to bring the same passion and energy and joy to it when they come back. It’s just a job—no difference between that and working at a chain restaurant. That, to me, will represent the end of the independent restaurant. Ons sal sien. I desperately hope I’m wrong.”

We’ve been following how the restaurant industry has been coping with the Coronavirus throughout the year. For more reflections from the people on the inside, read our Restaurant Diaries series.


I’m Afraid It’s Too Late to Save Restaurants

Empty tables stand at a covered outdoor area at a cafe in Brooklyn. With coronavirus cases on the rise again in New York, the city is tightening restrictions on restaurants. Photo by Spencer Platt / Getty Images

When Louisville chef Edward Lee was forced to close the doors to his restaurants—610 Magnolia, MilkWood, and Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as Succotash in Washington. D.C.—due to Coronavirus, he shifted his focus to helping restaurant workers in need. His small nonprofit, The LEE Initiative, launched the Restaurant Workers Relief Program, serving more than a million meals to industry employees across the country who lost their jobs or had a significant reduction in hours due to the pandemic. The nonprofit has also invested more than $800,000 in small sustainable farms among other initiatives. We talked to him about the struggles the industry faces right now, and what it’s like to run a thriving nonprofit as your own businesses falter.

“This is the end of the independent restaurant era, and I don’t know any chef in their right mind who feels hopeful right now. We have meal kits we’re getting tents and heaters. But at the end of the day, I’m on the Titanic, trying to throw out buckets of water to stay afloat. I’m fighting to save my restaurants and chefs and farmers whom we’ve had relationships with for decades. But part of me is very pragmatic. We’re not getting a bailout from the federal government and we’re not getting leadership—state, federal, even local. We’ve been left to our own devices.

The options for restaurants right now are to go further into debt or to close. If we make 80 percent of our income now, that’s a great day. It’s like a Saturday night with all the tables booked. But then there are days when we’ve done 15 percent of our normal revenue. Those are days where it’s actually cheaper for me to keep the lights off and close the doors.

It’s the fluctuations that really hurt us. We rely on patterns and predictability for inventory, for staffing, for everything. Now we don’t have a clue. Some of it is COVID-related some of it is related to the protests and some of it related to consumer fears about eating out at restaurants. Sometimes it’s just a viral article on Facebook that affects consumer confidence. 610 Magnolia has weathered recessions. Revenue-wise, last year was our best year ever. And we were on pace to beat that in 2020. There’s cold comfort in knowing an entire wave of restaurants will have to close.

Chef and restauranteur Edward Lee.

I devote most of my time now to my nonprofit, The LEE Initiative and the Restaurant Workers Relief Program it’s the only thing keeping me focused, hopeful, and proud. It’s very odd to have one sector of my life be incredibly successful: We’ve served over a million meals to date and opened more than 30 relief kitchens around the country. Yet I’m seeing the other sector of my life crumble before my eyes. It’s an emotional roller coaster—like watching one of your children soar while the other dies in your arms. I feel great sometimes. Then I feel guilty about feeling great. It’s hard to navigate.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami. For every effort we do, it just doesn’t stand a chance against the economic backdrop of what restaurants are going to face this winter. And what we’re seeing now is people who are basically considered middle class—who’ve worked their whole lives and never been on welfare—are suddenly food insecure. That is a whole new demographic that didn’t exist before. Some are too proud, or too ashamed, to admit that they’re food insecure. These are people I know: bartenders, waiters, dishwashers, line cooks.

Unfortunately for restaurant people, our skill set doesn’t translate well to other industries. We’re hyper-focused on one thing: hospitality. And when the industry crumbles, you have an entire population of people not equipped to do other jobs. I’ve devoted 29 years of my life to this I can’t just go sell neckties or insurance. Yet the people in power don’t see that. They don’t see restaurant workers as a valuable sector of our society. Their attitudes are, ‘Well, they can go find other jobs.’ That’s just not the case.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami.

There’s a huge feeling of abandonment. You devote your life to the restaurant business, you pay your taxes, and then you realize there’s no help coming from anywhere. People are suffering through a deep, deep depression. And the last thing you want in the restaurant business is for your restaurant owner, chef, GM, or waiter to be depressed, right? The whole point of the hospitality industry is for you to come to my restaurant and forget about your depression. We’re the ones who supply the entertainment our positive energy is contagious. It makes you feel great to be in a restaurant full of people who execute their jobs with passion and joy.

We’re not professional actors. Everyone’s on the edge of emotional breakdown. It’s heartbreaking to watch dedicated young men and women who’ve honed a craft and made this beautiful thing we call ‘the restaurant renaissance,’ which brought pride and global attention to ‘American cuisine’ and two decades ago didn’t even exist, you know…making $8 cheeseburgers to-go just to make payroll.

But that’s where we’re at. Yet you drive by the local McDonald’s and there are 20 cars lined up for drive-through. It breaks your heart to see that, and to know that by the time all of the independent restaurants go away, it’ll be too late. The customers will say, ‘What a shame.’ The chance to save them is right now.

Old-timers like me can’t pivot I am stuck in what I’m doing. But there are a lot of diverse younger people—so many Black and Latino and Indian chefs who are just starting out—saying, ‘Wait a second, maybe this isn’t the career for me.’ They have the creative energy and the verve and the youthful exuberance that the restaurant industry needs. If we lose them, I don’t see an industry that has anything to offer.

The shell of the restaurant may survive, but the beautiful energy inside may not. If the people are not there, or the people are depressed because they feel like no one cared about them during the pandemic, they’re not going to bring the same passion and energy and joy to it when they come back. It’s just a job—no difference between that and working at a chain restaurant. That, to me, will represent the end of the independent restaurant. Ons sal sien. I desperately hope I’m wrong.”

We’ve been following how the restaurant industry has been coping with the Coronavirus throughout the year. For more reflections from the people on the inside, read our Restaurant Diaries series.


I’m Afraid It’s Too Late to Save Restaurants

Empty tables stand at a covered outdoor area at a cafe in Brooklyn. With coronavirus cases on the rise again in New York, the city is tightening restrictions on restaurants. Photo by Spencer Platt / Getty Images

When Louisville chef Edward Lee was forced to close the doors to his restaurants—610 Magnolia, MilkWood, and Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as Succotash in Washington. D.C.—due to Coronavirus, he shifted his focus to helping restaurant workers in need. His small nonprofit, The LEE Initiative, launched the Restaurant Workers Relief Program, serving more than a million meals to industry employees across the country who lost their jobs or had a significant reduction in hours due to the pandemic. The nonprofit has also invested more than $800,000 in small sustainable farms among other initiatives. We talked to him about the struggles the industry faces right now, and what it’s like to run a thriving nonprofit as your own businesses falter.

“This is the end of the independent restaurant era, and I don’t know any chef in their right mind who feels hopeful right now. We have meal kits we’re getting tents and heaters. But at the end of the day, I’m on the Titanic, trying to throw out buckets of water to stay afloat. I’m fighting to save my restaurants and chefs and farmers whom we’ve had relationships with for decades. But part of me is very pragmatic. We’re not getting a bailout from the federal government and we’re not getting leadership—state, federal, even local. We’ve been left to our own devices.

The options for restaurants right now are to go further into debt or to close. If we make 80 percent of our income now, that’s a great day. It’s like a Saturday night with all the tables booked. But then there are days when we’ve done 15 percent of our normal revenue. Those are days where it’s actually cheaper for me to keep the lights off and close the doors.

It’s the fluctuations that really hurt us. We rely on patterns and predictability for inventory, for staffing, for everything. Now we don’t have a clue. Some of it is COVID-related some of it is related to the protests and some of it related to consumer fears about eating out at restaurants. Sometimes it’s just a viral article on Facebook that affects consumer confidence. 610 Magnolia has weathered recessions. Revenue-wise, last year was our best year ever. And we were on pace to beat that in 2020. There’s cold comfort in knowing an entire wave of restaurants will have to close.

Chef and restauranteur Edward Lee.

I devote most of my time now to my nonprofit, The LEE Initiative and the Restaurant Workers Relief Program it’s the only thing keeping me focused, hopeful, and proud. It’s very odd to have one sector of my life be incredibly successful: We’ve served over a million meals to date and opened more than 30 relief kitchens around the country. Yet I’m seeing the other sector of my life crumble before my eyes. It’s an emotional roller coaster—like watching one of your children soar while the other dies in your arms. I feel great sometimes. Then I feel guilty about feeling great. It’s hard to navigate.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami. For every effort we do, it just doesn’t stand a chance against the economic backdrop of what restaurants are going to face this winter. And what we’re seeing now is people who are basically considered middle class—who’ve worked their whole lives and never been on welfare—are suddenly food insecure. That is a whole new demographic that didn’t exist before. Some are too proud, or too ashamed, to admit that they’re food insecure. These are people I know: bartenders, waiters, dishwashers, line cooks.

Unfortunately for restaurant people, our skill set doesn’t translate well to other industries. We’re hyper-focused on one thing: hospitality. And when the industry crumbles, you have an entire population of people not equipped to do other jobs. I’ve devoted 29 years of my life to this I can’t just go sell neckties or insurance. Yet the people in power don’t see that. They don’t see restaurant workers as a valuable sector of our society. Their attitudes are, ‘Well, they can go find other jobs.’ That’s just not the case.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami.

There’s a huge feeling of abandonment. You devote your life to the restaurant business, you pay your taxes, and then you realize there’s no help coming from anywhere. People are suffering through a deep, deep depression. And the last thing you want in the restaurant business is for your restaurant owner, chef, GM, or waiter to be depressed, right? The whole point of the hospitality industry is for you to come to my restaurant and forget about your depression. We’re the ones who supply the entertainment our positive energy is contagious. It makes you feel great to be in a restaurant full of people who execute their jobs with passion and joy.

We’re not professional actors. Everyone’s on the edge of emotional breakdown. It’s heartbreaking to watch dedicated young men and women who’ve honed a craft and made this beautiful thing we call ‘the restaurant renaissance,’ which brought pride and global attention to ‘American cuisine’ and two decades ago didn’t even exist, you know…making $8 cheeseburgers to-go just to make payroll.

But that’s where we’re at. Yet you drive by the local McDonald’s and there are 20 cars lined up for drive-through. It breaks your heart to see that, and to know that by the time all of the independent restaurants go away, it’ll be too late. The customers will say, ‘What a shame.’ The chance to save them is right now.

Old-timers like me can’t pivot I am stuck in what I’m doing. But there are a lot of diverse younger people—so many Black and Latino and Indian chefs who are just starting out—saying, ‘Wait a second, maybe this isn’t the career for me.’ They have the creative energy and the verve and the youthful exuberance that the restaurant industry needs. If we lose them, I don’t see an industry that has anything to offer.

The shell of the restaurant may survive, but the beautiful energy inside may not. If the people are not there, or the people are depressed because they feel like no one cared about them during the pandemic, they’re not going to bring the same passion and energy and joy to it when they come back. It’s just a job—no difference between that and working at a chain restaurant. That, to me, will represent the end of the independent restaurant. Ons sal sien. I desperately hope I’m wrong.”

We’ve been following how the restaurant industry has been coping with the Coronavirus throughout the year. For more reflections from the people on the inside, read our Restaurant Diaries series.


I’m Afraid It’s Too Late to Save Restaurants

Empty tables stand at a covered outdoor area at a cafe in Brooklyn. With coronavirus cases on the rise again in New York, the city is tightening restrictions on restaurants. Photo by Spencer Platt / Getty Images

When Louisville chef Edward Lee was forced to close the doors to his restaurants—610 Magnolia, MilkWood, and Whiskey Dry in Louisville, Kentucky, as well as Succotash in Washington. D.C.—due to Coronavirus, he shifted his focus to helping restaurant workers in need. His small nonprofit, The LEE Initiative, launched the Restaurant Workers Relief Program, serving more than a million meals to industry employees across the country who lost their jobs or had a significant reduction in hours due to the pandemic. The nonprofit has also invested more than $800,000 in small sustainable farms among other initiatives. We talked to him about the struggles the industry faces right now, and what it’s like to run a thriving nonprofit as your own businesses falter.

“This is the end of the independent restaurant era, and I don’t know any chef in their right mind who feels hopeful right now. We have meal kits we’re getting tents and heaters. But at the end of the day, I’m on the Titanic, trying to throw out buckets of water to stay afloat. I’m fighting to save my restaurants and chefs and farmers whom we’ve had relationships with for decades. But part of me is very pragmatic. We’re not getting a bailout from the federal government and we’re not getting leadership—state, federal, even local. We’ve been left to our own devices.

The options for restaurants right now are to go further into debt or to close. If we make 80 percent of our income now, that’s a great day. It’s like a Saturday night with all the tables booked. But then there are days when we’ve done 15 percent of our normal revenue. Those are days where it’s actually cheaper for me to keep the lights off and close the doors.

It’s the fluctuations that really hurt us. We rely on patterns and predictability for inventory, for staffing, for everything. Now we don’t have a clue. Some of it is COVID-related some of it is related to the protests and some of it related to consumer fears about eating out at restaurants. Sometimes it’s just a viral article on Facebook that affects consumer confidence. 610 Magnolia has weathered recessions. Revenue-wise, last year was our best year ever. And we were on pace to beat that in 2020. There’s cold comfort in knowing an entire wave of restaurants will have to close.

Chef and restauranteur Edward Lee.

I devote most of my time now to my nonprofit, The LEE Initiative and the Restaurant Workers Relief Program it’s the only thing keeping me focused, hopeful, and proud. It’s very odd to have one sector of my life be incredibly successful: We’ve served over a million meals to date and opened more than 30 relief kitchens around the country. Yet I’m seeing the other sector of my life crumble before my eyes. It’s an emotional roller coaster—like watching one of your children soar while the other dies in your arms. I feel great sometimes. Then I feel guilty about feeling great. It’s hard to navigate.

We’re trying our best to keep everyone hopeful, but at the end of the day, it feels like piling sandbags against the tsunami. For every effort we do, it just doesn’t stand a chance against the economic backdrop of what restaurants are going to face this winter. And what we’re seeing now is people who are basically considered middle class—who’ve worked their whole lives and never been on welfare—are suddenly food insecure. That is a whole new demographic that didn’t exist before. Some are too proud, or too ashamed, to admit that they’re food insecure. These are people I know: bartenders, waiters, dishwashers, line cooks.

Unfortunately for restaurant people, our skill set doesn’t translate well to other industries. We’re hyper-focused on one thing: hospitality. And when the industry crumbles, you have an entire population of people not equipped to do other jobs. I’ve devoted 29 years of my life to this I can’t just go sell neckties or insurance. Yet the people in power don’t see that. They don’t see restaurant workers as a valuable sector of our society. Their attitudes are, ‘Well, they can go find other jobs.’ That’s just not the case.

Ons probeer ons bes om almal hoopvol te hou, maar aan die einde van die dag voel dit asof ons sandsakke teen die tsunami ophoop.

Daar is 'n groot gevoel van verlatenheid. U wy u lewe aan die restaurantbedryf, u betaal u belasting, en dan besef u dat daar nêrens hulp is nie. Mense ly aan 'n diep, diep depressie. En die laaste ding wat u in die restaurantbedryf wil hê, is dat u restauranteienaar, sjef, GM of kelner depressief is, nie waar nie? Die hele punt van die gasvryheidsbedryf is dat u na my restaurant moet kom en van u depressie vergeet. Dit is ons wat die vermaak verskaf, ons positiewe energie is aansteeklik. Dit laat jou wonderlik voel om in 'n restaurant vol mense te wees wat hul werk met passie en vreugde verrig.

Ons is nie professionele akteurs nie. Almal is op die rand van emosionele ineenstorting. Dit is hartverskeurend om te sien hoe toegewyde jong mans en vroue wat 'n kunswerk geslyp het en hierdie pragtige ding wat ons noem die restaurant -renaissance, gemaak het, wat trots en wêreldwye aandag aan 'Amerikaanse kookkuns' gebring het en twee dekades gelede nie eens bestaan ​​het nie, jy weet ... om $ 8 kaasburgers te maak net om betaalstaat te maak.

Maar dis waar ons is. Tog ry jy by die plaaslike McDonald's en daar is 20 motors wat gereed is vir deurry. Dit breek jou hart om dit te sien, en om te weet dat teen die tyd dat al die onafhanklike restaurante weggaan, dit te laat sal wees. Die kliënte sal sê: 'Wat 'n skande.' Die kans om hulle te red, is nou.

Ouers soos ek kan nie draai nie; ek sit vas in wat ek doen. Maar daar is baie uiteenlopende jonger mense - soveel swart en Latino's en Indiese sjefs wat pas begin het - wat sê: 'Wag 'n bietjie, miskien is dit nie die loopbaan vir my nie.' Hulle het die kreatiewe energie en die krag en die jeugdige uitbundigheid wat die restaurantbedryf nodig het. As ons hulle verloor, sien ek nie 'n bedryf wat iets te bied het nie.

Die omhulsel van die restaurant kan oorleef, maar die pragtige energie daarbinne nie. As die mense nie daar is nie, of as die mense depressief is omdat hulle voel dat niemand vir hulle omgee tydens die pandemie nie, sal hulle nie dieselfde passie en energie en vreugde daaraan bring as hulle terugkom nie. Dit is net 'n werk - daar is geen verskil tussen die werk by 'n kettingrestaurant nie. Dit is vir my die einde van die onafhanklike restaurant. Ons sal sien. Ek hoop desperaat dat ek verkeerd is. ”

Ons het die afgelope jaar gevolg hoe die restaurantbedryf die Coronavirus hanteer het. Vir meer refleksies van die mense aan die binnekant, lees ons Restaurant Diaries -reeks.


Kyk die video: De Smaakpolitie - Chinees restaurant niet blij met Rob (Januarie 2022).