Closing The Kitchen and some learnings and thoughts from this time
Every few weeks I’d arrive at The Kitchen with a fresh sheaf of recipes. My cooks would fall on these with glee! The recipes looked something like this: Esnart: Roast Cabbage, XO Sauce, Red Onion, Seasoned Crumbs, Mint. Phati: Broccoli Pad Thai, Bean Sprouts, Peanuts, Spring Onions, Tofu, no noodles, Sriracha. Sandra: Shaved Cauli, slightest blanche, chimichurri, sultanas, parsley garnish. In the course of the morning, I would be presented with small sample plates of the new salads. “Do you like it, Mama?” Usually, I would be in the middle of the shop talking to customers. I’d thrust a fork into the hand of an unsuspecting customer. “Let’s taste!” Invariably it would be delicious! Everyone in the kitchen would have a taste and we’d decide whether it was worthy of being added to our arsenal.
A few lucky people get to do what they are destined to do. For me, it was the joy of making food that connected powerfully with people. Every day, I got to create, redeem, innovate and curate dishes that would bring pleasure, sustenance, nostalgia and even inspiration! I got to create a space that was an expression of myself. I got to lead a team that took pleasure in doing a job well and who, like me, loved to serve. Besides that, I got to see my friends, old and new, every day!
Uncertain of how I would be able to keep my staff and my customers safe, I closed my shop a week before the national lockdown. Already I could see: this would not end well. I made up food parcels for my staff with all the remaining fresh produce, lentils, rice and oil together with some cash and books to read.
As the weeks progressed, my concern for my team heightened. Without income, people who weeks before had had a job could now be hungry. (We are thankful that TERS UIF funding clicked in and friends of The Kitchen who donated to our team, but for how long could we go on without business?) I could see that it would be a while before restaurants like mine could operate in the way they had before. And still the bills, all the expenses that keep a business going, were relentless. With no money coming in at all, how would we pay the rent for an indeterminate amount of time? We were now reaching further into our overdraft. I was beginning to see the devastation the pandemic would leave in its wake: The loss of visitors from abroad (about 25% of our daily turnover), local travellers too, surrounding businesses closing or moving, and many of our friends working from home. Corporates and production companies, the lifeblood of our daily catering business, were closed for the fore-see-able future.
At the end of May, with huge rent bills and no means to pay them, I announced the closure of The Kitchen. We were a level-0 business, accustomed to buzz and happy queues, our entire kitchen operation open for all to see. We were set up for social intimacy and conviviality.
I said goodbye to the little sample plates of innovation and delight. Goodbye to the thrill of lunch rush. Goodbye to Love Sandwiches and Honey Mustard Sausages, to Hummus and Falafel, Lemon Squares and Tres Leches Cake. Goodbye to Creamy Dreamy Eggs, Appleteria and Japanese Breakfasts.
Achingly, painfully, goodbye to all our friends, the folk who would eat with us every day. Goodbye to the lovers in the corner, the families, the many many visitors from abroad. Goodbye to the friends who had their regular catchups on our benches. Goodbye to the sole eater, squashed between others, tuned out of the bustle and happy cacophony, savouring every minute of the selection on his plate. Gosh, how I will miss making a Love Sandwich for a hungry person, eagerly taking a bite while waiting in the queue to pay! Most heart-wrenching of all, our team – goodbye to dancing and singing, to the steady miracle of our range of salads that populated our salad fridge and to the thousands of catered lunches, dinner parties and cocktail parties.
In the middle of this grief, I began the lonely task of closing up and terminating business. I sold tables, lights, fridges. I packed up my vintage shop counters and benches. Deep in our bones is the will and instinct to work, to persevere, to believe that everything will be fine if we keep putting on that apron, chopping, carrying crates, and fixing. Being the owner of a restaurant is one that comes with tremendous joys but also immense responsibilities. In losing so much, I also said goodbye to the cold room that was constantly breaking down, the new air-conditioners that got stolen, the constant worries for the safety of staff and their families, and the anxiety of paying the bills every month.
Restaurants are locales of culture. Around a table, people learn, connect, argue, teach, love and hatch plans. At best, they share something delicious together. This connecting will always be what we long for. Our task now, is to imagine how to come together again. How will we gather? We need to be open to new ways of thinking, new ways to love and be of service and ways to keep each other safe. In the words of Arundhati Roy, “Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next”
How will we “imagine the world anew?”
This crisis has shown us ways that the business of feeding people can improve. We have learned that we can live with less. We do not need as much choice as we thought we needed (5 superb salads rather than 15 are more than enough!). Restaurants need to determine prices that are fair and sustainable rather than allowing our customers to determine the price. We need to grow and upskill our workers to be more versatile and agile and take care of them much better than before. We need to share industry knowledge and intel. We need to reduce waste, using every part of our precious produce! We need to use tech to optimise our industry, harnessing platforms for procurement and delivery. It might be that the very way that kitchens operate need to change. We need to feed more people – nutritiously and affordably! Importantly, the brave people who are beginning this work with a new mindset need all the support that they can get from customers, banks and business. Young food entrepreneurs will need support to learn quickly from the past, collating the learnings that restaurants and the industry have gleaned in this time. We need innovation and the gritty determination that chefs have always had!
More than ever, it is not enough to show up (Yes! Even now!). We will need to bring something distinctive to a bruised market in need of comfort and sustenance, a people ready to gather!