Rebuilding an Industry with Community in Mind
05/22/20
By Dylan Heath
Photo from Chicago Magazine.
Toast, a brunch place with two locations in Bucktown and Lincoln Park, closed down permanently. The workers have to somehow find new employment amid the largest unemployment hike in recent history. The owners have to build up their lives again. The customers have to find a new place to eat and enjoy each other's company.
Crown Liquors closed as well: the Logan Square bar tucked behind a liquor store of the same name has been open more or less since prohibition. They showcased local music. They allowed lesser-known chefs to host pop-ups. The first pop-up I did with Pink Salt took place on their patio, grilling pork skewers. The heat from the charcoal and the summer night soothed by drinks delivered to me by strangers. Their smiles and words of encouragement made me feel like part of a community.
These are the first two spaces I’ve heard of that closed because of the quarantine. They were told to shut their doors, and did so happily to flatten the curve, but will never open them again. These are the first, they 100% will not be the last. It’s a hard fact I spent the better part of the last few weeks thinking about in a deep depression. Every restaurant closure will be a tragedy because every restaurant represents hard work. Hard work on the part of the workers coming in every shift and the owners pausing their life to support the space day to day.
Most of the restaurant industry still represents some form of the “America Dream” (As problematic as that dream can be). For the most part, restaurants can still be a way to build up middle-class wealth, especially in underrepresented communities. Even mega-chains can make good in the world by providing jobs and feeding people. But a growing section of the industry has become an inflated behemoth standing on the shoulders of those it is meant to support. Heedlessly pushing our faces into the mud, using our bodies to stay clean. It is turning into a bloated and grotesque theology, with masses lapping up its dogma like religious zealots. Every click-bait article touts things like the “perfect soft boiled egg.” The “best burger in the country.” The “last sourdough recipe you’ll ever need.” Those superlatives are more harmful than good.
We developed two television networks, hundreds of magazines, thousands and thousands of cookbooks. We started giving ourselves awards, public masturbation dressed in expensive suits. The industry can not support our inflated egos, anymore.
I’ll admit I am a part of the problem. I have more cookbooks than I should. I’ll never have time to read them all, let alone cook anything from them. As I wrote this, I condescendingly explained what a lame (pronounced lahm) was to my partner. These microaggressions are automatic, born from years of cultural approval. We all have them, we need to take the time to change them if we want the industry as a whole to grow.
Change will be hard. Each closing will be heartbreaking. But they give us a unique ability to build back our industry into something better, less toxic, focused on community and preservation. I have been in this industry for over a decade. I started out washing dishes when I was fifteen. I took a short break to attend journalism school, but something kept bringing me back. I worked my way up the kitchen chain until most recently I became sous for Pink Salt. The thing that keeps bringing me back despite the long hours, the low pay, the physical pain, is the deep community. My coworkers are my family, the regulars are my friends.
My biggest fear is we will come back without the independent family-run restaurant. Only those with the money to ride out the quarantine will be able to stay open. Hip, over-designed space with no soul, owned by a multi-million dollar restaurant group will replace the local restaurant. Some famous chef, known the world around, brought to you by McDonald’s. Workers suffer, consumers suffer, cuisine suffers. Culture blends together and food becomes boring. Capitalism runs amok and mediocrity inflates beyond its means.
Owning a restaurant is becoming some rich person’s replacement for not having a personality...or taste. What used to be fucking hard work, will become a currency all on its own. It’s a story you can tell at parties. It’s a card you can play in business meetings. Where restaurants used to be a way for families to build themselves out of poverty and pass wealth down generationally, soon those restaurants will be overtaken by Michelin star awarded banality and James Beard-nominated narcissism. I fear a world built on meaningless accolades instead of furthering community and culture.
We need to wholly revamp the hospitality industry. One built out of the best parts of our community. One that centers on the protection of its workers and the environment. Restaurants owned by workers and profit-sharing programs. Given more voices, we can figure out a living wage and healthcare for everyone, including undocumented people. Right now it reeks of self-importance. It’s stuck in a world of gladhanding and mediocrity with a veneer of cool. Chef has been synonymous with rockstar for decades now. The racism, the classism, the transphobic comments. Everyone who’s worked in this industry for any amount of time has a story.
The industry has the potential to create its own new paths, free from greed and competition, free from inflated egos and toxic environments, free from the hidden cost that doesn’t show up in the bill or the building, but on the backs and the feet of the workers.
We need to let go of our mistaken assumption that a single chef does everything. Without the cooks, a chef can make a pretty plate but not much else. Without the front of house, a chef can make tasty food, but can’t sell it. Without the farmers and producers, a chef just occupies a space. Coming together in a true community, one that supports itself and grows within itself, will be difficult. It’s going to require a lot of changes, people will fight against it, but if we truly want to be in hospitality we need to be hospitable to everyone.
I want to make it clear, this is not a concern over one person or restaurant. It is a cultural-wide problem. But that means it can’t be fixed by an individual, instead, the whole industry needs to come together to do the most good. There will be growing pains. We will see more closings before we can right the ship, but if we use this momentum we can build something stronger and more important.
Dylan Heath is a cook in Chicago. He has worked in places such as Cafe Marie-Jeanne and Cellar Door Provisions. Before that, he wasted his time and money going to Journalism school.