The Most Delicious Time of My Life
04/27/20
By Dana Cree
I can see the physical changes that the rapidly rising pressure of coronavirus has made to my ice cream shop, Pretty Cool Ice Cream. Like fossils of long gone times, we still have a sign declaring the water fountain out of order next to a box of magnetic letters pulled from our giant magnetic wall; relics of our first feeble attempts at public safety. How can it be a mere six weeks ago that we were still accommodating guests on a daily basis in two locations, hosting birthday parties in our shop, and fulfilling catering and wholesale orders throughout the city?
I now drop the term “shelter-in-place” with such ease it’s hard to believe I had never heard it a month and a half ago. I first encountered it while reading articles describing San Francisco’s new city-wide mandate, and I began building an online shop so any concerned guests could voluntarily order ahead. Sitting at the computer that weekend, I bounced between building the shop and an onslaught of emails. They flooded my inbox, coming from the other small business owners with kiosks in the Time Out Market, as well as other restaurant owners with stand-alone shops. We discussed strategy to manage the impending closure of dining rooms across the state, the financial loss it would cause to our employees, and the death sentence it could bring to businesses we run on already fragile margins.
Now, every time I descend the staircase into our basement I see piles of supplies and merchandise carried back from Time Out Market after the closure was announced, a mere 36 hours before we had to start evacuating. Behind them, a wall of brightly colored Pretty Coolers, once slated to be filled with ice cream and carried to weddings and parties across the city, now empty and collecting dust. An airport-style retractable belt stretches across our shop, once useful to barricade guests coming in to order from entering the seating area. We finally removed the sign announcing the closure of our dining room “in accordance with new regulations.” We all know to get our food and get out. A frantic weekend teaching myself how to use Adobe Illustrator produced a series of posters for our windows. Bright pink and blue little numbers with social distancing rules, a plea for guests to order online so we wouldn’t have to disappoint them at the now-closed counter, and finally a cheeky take on the British WW2 reminder to “Keep Calm and Carry Out.” I wonder if the original posters worked any better than the one I have posted.
Our catering department saw the first wave of coronavirus-related business loss. Weeks before Pritzker and Lightfoot began making announcements, our mailbox was flooded with emails from concerned couples with weddings on the horizon asking about cancelation policies and refunds, corporate clients with canceled events no one was flying in for anymore, and parents of children with spring birthdays, asking about rescheduling parties.
From the middle of March to the beginning of April, every day brought change. For each decision made and enacted, another was reversed, revised, or abandoned for new restrictions. For the last two weeks we have experienced not a “new normal”, but a holding pattern. Our fifteen-person team has been reduced to three, all pitching in to manage production, packaging, and order fulfillment. My husband has started helping out; he and I split our days: when I’m at work he’s with our baby, and when he’s here, I get to stay home with her. We have since brought back one employee, our dishwasher, but the remainder are furloughed, depending on unemployment benefits and the stipends we are providing thanks to fundraisers and tips .
All in, we have lost about 75% of our sales from four different revenue streams: shop sales, in-shop parties rentals, catering, and wholesale to other businesses.
We have been reduced to pre-ordered pick up at our Logan Square flagship location and wholesale to a few remaining accounts like Foxtrot Markets. Gone entirely are our in-shop party rentals and catering, as well as the sales from our second location.
Restaurants can see millions of dollars flow through them each year, but they capture such a slim percentage of that revenue that when the flow stops, there isn’t nearly enough reserved to pay rent, insurance premiums, and the backlog of invoices for food, supplies, and beverage purchased on consignment terms: delivered today, but paid for after it is sold to the customer. The larger the business, the bigger the gap, the faster they can come crashing down. Likewise, the smaller the business, the smaller the regular revenue, the faster they can come crashing down. And when restaurants reopen again? The amount of resources required to get a restaurant up and running again is immense. Will there be enough left to restart operations? Factoring in that most restaurants lose money in the winter months, empty dining rooms and slow sales have already shrunk any reserves these businesses have been able to collect. Lean times could become end times if the government doesn’t act fast.
But I consider myself very, very, very lucky. When I left my job working for a restaurant to open my own business, I didn’t open a restaurant. I didn’t even really open an ice cream shop. I built an ice cream company that operates its own shops. Even if restaurants weren’t considered essential businesses, the fact that I own a licensed dairy plant that manufactures dairy products would allow me to continue operations. I would simply reorient my distribution to one of my revenue streams that was still fluid, like wholesale to grocery. Of course “simply” is a relative term; it would take a lot of work to engage new accounts, adjust shipping and labeling, and improve delivery services. But we would have a lifeline and a direction to follow.
We are also a business built to collapse once a year, and contract down to our core when winter sales are at their lowest. This alone would have assisted us through this time, but its was especially helpful since we were still in winter mode when the announcement to shelter in place came in March, we were still in winter mode. Had it been a month or two later, we would have been slamming on the brakes of a high speed ice cream machine, laying off 3 times the amount of staff. More importantly, we would have taken on a financial burden to increase our production and delivery capacity.
The beginning of this pandemic caught us in the nick of time and we are still very small, very malleable, and able to pivot rapidly. I count this blessing every day, as I am positive this business would not be solvent with the burden we were set to take on and the sales we are able to capture today. With the operating costs we would have taken on in summer, I’d be desperate for government support, which has not materialized in any way for us.
When we heard that we weren’t awarded a grant from from the City of Chicago, it made me nervous, but I thought we still had a chance to be ok. And when we heard that our PPP loan wasn’t even processed, I grew more concerned, but I still believe we will be ok. We actually have employees right now, and would use the PPP loan as it was designed. What a disappointment it was to read about the amount given to the Ruth’s Chris Steakhouses of the country, about banks prioritizing paperwork for large value loans and for clients they know over the small businesses we thought the program was designed to assist. In an industry in which the first response was to raise funds and feed each other, it was easy to forget how money can corrupt, even during a pandemic.
On a human level, the first thoughts throughout our industry were for our staff. I sat in on an infamous meeting of Chicago restaurant owners, gathered to discuss our future as we waited for the governors announcement that closed our dining rooms. The entire meeting continued to circle back to one idea, “those that stand to lose the most are those that have the least”—meaning the workers we employ. How can we use the resources and position we have to help them?
On a community level, fundraisers and food drives cropped up like dandelions in spring. What the public couldn’t see were the weeks of conversation with lawyers, accountants, restaurant associations, and other business owners to sort out how to get the money into the hands of those who need it. Some said they were just giving their staff the cash and letting the government sort it out later. Some transferred it to gift cards which allowed the full value of the funds to be given immediately, but limited the way in which they could be spent. Others used gofundme.com, a fundraising platform that’s easy to access but collects a fee. Large collection pools filtered the funds through non-profits that took a percentage as a processing fee that was much lower than tax rates. Some, like us, ran the funds through our payroll system, which unfortunately reduced the dollar amount our staff could access, and cost us additional payroll taxes on top of what we distributed. But it also didn’t put anyone at risk of owing any money later, and allowed us to directly deposit the money into their bank accounts.
However funds ended up being distributed by those who collected them on behalf of restaurant workers, one fact was made clear: money doesn’t change hands without someone getting a cut of it.
We have been able to distribute a small amount to our staff twice now, through payments made on what would have been their pay day. These funds were broken up equally from a pool that contains the tips people leave when they order ice cream for carry-out, from community funds, and from a gift card drive we ran last month.
The gift card drive ended up backfiring; when we offered 50-dollar gift cards at a 10-dollar discount to encourage sales, they were immediately used to buy ice cream. This basically cost us 90 dollars per card instead of 40, and with our revenue so fragile, it just wasn’t viable. But with all our staff all collecting unemployment, the earnings from the drive helped bridge the gap between the day their wages were canceled and the day their government benefits became available.
We spent a fair amount of energy and time discussing the distribution of funds, considering not just the “how” but the “who”. Does an employee with 3 kids and a partner, also unemployed, need more support from us than a college student who lives with their parents? Is one employee going to be denied unemployment and therefore need more from us? Does an employee with a second job that is also distributing emergency funds need less from us than those who rely entirely on us for their income? How do you put a value on one person’s needs over another? To make a choice that gives one more than another is not equitable, but their needs aren’t equal either. The drive to be as helpful as possible forced us to ask the question of individual need.
Ultimately, we didn’t want to rely on our perception of each person’s needs, so we divided everything up equally. To speed up the process, we sent the funds through payroll.
We have also continued to pay the full insurance premiums for our staff who receive their health coverage through us. Usually, we pay half, and half is deducted from their wages. I hope we can continue to make these payments on their behalf. But there may come a time when I will have to analyze the needs and the sources of income, and I could be in the terrible position of having to make a choice. I just keep praying that day doesn’t come, and try not to resent a system where an individual’s right to healthcare is tied to something that can be as temporary as employment. It’s some pretty fucked up and ironic, right? That something that can make you sick forced you out of the job that provides you with the protection you’ll need when you get sick. The only assistance the insurance companies are offering are pre-worded emails to send to our staff about how to pay for their own insurance when they lose eligibility for being furloughed. Gee, thanks.
As for me, around 3 pm every day I wonder if the cup of coffee I start to crave is to combat lethargy or depression. And I practically black out whenever I am asked to speculate on the future of our industry. I can’t handle those conversations; they make my brain want to explode and I writhe internally thinking about a glass that is either half empty or half full, then wondering if I can even drink from that cup—so what does it matter?
Tomorrow is as far as I am able to begin thinking about. I’ve struggled through this pandemic by thinking about the next right choice, and making each decision as it comes, based on only the information available at that moment. No knee-jerk reactions, no flailing, no fortune-telling, no resentment. Just the consistency of gathering information and making a choice, one day at a time. It’s gotten me to today.
For the past two weeks, we have been in the kind of holding pattern that allows me to think about more than just tomorrow. We have heard that the stay-at-home orders will likely extend into June. With all the increased fears, this brings a small sense of relief too. If we are extending this holding pattern until June, then for the first time in what feels like forever, I can think about what next week might look like.
I’ve found daily joy in my husband, my family, in banding together with the staff we have left. But mostly, I fall back on the normalcy my toddler is experiencing in her daily life, waking up every morning with her parents and laughing the day away as if there is nothing in the world to care about. She tethers me to sanity. I am grateful I have a family to shelter in place with. I think about how hard this would have been if I was working from home and lived alone.
There’s a lot of fear in writing all this. In an era of call-out culture it has been made clear that even a pandemic is not enough reason to be reasonable. I fear that the choices I describe making will bring the wrath of a keyboard warrior who doesn’t think I did it right, a bad online review, Instagram vitriol. I see it spelled out in my Facebook feed, in articles, that small business owners can’t afford to take action or have an opinion others may disagree with, unless they are prepared to absorb someone else’s anger. It’s enough to make silence seem like the only safe path. In a time when there is so much to be afraid of, my fears are tempting me to stay silent.
It’s always hard to expose any vulnerable part of yourself publicly. This is something every chef knows with each plate they put in front of a guest, a feeling each small business owner knows when they unlock the front door, a reality for every writer with each piece they publish. In a time when we are all experiencing the kind of vulnerability that comes with a life-threatening virus, something as honest as sharing our own experience with extraordinary circumstances feels unsafe and scary. Right now, it’s hard for me to separate any tiny fear from that big one, the fear that I or someone I love is going to die. So it’s all just another scoop on the big fear sundae, which I will keep spooning into my mouth every day, along with everything else I’m stress-eating right now.
And I am eating it all. Everything I once consumed with some sense of moderation has received a no-holds-barred status in my kitchen. Yes, I have a sourdough starter, named Little Pizzle, after a man named Dennis for whom it’s mother, Dennis Jr. , was named. So far, it’s produced crumpets, but waffles and pizza and brownies are on the menu this coming carb-loaded week. I splurged on spice blends from La Boite, and I’ m working on perfecting my hummus. Professionally, we are remaking some of our most beloved flavors at Pretty Cool, offering them in small batches, comforting both to eat and for the memories of happier times, when the shop was full of people. I suppose, if anything, I will be able to look back on this as one of the most delicious times of my life.
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Sourdough Crumpets
This recipe makes quick use of any sourdough starter you are removing during a feeding cycle. Many recipes require lengthy waiting periods after the starter is used before you can cook or bake it, but not this! You can start cooking these right away. You will need ring molds to contain the crumpet batter and form them in perfect little rounds. But if you don't have them, you can just make flatter more abstract crumpet-pancakes. Add enough butter and jam and no one will care what they look like.
1 cup sourdough starter, removed when you feed your starter
1/4 cup flour
3 tbsp buttermilk
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1. Mix sourdough starter, flour, buttermilk, salt, and baking soda. Let it stand for about 10 minutes.
2. Preheat a pan or griddle to about 375 degrees— medium high on most. Place ring molds on the pan and preheat them as well.
3. Add a tiny pat of butter to each ring mold, about 1/2 tsp each.
4. When the butter has melted pour in enough batter to fill the mold 1/3 of an inch. Let it cook for about 5 minutes, then remove the ring. Continue cooking until the batter is tight enough that you can flip it without breaking the tunnels that have bubbled to the surface. Flip and cook a few more minutes until the top is set and starting to color.
5. Eat immediately, or let cool and keep in an airtight container for toasting later.
Dana Salls Cree is a 20-year veteran of the restaurant industry, with 15 years focused on desserts. Her career began in Seattle, and has taken her inside some of the world’s best restaurants, including Wolfgang Puck’s Spago, The Fat Duck in Bray, England, and Noma and Kadeau in Copenhagen, before she settled down in Chicago. Here she worked for Grant Achatz at Alinea before signing on with Paul Kahan and One Off Hospitality where she has helmed the pastry program for many of their restaurants, including Blackbird, where her work earned her two Outstanding Pastry Chef nominations from The James Beard Foundation, as well as The Jean Banchet award for Best Pastry Chef. In 2017, Salls Cree penned her first book, Hello My Name Is Ice Cream: The Art and Science of The Scoop, which was awarded the prestigious IACP award in the single subject category. Her writing has also been featured in publications globally, including The Guardian, Lucky Peach, Chef’s Feed, The Take Out, and Food and Wine.
In 2018, Salls Cree opened Pretty Cool Ice Cream in partnership with Michael Ciapciak of Bang Bang Pie. The shop, located in the Logan Square neighborhood, specializes in ice cream on a stick.
Dana Cree worked on this piece with Won Kim, the Quarantine Times Monday editor. Each week, Won Kim selects a Chicagoan to share a commissioned creative response to the pandemic.
