What’s happening to small farmers and the independent restaurant world is unimaginable—and it’s happening fast. COVID-19 is not only taking lives but obliterating what matters to so many of us. As California starts to carefully reopen, we’ve arrived at a moment of mass recalibration, and our ingenuity in response to this crisis will determine our future. I spoke with a few of our friends to get their take on what’s worked, what hasn’t, and what should be next. One trend was pain and frustration. Another was community. Yet another was, amazingly, a new, different kind of success.
Christy Vega’s family opened Casa Vega on Ventura Boulevard, a restaurant whose red booths and old-school vibe is so iconic that Quentin Tarantino shot there for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. With 58 employees, Christy pays $9,000 a month in worker’s comp alone, and then there’s all the service and top-quality ingredients. They offer a real retro LA experience—it’s a place to grab casual tacos and margaritas with friends on any old work day and also a place to gather and celebrate life’s milestones. It’s a Los Angeles landmark.
“It’s astronomically expensive to run a restaurant,” she says. “Most people don’t realize. I like to describe it as a huge ship running on cents.”
When COVID-19 hit, Christy closed down for the health of her family and employees. She spent nail-biting weeks waiting for the stimulus loans to come through, finally making it in the second round. The payback guidelines are murky though, and poorly thought out. In order for the bulk of it to be forgiven, she has to revive her entire payroll—never mind that half have dispersed, many to Mexico. If she doesn’t figure it out, she’ll have to reopen with the burden of a sizeable loan.
Christy’s pivoted hard in response, creating a drive-thru station in Casa Vega’s carport. She’s also found a way to make it true to the restaurant’s historic brand—her takeout has actual car hops who come out to each car. In rare happy news, their revenue soared on their very first day of takeout.
Chef Teresa Montano of Otoño has pivoted hard as well. She turned her entire dining room into a specialty market with products from Spain and tapas she makes herself. She didn’t want to support the big business of GrubHub and Postmates, and worried about the lack of accountability once her food left the restaurant.
“For me personally, the market has given me purpose and the ability to maintain my brand and presence in the community. We are building on our menu and offering fresh bread, sandwiches, and tapas from the kitchen. It’s going really well,” she tells me. “I’m so grateful and pleased with the support from the community.”
On a recent Sunday, I bought her sourdough bread (it’s excellent), tuna conserva, and a delicious orange wine and spread it all out on a backyard blanket with Iberico ham and Manchego cheese. It almost felt like a vacation.
Among the chefs and business owners who moved to takeout and delivery, frustration with apps seems to be a common theme.
As Uli Nasibova of Gelateria Uli said, “The problem is, not only do the delivery apps take a 30 percent cut but they also only deliver to a five-mile radius around our stores, so we have very limited coverage.”
She too had applied for a stimulus loan and was waiting in suspense for it to come through. In spite of the fact that she’s now home with her children, she’s made the decision to load her farmers’ market gelatos into her car and make the deliveries herself. Uli also set up a GoFundMe to help keep her kitchen open and help her employees get through this tough time.
I found Chef Kevin Meehan of Kali Restaurant to be more cautiously optimistic. Two years ago, I remember him showing me a tapestry of edible gardens he’d set up in his Larchmont neighbors’ backyards, for a different piece I was writing at the time.
A lot’s changed since then—including receipt of a shiny, well-deserved Michelin star, which gave his business enough of a boost that, for months, he put aside ten percent of everything he earned. It was a rainy-day fund that so few people in the country seem to have managed to achieve. That and the Kali Family Fund he set up for his employees, are carrying him through. Oh, and a cooperative landlord—a huge plus.
Kevin is expecting to reopen but is also waiting for a time without the thermometers and plexiglass we’re hearing about in restaurants overseas.
“That’s not the kind of experience I want to give my guests,” he said.
In the meantime—silver lining—Kevin’s spending time with his five-year-old twins. Time which is usually hard to come by, adhering to the schedule of a busy restaurant chef.
Regarding rent, Fran Comoj, one of the founders of The Gjelina Group, had strong feelings about cooperative landlords as well.
“On March 16, the government told tenants and landlords that their property could not be used. A compelling argument can be made that commercial landlords owe tenants a rent refund for March 16-31. Sure, it was not anyone's fault the property could not be used. Certainly doesn't seem like one party should absorb all the responsibility, however. The idea of paying 12 months of rent for a property when you were only legally allowed to use it for 10 months (as a hypothetical) is wholly unfair,” as Fran tells me.
Though they shuttered MTN and Gjelina, Gjusta was doing well until Fran came down with the ultimate curveball: COVID-19. After exhaustive restaurant steps and personal recovery, he reopened two weeks later and leaned in the direction he always wanted to go, becoming Gjusta Grocer. When I called the other day, the online ordering system was down because it was mobbed.
“Gjusta is fortunate that it is more bakery/deli than an actual restaurant,” he said. “We already sold bread, cheese, meat, and retail items like granola, spreads, etc. We did layer on eggs, milk, flour (people bought 50 lb. sacks), wine and yes, even toilet paper…So to answer your questions about how it went and sustainability of the model, my answer is it has gone quite well,” he says.
In many ways, the coronavirus crisis has shone a light on what wasn’t working in the restaurant business before. As chef Liz Prueitt of Tartine Santa Monica said: things will have to change.
“Besides honing and sharing survival tactics with other restaurateurs, I see a threefold situation: the restaurant business going back to its roots of hospitality, welcoming, and ‘feeding.’ Fixing political city infrastructure that lead to the quick shuttering of so many restaurants—no matter the size. And lastly, addressing the internal inequality of the running of a restaurant, where there is such a wide earnings gap between front of house and back of house,” she shares.
The new restaurant that emerges won’t just be different because it’s operating at half capacity with more space between tables; it will also have to improve, especially as our economy struggles to revive and adapt. That means celebrity chefs might have to get back to the line. Landlords might have to withstand the temptations of gentrification and give tenants a break. Delivery apps might have to take a smaller percentage. Diners might have to be willing to pay that extra 10 percent for employee healthcare. Unless we want a homogenized world of chains and mass-produced foods, we’ll all have to make different choices to support the restaurants we love—simply so they, and we all, can survive.
