‘The world needs what restaurants offer ... but we know that can’t happen’

Jamie Brown is a co-owner (with her husband, Jeff Tonidandel) of Crepe Cellar, Growlers Pourhouse, Haberdish, Reigning Doughnuts and the not-yet-opened Supperland. What are her thoughts during this time of uncertainty surrounding the novel coronavirus COVID-19?

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

We’re still holding steady — this is always our busiest time of year.

I actually feel quite hopeful right now because every day, my life is sprinkled with business excitement around the progress of the Supperland build out. It’s such an incredible project to restore an old church in this fast-growing city. We’re in the midst of designing our own plates — and they’re gorgeous! We’re creating a video series to tell a more in depth story. We’re picking tile, and we received our custom-made purple booths. There’s so much to geek out about.

We’re also having so much fun with the changes at our other spots. Reigning Doughnuts has new spring flavors. Growlers launched a whole new menu. It just feels like we’re in a groove.

I know there are a lot of concerns right now, but there’s a lot to be thankful for, a lot to look forward to.

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

This morning was really lovely. I met our menu designer over at Supperland to walk through our interior design plan. It’s time to work on our menus — that place will be so beautiful and unique. I can see it.

But it’s evening now. I’m a little less ecstatic.

March has been an incredible test of my mental health — going through the current pandemic and being in the restaurant business. I find myself overwhelmingly thankful that I was able to get to these consistently-stable days just two months ago with my diet. I figured it out.

Today, though, I’m not feeling strong. I feel caught up, concerned that this sickness is knocking at my door. That in the night, a shrouded demon will come and take all of us, or worse, take everyone but me and I’ll be left here alone. I’m worried I’ll have to sit beside my children’s bed with a mask on, unable to touch their skin and cover them with kisses. God have mercy.

What if my twin sister, who is a Type 1 diabetic, falls ill? She has a compromised immune system. Will I have to bid her goodbye over flipping Facetime? There’s too much to say, too much in a lifetime to express. I can’t do that over the phone. What if we have to close the restaurants and we aren’t ever able to open again? What if all these people who work for us and are counting on us for stable jobs aren’t able to make ends meet? What if they live in the fear and darkness that I’ve struggled with so terribly in the past?

It’s late. I must think more sanely.

As I lay in bed tonight, I know in my world, all really is well. My kids are tucked in. My family is healthy. Everyone laughed today. We ate well, we spent time together. Our businesses are still open. We are all right, right now. We will face whatever comes tomorrow ... tomorrow.

I’ll put this computer down and kiss my children one more time before I go to sleep.

Thursday, March 12, 2020

This was a notable day for the whole country, but I feel like this was the first day the COVID-19 pandemic really hit here. Basketball, events, concerts — all canceled.

Despite all the cancellations, I actually feel more at peace today. Maybe because I’m sensing action throughout the country — and that should slow the growth of this virus. I also feel a little better because we had people in the restaurants today. I don’t know what I expected, but I just feel grateful that people showed up.

In the midst of all of this, there are sprouts of hope that this will just be for the short term. Our team at Crepe Cellar moved forward with testing Spring dishes. I found myself relishing in the beauty of the new items because, honestly, it gives me peace that we’re still working on frivolous things. These lovely, somewhat insignificant touches of life are the things that get clouded over in hard times.

All signs of hope — and it makes me wonder what good things will come out of this unique time.

Friday, March 13, 2020

What do you know, it’s Friday the 13th. I am spending the day in the front window at Haberdish. I always love this seat.

Our team is doing a tremendous job. They all have new responsibilities, and they have to clean every hour throughout the customer areas. They’re doing a great job. I’m proud of all of them.

I have begun to feel a restoration of hope because we’re being proactive, because we still have a small number of cases in Mecklenburg County, because people showed up again today at our restaurants. But, I’m finishing up my arugula and grilled chicken salad scrolling through instagram, and it is suddenly changing.

Local brewery, Sycamore Brewing, just announced it is closing up.

Don’t spiral down, Jamie. Just don’t spiral down.

There are a lot of things to think through in a time like this. There’s safety, health, staff, jobs, rent, labor costs. I know safety and health come first. Then we also have to think about the 95 people we need to take care of in a variety of other ways.

We know people need to eat. There will be a huge shift in food needs in the home. We can help with this, we just have to find an alternative way — and we’re going to have act fast to keep the ship from sinking.

Saturday, March 14, 2020

Today, we should have two soccer games. We should also have a backyard full of neighborhood kids in our lawn this afternoon. They love to congregate on our lot and fiddle with their workshops, play soccer or happily collect miniature flowers.

But this Saturday will be different. I woke up this morning, and sent a note to my close-by neighborhood friends. I told them we’re sequestering our children for two weeks — and then we’ll figure out a plan from there.

Having all those neighborhood kids in my yard is literally one of my favorite things in life. It is a dream. But even that is on pause as we retreat in uncertainty.

Life is slower right now in a lot of ways. I’m not that hurried mom trying to get her kids to activities and blustering around to get my kids experiences. Discovery Place is closed. Soccer has been canceled. School has been called off. Playdates are out.

Maybe when there are more test kits. Maybe when we determine the mortality rate is not as severely high as we thought (#hopeful). Maybe when the summer heat comes and kills colds. Maybe then, we can all get back together.

We’ve just learned that our schools will be closed Monday after all. It’s time to pivot to becoming a restaurant owner and a home-schooling mom. We’ll adjust. What about other families in this city?

Sunday, March 15, 2020

This morning I went to Whole Foods. I did my food “prepping” three weeks ago — to make sure we had enough shelf stable goods for our family. With my kids eating a gluten free diet, and me on my super restrictive diet, I needed to make sure we all had the right stuff. Today was just about back-filling produce, and it became quite clear people aren’t making a run on things like celery, leeks and cilantro. I’ll make it another week.

On the restaurant front, we’re down about 15 percent overall. We’re just hoping for another “above the red” week. At night I pray for angels to spread their wings and cover our city and keep us all safe. I pray also that scientists will find a way to protect us with a vaccine.

Today I’m thinking about last fall and it makes me smile. The carefree, out and about, lively world we were living in ... and how it has all come to a halt. These uncertain times make me especially grateful for those past moments of bliss. They also make me hopeful for the future — that we will rebuild, we will rise up, we will be in a time of peace again. And when we get there, may we pause at the beginning of each day, and at the end of each day, and be exuberantly grateful for the beautiful time we’re in.

Who knows what this week will bring.

Monday, March 16, 2020

It’s the first day of homeschooling. My daughter is an organizer, and she took the lead on planning out our school programming. We have math blocks, free time, “specials” and reading time. We also had a dance party yesterday afternoon, but I found myself over by the kitchen swaying, looking out the window, tears running down my face. But, our home is safe.

Many other generations have had to send their boys off to war. This is a different type of war, but we can battle in a peaceful setting and be around loved ones.

Today we are meeting with our managers to determine our next course of action with the restaurants. Honestly, we’re just buying time at this point to come up with alternative revenue solutions (online, pick-up and delivery).

We know we will likely have to close for dine-in service.

The outcome of our managers meeting is this: we’re removing tables at both Haberdish and Crepe Cellar. We’re trying to abide by the 6 foot rule the CDC is suggesting. Our bar will sit parties together, but there will be intentional space between other diners.

We’re just buying time. The writing is on the wall. NYC closed restaurants. We’re just days behind that. We’ll have new online, pick-up and delivery options by the end of the week. It’s just got to happen fast.

This afternoon, Jeff sent me a picture of all our broken down tables from Crepe Cellar and Haberdish in our storage unit. This was his caption: “A million dollars worth of revenue a year now in a storage locker. We did it.”

My response: “Well done honey.”

I’ve somberly noted: getting to the other side of this might require dropping dear ones off our ship into the lifeboats of “unemployment” just so we have the stamina to get our boat to the other side of the storm. We just hope we can all meet up on the other side. We have such a tremendous team, and my heart is aching.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

It’s not really a surprise, but I have struggled with stress the last couple of days. Over the course of the last year and a half, after struggling with severe anxiety, I went with this fringe research that suggested that certain foods can actually cause anxiety. I’ve lived it. It’s real. And I’ve gotten myself to a place where only high-stress situations (like, say, a pandemic and threats of business closure) really get to me.

In these times, I’m sticking super tight to my eating regimen to help ease my mind. That means: several tablespoons of coconut oil each day, small high-fat breakfasts, eating only my safe foods, chewing my food until it’s liquified in my mouth, eating smaller meals and drinking lots of water. I’m also not attempting any food re-introductions. It’s not the time for progress in this arena.

5 takeaways from embarking on a fasting-mimicking diet

I woke up this morning at 3:30 a.m. I didn’t even wake out of anxiety. I woke out of eagerness. There’s a lot to do.

We’re going to launch a new online ordering option — a pop-up pick-up window with “contact free” delivery and curbside pick-up. The food will all come out of the Crepe Cellar, Growlers Pourhouse and Reigning Doughnut’s kitchens.

Orders will be placed online only. We will prompt users for staff tips at the time of order. The menu will be built around family-style sharable items that encourage customers to think about their next two to four meals.

We just have to make a menu, choose a name, build a website, figure out logistics, communicate we’re open for orders, change our insurance (to cover delivery drivers), and get our team trained up. For now, today is the first day we’re open after the weekend. Here’s hoping this week marks a turn toward online and phone orders at all our spots. We’ve got to ramp up fast.

Later Tuesday, March 17

Well, there are no secrets, this is life right now. I do see light, it feels far away, but it’s out there. Today, we had to let 85 people go. These are the people who have built our restaurants, the industrious workers who have showed up day after day, year after year. I am beyond grateful for everyone of our teammates that we had to cut today. I miss them and just the thought of them already. I’m also thankful for the tiny shell of a team we have left. Our job is to try to get the ship through the storm. I look forward to the day when we can have our WHOLE family back. We will most certainly celebrate ... and there will be sun, and hope, and laughter, and food. Lots of food.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

I’ve seen my husband cry four times in my life. Make that five. We had to let go of 85 members of our team yesterday. He couldn’t get the words to fall out of his mouth.

After it all happened, I stood inside Haberdish in the midst of a TV interview, and I saw one of our dishwashers, Carlos, walking toward the front door. His eyes were wet. He’s been with Haberdish since we opened. He shook his head in disbelief, his shoulders shrugged. “Thank you,” he said. Then he hugged me.

I hid myself so I wouldn’t lose my potatoes on screen. The camera man had mercy and pointed it the other way. I meant to tell him thank you.

It was early afternoon. My kids were hunkered in a booth trying to do some semblance of home schooling in this family crisis. Suddenly I realized I never fed them. I walked toward the kitchen and saw Chef Chris (soon to be Exec Chef at Supperland). I lost it. “I forgot to feed my children lunch,” I sobbed.

“I got you,” he said.

He brought out bananas and deviled eggs. The little people were happy.

In the middle of the night, I wondered if I would wake up and realize this was all just a dream. That we still have our bustling restaurants. That everything we had built was still alive. That all those people were still a part of my family.

It was not a dream.

In a strange way, I feel so grateful that it hurts so badly. Isn’t it lovely to know something you’re doing matters? Whatever happens from here, this truly mattered to me. We’ve made a special thing.

I feel stronger today. Less weepy, plus it’s go time. We managed to start Haberdish’s online orders last night. Today is the day we need to get Crepe Cellar and Growlers Pourhouse online orders going. We’re doing it a little unconventionally because we thought it would be “buzzier”, and allow us to create a menu that meshes the food from the two concepts together.

Remember that list I said we had to do yesterday? We did it. We’ve got a website, we’ve got a menu, we’ve got our chefs ready.

Earlier today, I drove over to NoDa and found my way to some glass cleaner and paper towels, a bucket and cloth—and I scrubbed the outside window at Crepe Cellar. That’s where we’ll launch our pop up business, Bring the Queen. As I scrubbed and wiped and swept, my thoughts drifted backward … to ten and a half years ago.

I remembered the first night we were opening Crepe Cellar and we rolled napkins for an hour with our new team. I also thought about how I would sit on a stool outside the door on the old Gallery Crawl nights, with a huge wine barrel as a table. I would introduce myself to passersby and collect email addresses. The night when we opened our doors, people actually came. They were people we didn’t know, and it all felt so surreal.

That was the recession. We started with nothing.

I drifted back to the present. Something happened once Haberdish became so successful, Jeff and I kind of “became” people in the community. I had never been that person before. Even though we hadn’t changed, people recognized us or they’d say they loved our restaurants. I’d walk in Haberdish and it would be chock full of people who came to dine with us.

There were hundreds of orders. At this moment, that’s all gone.

I wipe another window in front of me, scrubbing street dirt off our white paneling.

Maybe there’s something lovely in the humility of all of this. We don’t have Olga to wipe down the windows. We don’t have Berta to sweep the floor. We don’t have Carlos to get the dust pan. It was just me.

Here’s what happened after Charlotte restaurateurs started paying a living wage.

People are asking if they can buy gift cards. Yes, on our websites. You can. It actually makes a great gift for someone who is struggling with making ends meet right now. You can also make online to-go orders at www.haberdish.com and www.bringthequeen.com — open just 4 p.m.-8 p.m. and we’ll see how it goes.

We’re starting from scratch, and it starts today.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

I slept better last night. Our day was a little more settled. I had time to cook, and Jeff came home for dinner. We all ate together—browned skin-on chicken thighs, and char-roasted vegetables. I sautéed onions in the leftover chicken fat, and they came out sweet and rich.

I still cannot fathom that our business is down to a dozen people passing food out of windows. It’s a very strange feeling. I keep thinking about the word “defenestrate”—this process is literally our lifeline.

Yesterday was about getting our skeleton crew running with online orders and ready to pass bags of food out the Crepe Cellar window for our new “pop up” menu. The menu combines items from Crepe Cellar and Growlers Pourhouse that we thought would be good take-home meals. It was right at 4 p.m. when a few orders pinged the POS. I felt giggly about it. One of our managers said, “I feel like it’s our first day of business! I’m so excited!” I felt the same.

In three days, we went from hundreds of orders to handfuls, and we were hyped up about it. Amazing when you’re starting from zero— how celebratory any wins.

Over 170 Charlotte restaurants still serving takeout and delivery during coronavirus

What I see in the food community is a whole lot of love. I’m reminded why I savor this industry. The people are incredibly resilient. They’re creative. They’re servants. They’re proud. They’re humble. They’re often broken and bruised and they rise above it.

This will test us all, but we will rise over it. You’re already seeing that.

We still haven’t been able to reopen Reigning Doughnuts. I know it seems strange — because it is a walk up window. But, this type of business requires selling a certain number of doughnuts each day. If we can’t do that, it’s not worth turning the machine on. We’re waiting to see how numbers track with our other businesses in this very bizarre situation.

On another note, home schooling is going better today.

This COVID crisis, for us, was a family crisis. Two days ago, homeschooling looked more like the reality of an unrested frantic mother trying to start a new business in one day; not freak out about letting 85 team members go; slap on a second coat of make up before a TV interview (where I knew I’d drip mascara down my cheeks a second time); and forgetting to feed my kids.

This morning we went for a family walk—me and the three kids. I gave each of them a bag to collect nature. Then we sat on the back deck and shared what we found. We also collected worms for our garden. We found one that was six inches long and a wriggly little thing. I had to bat him into the cup with a stick while he bounced off the sidewalk. That made the kids laugh.

We picked about a dozen pieces of our asparagus — it’s incredibly prolific this time of year. My daughter showed me a single white flower she found with the most miniature purple lines on it. She also directed us in our own live portrayal of Beedle and the Bard. I had to play the role of “Death”.

We’re getting there.

Now that we’re set up for online orders through haberdish.com and BringtheQueen.com, my job is to help it grow. My next task is this: how to help those we had to cut this week. I’ve set up a GoFundMe site so we can raise money for the 85 people who we no longer have work for — these are our dishwashers, food runners, servers, bartenders, line cooks and prep cooks.

I have to pause. I still can’t believe it. Our industry is doing it’s part to keep our community healthy. This is the toll.

If you’re in a place to give, please consider it. You’ll be lifting up some people who could really use all of our help right now.

Friday, March 20, 2020

On a day like today, I used to post a mouthwatering picture of fried chicken from the Haberdish Instagram account. I’d use words like “Fri-yay” and hashtags like #tgif and #friedchickenfriday. Today, we’re still nose to the grindstone, to figure this new business out. We’ve gotten a better feeling of the hours we need to be open. We’ve communicated our new business offering to the community. We’ve answered PR calls, sorted out how we’re handling tips and created a new sanitation protocol for our window businesses.

I think we’ve all gone through our fair share of the grieving process, and I’m sure there’s more to come — but what I sense now is joy in creation, in rebuilding, in restoring what we had built the last ten years as a team.

It’s made me ponder about if this whole process had gone differently. Midway through this week, our business went from super successful to $0. Literally. Our business no longer existed as it was set up to be. If our business had slowly started to trickle down as people became more and more fearful of COVID-19, that would have felt worse — like a slow, painful breakup.

Just do it already. Rip off the Band-Aid.

In a way I think we’re blessed because when you start at $0, there’s no where to go but up. Our small team is excited, we’re engaged, and while we’re bruised, we’re starting to have fun with it.

Colleen Hughes, our renowned head mixologist, is going to start sealing up drinks and mixers for our take-out menu. Now, you can really bring the party home. She’s got at least two drinks starting today. We’re going to test these at Haberdish and see how they do. Then we may roll them over to our “pop up” menu, Bring the Queen.

At-home coronavirus cocktail hour: It can be done, thanks to Charlotte restaurants

There are a lot more COVID-19 cases here in Charlotte and we feel like we’re probably moving to a “shelter in place” situation soon. Like everyone else in this industry, we have no idea what that means for our businesses. We’ve been watching Seattle and New York City, and it seems to-go food is still trucking along, but we don’t know how our city will react.

Most importantly, we must keep one another healthy.

Charlotte, please give one another space. Please refrain from big meet ups on the basketball courts. Please be smart about washing your hands. We’re all in this together — meaning we all have to do our part. It’s here. Let’s contain it, let’s beat it. Then we can all get back together and celebrate.

In Mecklenburg County, almost half of coronavirus positive are ages 20-39

Saturday, March 21, 2020

I tucked my little boys into bed and walked over to our bedroom. The lights were out, but Jeff was laying on the bed checking his phone. His feet were crossed, and his toes doing their ritualistic curling. I don’t know why he does that, but anytime he’s sitting still, he’s really not.

I sat crosslegged next to him. “How do numbers look?” I asked. It was Friday night.

“We’re doing pretty well,” he said. He smiled and slowly shook his head. Our numbers have dropped to about 20% of our prior business.

“Good to hear,” I uttered quietly. Faint rustling sounds came from down the hallway — it was the boys doing their nightly ritual of building forts with pillows propped around their little bodies.

I left to take a blazing hot shower and then slid on a sweatshirt and sweatpants. When I’m feeling slightly anxious, heat always helps me. Water does too. Sometimes I’ll just drop and do 15 push-ups—that helps build warmth. Or I’ll use a hair dryer under a blanket and do squats at the same time. I always lock the door so no one comes in when that’s happening.

Socially secluding ourselves as a family feels very unnatural. We’re in the hospitality business. We love being around people. This has been an adjustment. But our family has found a place of refuge. It’s a triangular block in the heart of Plaza Midwood. And it’s where we’re building our next restaurant, Supperland.

Today, I packed up a paper bag of paint brushes, old acrylic paints I never have time to use, and some paper plates. The kids and I are painting a section of the cocktail bar’s interior wall over at the space.

Bright hues of orange and blue and green. Yellows mixed with reds — all splashing on the muted lumber wall. It’s giving us hope. It’s giving us something peaceful to do. It’s giving us somewhere to go, and something to relish in. It’s giving us a chance to put energy and love into this place in a different way.

Jeff and I used to do that in NoDa — long before we opened our first spot, Crepe Cellar. We’d sit on a NoDa neighborhood bench, or walk down the street. Sometimes we could catch a posse of hulu hoopers, or listen to a spontaneous drum circle. Other times we’d drive through the neighborhood and circle back around — just to feel it and imagine what could be — putting our energy and time into a place we believed in with all our hearts.

We’re now getting the time to do that with this church restoration project.

Someday, over at Supperland, our childish painted wall will be covered up with drywall and then overlayed with a gorgeous floral wallpaper in pinks and greens. But forever, we’ll know what’s underneath — remnants of a time when we needed hope as a family.

That’s probably the type of place this building was meant to be in the first place. A place for hope. More than 50 years later, it keeps giving.

Sunday March 22, 2020

We’re nestled in the Bible belt, and all across our city this morning, the streets are stone still. I watched a service on TV. In the last few days, I’ve been reminded of the verse, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord.”

We spent 10 years building our businesses, and now, they’ve become a minuscule reflection of what we had created. I hope it’s just for the short term.

I haven’t cursed God about any of this. He has a plan, and I’m curious what He’s doing because I don’t believe in accidents.

About a year and a half ago, I was in the throes of a magnificently difficult obstacle in the shape of a severe mental illness. Nightly, I would crouch to the floor of my bedroom, my bare hands scraping the wood panels in agony. God never left me then. He was there everyday in my darkness. He opened my eyes toward answers. He’s here now, too.

Maybe we need new ideas, new ways of doing things. Maybe we’ll become more grateful. Maybe this will make us harder workers. Maybe our children need to feel the plight of not having everything. Maybe our kids need to see life isn’t perfect. Maybe we need to see that, too. Maybe we need to get back to basics — family time, love, bonding. Maybe we need to learn how much we need one another — and then love one another more fully, with more joy, with more kindness.

Today, our family attended my niece’s virtual second birthday on Facebook. I also got some cooking done. I cook a lot. My diet is so restrictive I have to make the majority of my meals. But we’re ALL cooking a lot these days, trying to stay in the home. So, I thought I’d share the Plantain Bread recipe I make every other week.

I’ll be honest, these aren’t the BEST muffins in the world. But that’s not my priority. These muffins are made of ingredients my body can tolerate — add some sugar or honey for yourself to get a little more flavor. These are grain-free, egg-free, nut-seed-free, dairy-free and sugar-free. I can’t eat many fruits, but plantains are a safe one, so that’s the base of the recipe.

People often ask me how I can eat the way I do and be in the restaurant business. I eat this way because it has granted me the largest gift I could ever ask for — mental peace. I stay right here because I have happiness, hope, and joy back in my life.

Plantain Muffins

Makes about 15 muffins (depending on the size)

Wet ingredients

2 1/2 large plantains, peeled

1/2 cup coconut oil (plus a little extra for greasing muffin pan)

1 pack Gelatine (considered “wet” because it will be mixed with water)

1/4 cup water (to dissolve the Gelatine)

1/2 cup coconut cream (canned)

Dry ingredients

2 cups cassava flour

1 1/3 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon

2/3 tsp cream of tartar

1 tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Use coconut oil to grease your muffin pans. If you’re a butter-eater (lucky you), you can use butter.

In large bowl, mix together dry ingredients (except for Gelatine).

Separately, puree the wet ingredients in blender (including the Gelatine). You can do it by hand, but plantains are much tougher than bananas. Once the puree is smooth, mix it in with the dry ingredients by hand. Mix until well mixed, but don’t over-stir.

Glop spoonfuls of the mix into your greased muffin pan.

Place in oven for 35 minutes (small muffins) or 45 minutes for larger muffins. Ovens vary, so check if they’re done by pricking them and cook another 5 minutes if necessary.

Serve plain, with coconut oil, or with a big slab of grass-fed butter. You can keep them on the counter or in the fridge. I tend to put them in the microwave for 15 seconds to warm them up.

ENJOY! :)

Monday March 23, 2020

It’s the start of a new week and the first time you can get food from our restaurants on a Monday. “Fried Chicken Mondays” just doesn’t have a great ring to it. I’ll have to think of something else.

Our businesses have always been closed on Mondays. It’s been our day of rest. It’s the day we give staff time off to just relax, and it’s the day we use for fixing things in the restaurants. Sometimes we’ll even start a project late night on Sundays so it can be ready by Tuesday morning for service at lunch.

This week, we’re hoping to build our new takeout business over in NoDa at both Haberdish and our pop-up, Bring the Queen. As our marketing person, that’s my job. It’s Week 2. And in my head I can’t help but thinking that growth = jobs. With more growth, maybe we can pull a person or two back on our team. I’m hopeful.

As we grow though, I’m also mindful that there are dozens of other local restaurateurs faced with the same predicament. We all need to grow our businesses or there’s going to be a shaking out of some key places. That’s probably going to happen anyway.

I want to give a shout out to several of our other local restaurateurs who are all journeying along with us. We are cheering for you: Paul Manley, Bruce Moffet, James and Miracle Yoder, Frank Scibelli, Rob & Meagan Crenshaw, Paul Verica, John Dressler, Joe and Katy Kindred and dozens of others.

I was sad to read that the new Goodyear House in NoDa has decided to halt to-go operations — but I get it. They just opened this year, and they’ve been asked to completely modify their offering and pass food out of doors or windows. It doesn’t always jive. Jeff and I ate at Goodyear House the second week, and we loved it. The interior was lovely — it felt like home. They were more than accommodating with my dietary restrictions, and the place had a great energy about it. We look forward to going back … someday. All our best, Chris Coleman.

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

The Mecklenburg County “stay at home” mandate came out this afternoon. On Thursday, all of us must remain in our homes until April 16.

Personally, that means more of the same for me: lots of hats, two-minute make-up jobs, steering homeschooling activities, working between school lessons, and the cook-feed-clean routine that happens at least three times a day. We’ll choose the backyard instead of the park. We’ll send one person at a time to the grocery. We’ll visit with neighbors by having back deck dinners at the same time across our lawns.

Pardon me if this feels a little daunting, but I’ll be frank, my house is already a mess. The kids are doing entirely too much screen time between school work and movies. There’s more bickering between my boys than I care to confess.

I know none of this matters.

We have a job to do. We need to mitigate this sickness. This is number one. And it’s number one for every person on this planet right now.

My husband, Jeff, has been hoping “shelter in place” would happen. He’s optimistic that it will help pull all of us through this more safely and more quickly.

Yes, it has all crushed our businesses—all four of them, in different ways.

Jeff doesn’t seem terribly concerned about the current state of our businesses though. “It is what it is,” he says, when he scans our numbers.

Our team is doing a phenomenal job — but we can’t do the throughput or the sales numbers through windows. Gratefully we’ve held onto about a dozen jobs —and these people will be our core group as we someday look to open again.

Among the things that people CAN do in “stay at home” is to get groceries, go to the pharmacy, take essentials to a loved one, and get take-out food.

We’ll be here for that last part.

What “stay at home” will do to our new take-out business, I have no idea. Jeff thinks business will continue to grow. It’s just an easy way to feed a family—without having to cook or clean. We’ve had a tremendous outpouring of support from the community, so I’ll stay hopeful.

Our restaurants are here to cook for you in this crisis. And when I say “our” I mean every open establishment in this city. Our chefs in town can cook for you and give you all those flavors you’ve come to love in our burgeoning foodie town.

Here we are coming upon an uncharted journey — we’ve lost our ability to move where we want. But this is when we can make a difference for our community too. By distancing ourselves, we truly can save lives. It is our turn to fight together, apart.

Wednesday March 25, 2020

Last night, I sprinkled leftover pieces of steak sparsely into cassava tortillas. I’m pushing that steak out as long as I can. I covered the tortillas with a mild mozzarella. They warmed in the oven. Pinching up pieces of roasted broccoli, I heaped them on the kids’ plates. It was dinnertime — just me and the kids. Since we’re moving to a “stay-at-home” order, Jeff had to haul all his woodworking equipment from the Supperland property and return it back to our garage.

My eyes scanned around our dinner table — three precious faces surrounding me — looking at me in this uncertain time like I have any idea what I’m doing. “Let’s say our blessing,” I said.

“Dear Lord,” I began.

My mouth began to quiver.

“Watch over our city. Watch over our country. Watch over our world. Put angels around my children and keep them safe. Surround them with your love, don’t leave them for a second.”

My head lowered, my face suddenly streaming with tears.

“Hold us safe in your hands and see us through this. And thank you that even though so much has been taken from us, we are still so blessed. Help us to see you, give us hope, give us direction, give us peace.”

My last words, I uttered quietly, “Amen.”

My face was soaked with tears. My daughter’s arms were wrapped around me. My head leaned onto her shoulder.

We will find our way, we are just at the beginning. Light is up ahead — we’ll just need to keep looking for it.

The kids finished dinner just as Jeff pulled into the driveway. He walked up to the back door with a surprise: flourless chocolate cake from Haberdish.

It prompted a few deafening squeals from the little people. We needed that cake.

We diced the rich, sweet treat into portions. When your fork slices it, fudgey moist chocolate makes way for a cold cream, coffee dust and chai-spiced sweet potatoes. It’s chocolatey. It’s sweet. It’s heavenly. It’s also the enemy of children’s bedtime. So I let them each have a small piece — then I kicked them out to the backyard to run circles in the pouring rain.

This morning, I found myself jumping up and down in the kitchen in glee. My arms in the air, I had just figured out my second grader’s “Google meet” all by myself. I did it just in time.

This sure is an up-and-down road.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

I have a powerful dichotomy in my life: reduction and expansion.

In NoDa, we’ve closed our dining rooms. Our kitchens are operating at the size of pedaling food carts. We’ve had to let go of 85 people. We’ve adopted an entirely new process to keep our businesses afloat. We’ve become incredibly reliant on one income stream—takeout—formerly a minuscule part of our revenue. We’re hanging on by a shoe string.

We’ve been forced to retreat and reduce ourselves in so many ways.

But then comes the dichotomy: the other side—where retreating is not an option. My husband, Jeff, and I are building out a fifth restaurant concept called Supperland in the Plaza Midwood neighborhood. We’re restoring an historic church. It’s comprised of two buildings—one will be the main dining room, the other a cocktail bar.

This morning, Jeff and I did a FaceTime call with our plate designer. She lives in London. We have this dream of designing our own plates pulling in southern vegetables and birds and foliage. When you sit down at Supperland, we want it to feel like nowhere else on Earth. Those one-of-a-kind plates will be a part of that.

So far, they’re coming out beautifully. And it’s a good thing. We have a lot to accomplish in the coming months.

Truth is, we’re on the clock.

As of two days ago, we have six months to open.

In my head, I know it’s going to take this whole city to lift this incredible project off the ground. Despite this uncertain time, we have to set aside fears, stay bold, and continue to progress.

In my heart, I believe Charlotte will need this place. In six months, our city is going to need some wins. Maybe we could be a fragment of that spirit.

So in the meantime, as fear vehemently corrodes so much of what we’ve ALL built, we’re going to rise with hope and give this Supperland project every ounce of “heart” we can. If you want to help us build, follow along on Instagram. We need your cheering more now than we ever thought we would.

I’m grateful to have Supperland on the horizon. Maybe it’s the hope of what it will be—that we will someday settle back into a more jubilant, less fearful time. For us, it’s a beacon.

When the time comes, and the sun is out for all of us, faces eager to serve you will open our doors. We’ll pour whimsical cocktails and dish up delicious whole food off our 14-foot fire grill. It’ll be a sign of hope for our city and a place where everyone is welcome.

And once you settle in at your table, look right down in front of you. I hope you love the plates.

Friday, March 27, 2020

People have asked me how my husband, Jeff, is doing in this COVID crisis. If you know our story at all, you’ll know it was Jeff’s outlandish idea to open a restaurant in the first place. Once it settled in that hospitality was truly his passion — and even though it was the recession of 2008-2009 — I decided not to fight it. He began searching for spaces for a European gastropub concept that would eventually become Crepe Cellar Kitchen & Pub.

In the meantime, I shimmied suit pants up to my waist, unable to button them. I was four months pregnant. I had to hide it. I needed a full-time job with insurance if my husband was going into the restaurant business. Belly band securing my drawers, I fastened up my suit jacket, and mocked a handshake in the mirror.

I got the job.

Back then, I used to joke with Jeff and say, “I’m going off to work, you go play restaurant.” Now I guess we’re both playing restaurant together. With take out food passing out of windows, it’s just looking a little more like a snack bar right now.

One of Jeff’s nicknames is “Funshine Bear”. He’d be on vacation every day of the year if he could. He’s a dreamer, eternally optimistic, and frankly, he prefers to stay up in the clouds. I’m the one on Earth looking up at him saying, “Hello up there, Funshine, we’re all down here on Earth, and we have a situation. Could use the help.”

He just laughs at me. I think he likes the view from up there.

Watching him react in this very uncertain time, I find Funshine drooping a little bit down to Earth. I’m not sure I like it. He isn’t as jovial as usual, and I’m asking him more regularly if he’s okay. I think it’s the expression on his face.

Even from his usual seat in the clouds, he’s been ready for this COVID crisis. About two months ago he made several arrangements so that he could immediately close off the entire restaurant buildings in the event of an emergency. He was one of the first in town to implement new sanitary measures for staff and guests. He also ordered boxes of sanitizer and dispensers in advance of the panic.

He’s been watching. He’s been preparing.

It’s Friday, and school was out today. It’s a teacher workday. The kids are playing the yard—all three of them—and I see the strangest things happening. At one moment, there are cones all over the yard, and little feet kicking at a handful of soccer balls. I look up again and there is a string of children attached by a rope, holding something that looks like a shield. Right now, they are making their own “tribes”—whatever that means.

TGIF… tonight at Haberdish, Colleen Hughes has some new cocktail kits with the ever-popular “Spring Fever” cocktail. The drink is in our Top 5 yearly sellers, and we’re trying to help Charlotte embrace this gorgeous time of year—albeit in a physical distancing sort of way. The kit has a housemade syrup, ginger beer, garnishes and a recipe card inside. I’m reminded how hardship brings rise to innovation.

As for my husband, I’m ready to have him back up in the clouds. I prefer him up there. Despite the weightiness of financial losses and an impending pandemic, I wish he’d float on back home. That’s were he can see, that’s where there’s no fear, that’s where he can get dreamy again.

Saturday, March 28, 2020

Last night I had a dream that I had a job interview. I didn’t have any business attire, but a friend was going to let me borrow some of her clothes. I ended up in some sort of a burnt orange mock turtleneck with a midi pleated plaid skirt. When I turned sideways, the midi skirt swelled over a bump—I was pregnant.

God, no—to the whole scene.

It was all a dream. And I know where it stems from. I’ve been worried our restaurants aren’t able to sustain our whole family. That maybe I need to get out there and find work, at least for the short term. Our subconscious doesn’t lie.

I shuffled over to my back and propped myself up in my bed. Still blue light began to fill my windows. Dawn. I thought about a place about two miles north of my house. A place that has been so central in my world. Doorways that opened to rooms filled with familiar faces, teeming with people. Smiles and laughter, and sharing around tables. Hot food, servers busily, graciously making people feel at home. It’s desolate now. Was it real? I think it was, but even when I look at pictures from a mere three weeks ago, it’s hard to believe it happened with how quickly it could vanish.

I miss it terribly.

I know it still exists. It exists in a different form right now—a means of weathering this storm. And it still exists in my mind, off in the unknown future when we can all get back together again.

Most of my time is spent at home right now. I’ve backed away from our restaurants almost entirely — other than to handle our PR and social media. Our take out business jobs need to be filled by our team members, not by me.

My main responsibility right now is keeping my family healthy and fed — and home schooled.

I do feel hope. I feel hope in the new CARES Act — which will pump $2 trillion into the US economy. Our business will be a recipient of aid. Mostly I’m grateful because money will go directly to our 85 team members who helped build our restaurants. I’m also grateful though, because the financial assistance will help us re-open our doors at full capacity whenever that time comes.

Throughout this journey, I find myself looking for light, looking for hope. It’s often small, but it keeps me focused on finding even more. The CARES Act is light for us. And here’s another tiny light: we sold out of our cocktail kits last night at Haberdish and our “pop up” Bring the Queen. A bigger light: our city is being really proactive. People are distancing themselves. People are being respectful and doing their part. This will help all of this pass with fewer casualties.

Great job, Charlotte, let’s stay the course. Let us be known as one of the cities that triumphs in this time. Let us be a city where all of us “strangers” bind together to make a difference by staying apart.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Meandering outside our neighborhood, I went for a jog through the wide heralded streets of Myers Park. I found myself under the curves of newly-blossomed cherry trees. Our city sure brings the beautiful in the spring. The white petals swirled around me as I ran, falling to the ground like snow. My mind drifted off to a dozen years ago.

I keyed into a time when Jeff and I quit our jobs to travel the world. We were young then, in our 20s, and able to drop it all. We stepped away to see the world. We stepped away to figure out what the hell we wanted to do with our lives.

It was in the aftermath of that eight month trip that Jeff told me he wanted to open a restaurant.

Puffing up another hill on my run, I got to thinking about that eight-month hiatus we took. And how while it is entirely different, all of us have been strong-armed into a hiatus right now. We are all having to put a lot of things aside — incomes, activities, social outings, business growth, ideas.

We will likely never have a time like this again in life.

There’s a lot to worry about, no question, but if we’re looking for some positives, we can surely find some. For one, I woke up this morning again, my hands open at my sides. I’m grateful for the most simple things — as of this morning, we still have our health. Another positive is that this sacred time is giving us all a chance to step back, rethink, and re-imagine our realities.

For Jeff and I, over a decade ago, our stepping away compelled us into the family restaurant business. What about for each of us now?

What do we most want out of life? How can we use our passions to make the world better? How can we use this unprecedented time to jump onto a new path — one that has maybe been deep seeded for a while now? Are there problems we can help solve? Curiosities we’re desperate to cultivate?

I’m completely enthralled with the restaurant business — particularly, the joy of creating places that give people memories. They can take those memories with them. That is a gift I can give them. I love being a small part of that.

I also have another passion though. It’s a passion I’ve set aside for a long time: writing. I’ve co-authored children’s books under the brand, Bea is for Business. They all help expose elementary level students to entrepreneurship and business concepts. But over the past year, I’ve focused on writing a personal memoir about using food as medicine to heal severe anxiety.

In this strange, quiet time, it’s time for me to get brave too. It’s time for me to put myself out there to see if someone is looking for what I have written. Here I am.

What about for you?

Let us be brave, let us be dreamers — even in this time of uncertainty, even in this time of fear. Even in this time when we have no idea what tomorrow will bring.

I do know one thing that is coming tomorrow. Our company will be adding to the funds we’ve generated in our GoFundMe page, and we’re going to start distributing the money out to our teammates this week. We know they need it now. If you’re in a place to contribute, know your donation will start having an impact this week. We’re all grateful for your support.

Monday, March 30, 2020

It was at Brixx Pizza on East Boulevard — on some obscure Tuesday night — that Jeff told me he wanted to open a restaurant. After he said it, he reached out for my hand. I reached out for my beer. In the moment, I never said “yes” and I never said “no”.

The weeks following that night, I watched as this emboldened, impassioned man began taking me around to potential spaces for this restaurant concept. He knew he could do it. I wanted to believe him.

Jeff has always been a foodie. He used to make us homemade pasta each week. Often, he’d break out his grandmother’s pumpkin gnocchi recipe — the origination of the Haberdish Sweet Potato Dumplings. His nose was ever stuck in a cookbook. His favorite show was Alton Brown’s Good Eats.

Jeff wanting to open a restaurant was never a big surprise to me. Besides his constant drive to cook and create in the kitchen, the two of us had dreamed about it incessantly when we were on our travels abroad. We were both in love with the idea of creating a special, one-of-a kind place. We wanted to serve homemade, delicious food at slower pace. But what really drove Jeff into this industry was hospitality. He loves taking care of people.

In this time of COVID, our places can still provide food. That’s a big part of a restaurant’s job. But we can no longer provide a loving space where all are welcome. We miss seeing families. We miss hearing the laughter. We miss serving people, and giving guests a reprieve from their realities.

The world needs what restaurants offer more than ever right now — togetherness, servitude, love, comfort, escape—but we know that can’t happen right now. We can’t all gather together. So we’ve decided to find a way to offer hospitality in a different way—to lift one another up, dine in a group setting (in a COVID-kind-of-way), and just be together.

On Tuesday night at 7pm, Jeff and I are going to host a little virtual dinner party. Everyone is invited. Here’s the plan: we’re all going to get takeout food. Then we’ll hang out on Instagram Live together (we’ll go Live from the @haberdish Instagram account). You don’t need to get take-out from one of our restaurants—get it from a place you love, a place you’ve never tried, or a place nearby. We can all share what we’ve chosen. #takeouttuesdayclt

The dinner party is “come as you are”. Jeff and I will look as most of us do in this time when things like brushes and showers are somehow suddenly superfluous elements of life.

All are welcome, we look forward to sitting around the table with you.

Editor’s note: Stay tuned for more updates.