Letter to Myself Next March

Tidings from the End of July

Dearest self,

I am writing you from the end of July. Right in the middle of summer, nearly August, and I’m still feeling afraid of winter. Last one was atrocious. I hope you are holding up OK, but I’m sure you’re hunched over this same laptop–god willing you did not dump liquids or solids or both on it already–writing some doom and gloom newsletter about an imminent closure or contemplating a new get rich quick scheme. I am sure it has been very slow. I am sure you are red at the single two-top in the silent dining room.

Not that I can promise anything, but this past year, April really came to the rescue. It was unusual but it happened. I want you to know it saved our asses, and it’s possible you’ll be back in the saddle any moment now therefore. Maybe not. Who knows. I recognize that usually we have had to wait until July to see any sales. But it might come a little earlier. Who knows.

Anyway, I did not come here to remind you about the horrors and the maybes. I want to tell you there are wonderful things on the way. Maybe you are not willing to wait another ten weeks, but the time will pass.

July came suddenly this year, and we did not have to wait very desperately for tomatoes. They just arrived promptly and professionally that second week in July like they sometimes do, and we ordered them, and they came, and not one farm shorted us that first week. We had a heat wave already, which was brutal and humbling and embarrassing and wet, but it was a wonderful way to be made to show some respect for the weather that came next. It has since been quite beautiful aside from the days when the wild fire smoke traveled south from Canada.

Peppers have already started cropping up at the market, which is odd, because we always feel such accute yearning for spice nowabouts, and this time, longing was not necessary. The abundance already feels too big, and normally that emotion does not arise until September. I already feel spoiled. The splendor is nauseating, I would say. I feel a bit like things are too nice, and that is difficult. I am so afraid of the winter, even all these weeks later, because last one was so hard. I don’t want it. I would like for the government to give us each ten weeks’ pay to go somewhere else.

I am sorry I did not put away more money during the busy season, but just because there is cash flow does not mean there is an adult in the room. After all, when the skies are so tall like this, everything becomes so frustratingly visible and available and it feels impossible not to snatch it all up. To just stuff crumpled dollars into the hands of the stone fruit vendor. To be so happy of it all that I want to simply give it away.

It is hard, I guess, being in this business for reasons of loving food and all, because the money of it is revolting and really kind of antithetical to hosting a good party. On my way back from the market, I shared one of my peaches with someone I passed by, and I guessed that was the same thing as the restaurant just it was outside and free, and I think I liked it more. I am sorry I did not put away any savings yet for the slow season. I know it is the right thing to do. I wanted to serve whole roasted sole instead of skate for a while, and that was expensive. I also bought nice tuna sometimes, and that was also very expensive, and I am here to tell you not to forget how much yield is lost to the bloodline if you think you might buy tuna in the summertime or whenever Dennis says it’s good. It is kind of a good deal but it is not affordable by any means. It is truly delicious, but you never sell out, and you can only make so many things tonnato. I also bought a lot of nice cheese, which I am sorry about too, but it was not an avoidable thing. It is just as important to serve stinky food in the summertime as it is in the winter, and Roquefort has gone up in price quite a bit.

All this is to say, we have been really doing it over here, and people are having fun and smiling and having luxuries in their mouths, which is kind of the whole idea.

Something beautiful that has happened this summer and which could possibly happen again to you is that people have brought us flowers. The flowers are big and bright and alive and eject yellow pollen all over the place, and when people bring them, we just put them in a wine bucket of water because we don’t really have a vase or trust the gravity anyway. I thought maybe people were bringing the flowers because the restaurant or at least definitely the garage was a little bit hideous and dead looking. I was not offended. In fact, it felt like a lucky effect. To be plain, maybe, is to invite adornment and care. Another thing is that these restaurants are very utilitarian and literal, and it feels very nice to have friends drop by to eat with flowers because they know we are busy and would maybe like to gaze upon pretty petals while we go about the day of sandwich making.

It is all very big, the way these things happen. There is a lot of generosity, which is the revolving door we are pushing. It makes me cry, and I want you to know that, because I know you are crying for the sad reasons, but maybe in a few months your tears will pivot in tone. I joked today that we have to go back to skate next week, since our accountants said we only made $192 last month. And it is actually not a joke but rather true about returning to skate but it’s also fine. Deep fried skate with tartar sauce is a very special summer treat. Other than that, I haven’t felt much like trimming costs, because I am scared to arrive at winter without having eaten enough onions and tomatoes and lovely mushrooms or without having caused enough hedonism.

Just the other day, I was gazing at my bicycle, which I sometimes ride to and from work but which has not seen enough use yet this season, and I wondered if I shouldn’t start offering pâté sandwich delivery services and maybe also travelling handjobs. That seemed like a good idea financially, and I know my accountants will get a sort of concerned kick out of it. Sandwich hooking really is more palatable an idea than buying less produce at this time of year. And if I’m honest, I don’t think I would mind it very much anyway even though I normally advise folks to stick to what they’re actually good at. Paid labor sounds quite alluring after the last couple of years slogging at what has essentially felt like a non profit. I have nice bags on my bicycle that seem good enough for storing mustard and cornichons and bread and pâté and also of course hand sanitizer and gloves. It’s the only thing for it, maybe, for being greedy for tomatoes and knowing full well that with every invoice, I am burying you, my future self, a little deeper in the mud. I wonder how far down you really are by now.

If I don’t go through with starting that side hustle and you are therefore corrossive on the insides with debt, I am sorry. But this is what we live for, the tomatoes and the flowers and the chanterelles and the whole fish fried in butter on the stove and the luck of serving familiar faces in the restaurant. It’s why we got into this mess. I would argue it’s best not to scheme too much this winter. Just be patient and dream about sun and the happy derrangement that arrives on budding trees. And if you do have to shut down the whole entire thing, at least we did things right.

Yours in optimism and also failure,

Shaina