#possibly because his name is a donut chain and a state
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sherdnerd · 10 months ago
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The Messiah to my Dune
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queer-whatchamacallit · 1 year ago
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Just rewatched 1x04 “Dogs” and here’s what I got for ya :D
Carmy’s “It’s on me now,” when talking about the debt Mikey and Richie put The Beef in, he doesn’t want to get into it being “his brother’s house,” it seems like everything there leads back to Michael, and that’s how he likes it, but he never wants to talk about it
“Name one cohort, name an associate” is one of my favorite lines lmao
Carm seems especially hot tempered in this bit, maybe because he doesn’t want to be catering a kids party, maybe he’s just not doing great after Mike’s birthday
“I answer to Jeff, the system” I love how T has incorporated Carmy into her idea of how The Beef functions, at some point he became part of the system :]
Carmy going to Cicero’s old address both shows how much everything has changed while he was gone and that he very much didn’t have the energy to keep track of any of it
One of the big displays of how the Berzattos want to be listened to but never listen to each other is the Cicero vs Richie argument, they’ve been at each other’s throats over a simple misunderstanding for 5 whole years
I need the “how she fell down those stairs” story please please please
I’m sure we’ve seen the post about the Mr Szorski (?) and how if someone heard “one of the Berzatto boys committed suicide” their head would easily go to Carmy instead of Mikey and… yeah ow
People should call Richie “Dick” more, it’s literally his name
“Richie what the fuck is that?” Carmy asks and you can almost hear his stomach drop in his voice when he sees the Xanax, also, this in combination with the “is there a name for that thing where you’re scared of a good thing happening because you think something band’s gonna happen?” “Life?” Starts to feel like Richie does genuinely have anxiety shit, and Carm’s “Who doesn’t?” Creates an interesting dynamic between them, they’re both really fucked up and reassuring the other that it’s completely normal
Gotta love Carm’s brag of “homemade Ecto-cooler motherfucker!”
And Chester’s “it’s this radiant orchid that’s fly as fuck”
There’s also the post about Marcus blowing off his work for the donuts because he thinks that level of dedication is what Carmy wants and the 1x07 breakdown mostly being the result of miscommunication, and yeah, Marcus’ “I want it to be perfect, like that plum” contributes to that
“You have given Marcus a lot of confidence, well done” from Ebra to Syd is so sweet omg
When Carmy has to go inside the party, he asks for ketchup from anyone and everyone, trying to get out of there ASAP
I think one of Carmy’s biggest love languages is words of affirmation, ie: Pete saying he worked at the best restaurant in the world (and that’s not an exaggeration), plus Pete telling him later about following his career and stuff, and suddenly Carmy likes Pete now
Jimmy goes “that fuckin kid” and Richie just says “that kid” in a way that feels detached, pretty much any time Richie talks about Mike, it feels like he’s just stating facts and trying to keep his emotions out of it as much as possible
Pete (loml) being so insufferably awkward <333
But also him being so sincere and “she also really missed you a lot too,” Carm’s been completely bombarded by his family yelling at him and I can only imagine how nice it was to hear that
Unless the cross got stuck by his coat or something, Carm’s necklace is just a gold chain
Cicero isn’t Italian, but he’s still related to Carm’s dad
“When was the last time you saw him?” And “he never lands” both point to him being alive (at least that they know of, this is a reckless guy that was last seen 20 years ago)
“Drugs, alcohol, gambling, mostly because he insisted on doing stupid fuckin shit all the time” Carmy’s eyes looks up from what he was doing to look at the picture again and I have this thought that this is him going ‘hey, that sounds familiar’ and Jimmy starts talking about Carm’s dad hopping careers and Carm knows for sure that Michael was a lot like his dad
“I’m in there for 5 minutes, I start thinking about bad shit” “I think that’s why I like it so much,” he’s not someone who avoids reliving his traumas, he’s always trying to take what hurt him and regain power over it, and now, we know he’s aware of this pattern of his
I think the kid in Cicero’s dream was Carmy. I think he really tried to look out for the Berzatto siblings, but the other two were already affected by their dad’s presence, unlike Carmy who just saw his absence, but Cicero always tried to put on a brave face and offer a helping hand to Carm. They seem close
“Taste it and tell me it’s shitty,” I don’t think Tina’s ever had that level of effort and care required of her in The Beef, and now, she’s terrified that when she really, truly cares, it won’t be good enough
But it is, and her “Thanks Jeff… Chef” means the world to me
Carmy isn’t good at articulating his thoughts, but sometimes, he’ll figure out his own methods of non-verbal communication, like his point to Marcus, and I think Marcus does get his intended “I care, good job Chef, I love to see you improving” from it
So I think that is all!
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nachohypno · 5 years ago
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Nate and Dave Ch. 2
Needless to say, I kept the jock with me for the night.
We had dinner at my place (Mom was very surprised to see me hanging out with a guy from the football team. We had to make up something about being together for a project and befriending each other) and I tried to examine Dave’s behavior as much as I could.
How many persons can say that they had dinner with a werewolf? 
He seemed to eat like a bodybuilder in a bulk while training for a tournament (I’m sort of interested in those topics, so I know what I’m talking about).
We just did some casual chat with my mom, until we finished and went back to my room. I closed the door and looked at the jock on the center of the room. “Hey” He said with a smile.
“Got a few more questions about the… werewolf thing” I went straight ahead to the interesting topic.
“You sure it’s safe to talk about it here?” He said, looking over my shoulder, probably checking if the door was closed.
“Yeah, the walls are good” I said. Mom wouldn’t hear anything unless the door was opened, which wasn’t. “So tell me, are your parents werewolves too?”
He nodded. I walked over to the bed and sat down again as he explained “Yeah. I’m a purebred, both dad and mom are werewolves” He said, quite proudly.
“But don’t you guys have to find your soulmate?” It didn’t really make sense.
“Well, yes and no. It’s kinda a random thing? Like, some of us don’t really have a soulmate to give themselves to, so they chose to be together on their own” Ouch, that sounded like he didn’t really want to be with me. He noticed and quickly retracted though. “Meanwhile, I want to give myself in mind and body to you, for some reason. And I’m loving it, bro!”
It wasn’t as complicated as I thought it was. But I still had some questions.
“What about full moon? Do you have to… chain yourself or something?”
He laughed “Movies don’t really do me justice, huh?” I raised an eyebrow and waited for more explanation. “I just change to my werewolf form, nothing painful or anything. Just a pain in the ass if you want to fuck your girl at that night but they can’t know about your nature”
I opened my eyes, a bit surprised “Can I see your werewolf form?”
He nodded, happily “Yeah, bro! But you may want to lock your door, just in case”
I went and locked it from the inside. This was going to be really epic and mom couldn’t know about this.
Dave looked over at me and took a deep breath “Wait, bro. May I take off my clothes first? I really like this shirt”
“Uh… Sure?” Were his clothes going to be ripped apart if he changed to his werewolf form while dressed?
He took off his letterman jacket and his shirt, revealing his sculpted body. He was hairy, but that wasn’t a surprise. His torso had a small amount of hair. He probably tried to keep himself smooth, but couldn’t? God, I had so many questions.
He kept undressing, until he dropped his underwear. I noticed he was hard. I remember he said he enjoyed obeying me, and that it made him happy. Never thought it would make him this happy.
I whistled a bit at his looks. He blushed and gave me a sincere smile. “Like what you see, bro?”
“Can’t lie, I really do” I said, returning the smile.
He chuckled, but his expression turned a bit sad “Please, don’t be afraid of me, bro. I won’t be able to handle seeing my love afraid of me”
“I’ve asked you to transform, so don’t worry” I wanted to sound brave, but it was actually unnerving.
Dave remained still for a few seconds, when I noticed his corporal hair started to grow. His head also changed, the lower part resembling more and more to a wolf snout rather than a normal human head. With where his human nose used to be morphing into a dark brown spot.
The snout was brown while his body got light brown hair all over it. It didn’t seem painful at all, like he just concentrated and zoned out while his body morphed. Maybe it was magic?
His ears got pointy, like that of a Hylian, from Zelda. His brows grew thicker, and his eyes grew a bit too, they also remained blue. His short hair got a bit longer too, and messier.
Shoulders grew wider. His body was now completely covered in fur, ranging from lighter brown tones at the front to darker tones at the side and back of the wolf-jock.
His hands got those paw pads, and his nails turned into claws.
Needless to say, his cock also grew a few inches, and surprisingly that zone had shorter to no hair.
That’s a good wolfie.
A tail appeared at the start of his butt cheeks, which made me chuckle a bit. He didn’t even notice; he was like in a trance during his whole morphing process. He didn’t look THAT menacing either. It was like some kind of… humanoid wolf. Or a furry, if you prefer that way.
He looked cute.
When it was over, he smiled. Or what seemed like a smile. Four fangs where visible on his mouth, and just like I said before, I found it cute.
“Well?” He asked “How do I look?” His voice sounded a bit deeper and rougher than before.
I walked up to him and hugged him. He was like a human (really tall human) sized plushy bear and I loved it.
He hugged me back, I could feel the nervousness fading from him as he pressed me tighter. “You’re really cute” I told him after breaking the hug.
“That wasn’t… what I expected, but thanks bro. I’m so happy you don’t mind me being…” He pointed at his body “…Like this”
I admired his body frame a bit more before returning to my senses. “D-did… Did it hurt? It seemed like you zoned out while you transformed”
He shook his head, like it was the most usual topic in the world “Uh, no. It only hurts for those who have killed off another person. It’s a kind of punishment, you break the rules and you pay for your entire life”
I nodded. A bit dark, not exactly what I was expecting but still, it made sense.
I looked at the discarded clothes on the floor “Did you get naked to avoid ripping your clothes?”
He looked at the clothing at the ground and proceeded to grab it all “Uh… Kinda. I can wear clothes, but I’m afraid to rip them off when my body grows to the werewolf form” He put on his letterman jacket, but left it unbuttoned.
You could still see his ripped abs and pecs. I passed a hand over them and noticed him smiling.
“You’re cute too, bro” Then he snorted “Thought it would be weird. Saying that to another guy, but it feels right when I’m with you”
I gave him a kiss on the cheek. I don’t think we could make out if he had a wolf snout. May try someday, but not today.
Just then, I noticed his cock was still hard. The foreskin was the same color than the light brown hair at the front of the guy, meanwhile the actual cock contrasted with a strong red-pink.
“Hey, touch me if you want. I belong to you, remember? In mind and body”
Seeing Dave, the star quarterback from high school, telling me that he wanted to be played with was amazing.
I’m a virgin, and I don’t think I’m ready to be with another guy yet. I would like to wait some time, but… a hand job doesn’t count, right?
I gave his cock a few strokes, and noticed he started panting. Tongue lolling out again and eyes unfocused.
“You like that, don’t you big boy?” Would he like being talked to like a dog? I mean, he acted like one already.
“Yeah bro… keep going…” he panted, in pleasure.
“You want to be a good puppy boy, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah… a good puppy boy…”
I let go of his cock. I had an idea.
I went over to my closet as he returned to his senses, snapping out of what seemed to be a relaxed state. “Did I say something wrong, bro?” He asked, with a sad tone.
“No! You were perfect! But…” Got it!
Inside a box in my closet, I had stuff from when I was little. One of those things was my old dog’s collar. His name was Donut (Rest in peace).
A red collar with a little tag. I removed the tag and showed the collar to Dave. It didn’t fit his style at all… We’ll go buy some puppy stuff tomorrow.
He was a bit confused, but stood still as I put the collar around his neck and buckled it in a way that would be comfortable to him and would also stay in place.
“And… done” I mumbled. I looked up at him. “Comfortable?”
He moved his neck for a few seconds before nodding “Yeah, pretty cool. Is it a gift? From the love of my life?” He asked, excitedly.
“Unfortunately, no. It’s from my old dog, but I’ll buy you one tomorrow if you want a gift.”
He immediately gave me a hug “I want to kiss you but I can’t”
I laughed “Easy puppy, sit down”
He let go of the hug and sat down on the floor, looking up at me.
I petted him “Good boy, now human time!” He nodded and stood still as the morphing started again, but this time in reverse.
His snout went back in as his head returned to the normal Dave. His fur… vanished? It started to grow shorter until it was just like before. Dave’s shoulders got reduced too.
The pads at his hands disappeared, and the claws turned back into normal human nails.
He was again the human, naked jock, with an open letterman jacket showing off his pecs and abs and a dog collar around his neck.
As soon as his morph finished, he got up and leaned towards me, grabbing my face and pulling me into a warm make out session.
His hard cock was still leaking pre. Again, he noticed me looking and said “I’m okay if you want to have sex. Done it a lotta times and I would focus on making ya feel good, bro”
I shook my head “Not ready yet” Grabbed his underwear and passed it to him. He took the message and wore it back on. I assumed he was a bit disappointed because of the lack of sex.
“Did you tell your parents you’re staying the night? I’m worried that they’ll think someone caught you or anything” I was mostly scared about a possible couple of werewolves tracking me down because of their son.
“Did back at the dinner, also thought about breaking up with Leslie but…” he shrugged “I would be a real asshole if I broke with her via message”
I nodded, turned off the light and got on the bed.
He just stood there, then laid down on the floor. His dog manners were a mix of cute and weird, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.
“What are you doing? Get on the bed, Dave” I told him.
He got up immediately with a big smile and climbed the bed, laying down next to me. (He was actually bigger than me and pressed me against the wall. It was warm, though).
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’ll make up for it, bro” He pulled me closer to him and I laid my head in the space between his shoulder and his pec. “I love you”
I still didn’t know how I felt about the jock. I mean, yeah. He is hot, and we’re supposed to be soulmates but… “Sleep” I said.
Just like if I pressed some kind of shut down button, he gave me a last smile before falling asleep, complete with an almost silent snoring and everything.
I didn’t know how I felt about this whole situation.
To summarize, and see if I got everything correctly. One of my classmates, and one of the hottest guys around school, is a werewolf. Not only that, but he has to do everything I say, without any limits at all. He’ll also do it in complete bliss because he’s my soulmate…
Does that mean he’s the only love I’ll be able to have, or something like that?
I remember him being really asshole-ish to everyone, a guy who wouldn’t hesitate about beating up a nerd who didn’t comply to what he said, or a gay dude just for being gay.
He never got to me, luckily, I just heard rumors.
But he wasn’t lying, and this seemed real enough. I even saw him transforming in front of me, twice.
A lot to process, I guess. Maybe this is all a dream? It couldn’t be, as I said I just watched him transform in front of me.
I hope things get clearer tomorrow, for now I just want to sleep.
I closed my eyes and cuddled with the jock, quickly drifting off.
---
Next morning, I noticed Dave was hugging me as we cuddled together.
Good thing that it’s Saturday, I still haven’t figured out how things are going to be at school. Having some time to think was really nice.
I opened my eyes and found the guy staring at the ceiling. I bopped his cheek and he turned his face to me.
“Oh, you’re awake bro” He smiled “Morning”
I yawned “Good… morning. How long have you been awake?” I said, as I tried to stretch, but the werewolf apparently wasn’t going to get his arms off me. “And could you give me a bit of space?”
He nodded, and he got up from the bed. That wasn’t what I meant but it was still appreciated. “Uh... I don’t know, bro. A while?” He scratched his head. I noticed he still had the dog collar on and it made me smile.
Just like yesterday, his cock seemed to be hard again. Was this going to be a normal thing? I heard jocks are horny all the time, so maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with him being a werewolf?
“Can you turn your morning wood off? It’s sort of making me nervous” I said.
Surprisingly, his cock got soft almost immediately. I looked up at him his eyes were a bit unfocused again, with his trademarked idiot smile on his face.
Great, I can also control his hard-ons. “There’s really no limit to my control over you, right?”
Dave snapped out of his… whatever that was, and looked down at me. “You’ve seen it yourself, bro” He started, as I sat on the bed. “You have complete control over me, as my lovely soulmate”
I rubbed my eyes for a bit. This was really happening; it wasn’t just a weird dream.
The almost naked werewolf jock was really standing in front of me, talking normally about me being his soulmate and controlling his mind and body. “Am I making you uncomfortable, bro?” He asked again, with the same sad tone from last night.
“Why do you think that?”
“You don’t seem happy to have me around” He got on his knees in front of me, giving me puppy eyes. He looked so cute. “I’m serious, bro. I love you, but if you want me to stop bothering you…” He looked at the door for a second before looking back at me with his sad gaze.
I sighed and scratched behind his ear again. It was the sweet spot, his eyes unfocused again and his tongue lolled out. I don’t know if he was voluntarily acting like a dog, but I liked it.
After I stopped scratching, he returned to his senses and I told him “Don’t worry about that. Just… forget about it, alright?”
His eyes got glassy for a few seconds, then he answered “What were we talking about?”
Wow. That was actually scary and amazing. I think I should really think my words before speaking to him.
“Breakfast” I lied “We should go down and get some” I looked at the watch on my wrist and noticed it was quite early, 9 am. We had a lot of time for the shenanigans I could try with my new werewolf pet.
He nodded and headed for the door, but I stopped him. “Wait!” I said, reaching out to him. I unbuckled the red dog necklace around his neck. “There, and put on some clothes before going downstairs”
I knew mom would go to work in a few hours, but in the meantime, I had to follow the rules of not going downstairs almost naked.
He stared at the necklace until I placed it back on the box where I grabbed it from, like he grew to like it the few hours he had it on.
Or maybe he just liked being treated like a dog by his soulmate?
He put his pants back on, and his tee, before we both walked downstairs and to the kitchen.
He offered to cook something for me, but I refused. I could use having him around more often to do my tasks, but I still wanted to process everything I learned so far.
Besides, he’s not my… servant, of sorts. He’s my classmate, and he has feelings. Even if he gives me full control of his whole self, I still choose to respect him.
I wondered if he needed to eat like a beast, but since I didn’t want him to cook for me, he settled for cereal as breakfast.
“So, I don’t want to head home yet” He said, before taking a spoonful of cereal with milk. “What would you like to do, bro? Just say it and we’ll do it”
I thought about it, and I think I should buy him a real gift after not giving him Donut’s collar last night.
--- 
We walked through the shopping street. Dave drove us here after finishing with breakfast.
I liked this place, it was crowded yeah, but it had a lot of interesting stuff to do. The arcade was my favorite place. Pizza and videogames, I felt like a little child in there.
But it’s not what I’ve came here for.
Dave put his arm around my shoulder, causing me to shiver a bit and almost fall to the floor because of the weight. 
Still not used to his werewolf strength, and he mumbled a "Sorry, I'm too excited, bro" after controlling himself.
We went to the local pet shop and were greeted by a nice guy, who seemed my age. I hoped he didn’t attend my school, this was a big town, after all. What are the chances?
I told him we just wanted to look around, because I wanted to buy some stuff for my new dog at home.
Dave smiled and caressed my shoulder a bit when I said that, but remained calm.
We went through the store’s shelves, looking for cool stuff for my new friend. 
I noticed a bowser collar (A black, leather collar with little spikes around it) and decided to grab one, after checking the measures. 
Mostly because the guy just shown to be pretty big heavy and almost crushed me by putting his arm around my shoulders? Yeah.
I also got a leash. I don’t think I would be able to use it, since a high school student taking one of his classmates out for a walk wouldn’t be well seen around the neighborhood. But we could probably make up something on my room, after I opened up a bit more.
Dave offered to pay for the stuff, but I decided to not be a jerk and pay for it myself. We walked outside with a bag, and Dave couldn’t hold himself back.
He grabbed me and gave me a tight hug, leaving me almost breathless.
“Thank you so much, bro! You’re the best soulmate I could’ve ever imagined to have!” He said after releasing me from the hug.
I tried to breathe a bit, before answering “But I just bought dog stuff to you, don’t you care that I’m treating you like some kind of dog?”
He shook his head, still smiling “Of course not! I live to serve my soulmate! If you want me to wear dog stuff, I’m alright with that, bro!”
He lifted his hand for a high five, but my reflexes made me take a step back. He noticed this, and said “Bro?”
I got back to my senses and high fived with him, making him smile again.
“I love you, bro” He said, giving a little kiss to my head as we walked back to his car.
----
Chapter 3 is already available in my Patreon!  And by pledging you also get access to other stories before they go public!
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calliecat93 · 6 years ago
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RvB17 Episode 1 Review: A Sitch in Time
Anyone else getting Kim Possible flashbacks from that title? Just me? Meh, that’s expected. Anyways! Intro!
Red vs Blue Season 17... holy Hell, Season 17. How many shows make it this far guys? Not many. Even though I've only been watching for two years now, seeing how far the show has come... it's crazy. Yet it's been such a fun ride and I am not ready for it to end anytime soon. So, after a long wait and one Hell of a cliffhanger to end S16 on, we are finally here my friends. S16 had... many reactions. But I can safely say that I loved every single moment of it. Yes even Gus as a cyclops, I loved it (eventually). So with that, and a change in staff structure with Jason Weight writing solo and Josh Ornelas and Austin Clark directing, can S17 hit the mark for fans? Well, after eight months of waiting, it's time to find out.
Overview
So to briefly recap, all of time has been broken and our boys have been sent back to the beginning of the series. Which is where we begin as we cut to what would be Season 1 Episode 3 when Donut first arrived at the canyon, only they are now using Halo 1 (I assume the PC version) instead of Halo 2 Anniversary. We start going through the beats of the episode with Grif and Simmons pointing out Donut's Red Armor... but Grif stops due to the deja vu hitting him again, and same with Simmons. The Blues are not much better, with Tucker confused at how “Church” knows Caboose's name when Caboose never said it. “Church” walks off... revealing the truth: it is Genkins possessing Church.
Genkins arrives at Chrovos' domain, where he finds the gears broken, Donut knocked out, and both the Time Gun and The Hammer discarded. Genkins promptly tosses away The Hammer before facing Chrovos, who is in a Monitor body as the Cosmic Powers are. So... Chrovos is an AI then? So due to complications (aka Donut), the plan did not quite go as intended. So Chrovos is having Genkins go through time to fix that problem. The problem? We'll go into it soon enough. For now, Genkins points out how it's hard to make out Chrovos' actions when they’re an orb and after going through a few changes, they settle on a female body that looks similar to Kalirama's model, but all black. They are also now voiced by Lee Eddy, who previously played 479er and is the voice of Gwen in Camp Camp. Nice.
Donut wakes up, with Genkins promptly shooting at him. Since the firewall is still up, Donut isn't harmed but Genkins wanted to vent. He proceeds to compliment Donut on fulfilling his role, even calling him a fellow relative, before leaving through a portal to continue with his shenanigans. It is at this point that Donut sees that Chrovos is freed, and they make it clear that Donut will pay for his actions by his friends suffering. Donut points out that there's no reason as they are now free... but when he steps forward, a barrier comes over the Time God. As it turns out, while Donut couldn't fully prevent Chrovos form escaping, he DID still manage to increase the prison enough to keep them contained. That's our boy!
Unfortunately, Chrovos's new plan is already in motion. Along the barrier is a large crack. Donut finds out that the guys saved Wash, but due to it they caused the paradox and now time is cracking apart. Which if you recall, paradoxes are exactly what Chrovos needs to break the prison fully. You see, the Reds and Blues history together was the back-swing to The Hammer's blow, and is now in a type of buffer period where new timelines are being formed, paradoxes following. This is why they have Genkins going through time, to create the paradoxes as he promptly does by stopping Sheila in Season 1 without Church getting killed. Genkins can also possess any type of AI figure in these timelines, hence why he is able to pose as Church.
Already cracks are forming along the singularity that represents the solid timeline. One has Tucker step up as a leader much earlier, only to die as a result. Another has Caboose on Red Team. More cracks are forming, and soon enough will form to break Chrovos free. So why are they telling Donut all of this? Because they know that he'll try to stop it and even encourages him to do so. He can possess his own incarnations in these timelines, but by doing so and by trying to bring his friends to their senses, he'll cause even more paradoxes and therefore make the job all the easier. Even after hearing this, Donut refuses to let the Time God screw with his friends like this. He goes into the portal, Chrovos wishing him luck, and our intro credits play with Donut being flung through time.
My friends, Red vs Blue: Singularity has begun.
Review
Hmm... there's a word that I want to use to describe my feelings. I apologize as it is a short word, but one that properly conveys my current emotional state. So... here it goes:
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!
HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS! I LOVED IT! I LOVED IT SO MUCH!
Okay, okay. So honestly there's not too much to digest. Which is honestly fine. This is the first episode and after last year, they really need to explain things so that we would know what we're in for. It's an exposition episode, but a good one. The episode wastes no time at all. We see the guys current situation, find out what happened at the end of S16, establish what the focus of the season will be, and get the ball rolling at the end. It goes from one beat to the next, but without feeling rushed or boring. It was all very welcome information and had the weight of S16's finale to help carry it. We were already invested, so no need to hold back.
This also gives what's probably our first solid viewing of Chrovos. And let me say... I love them. I mean I hate them, as well as Genkins, for reasons but you can TELL that they are relishing their roles. Chrovos comes across as a serious, but quirky individual. Impatient, but also calm and very much in control. They have the intimidating present, but like with the Cosmic Powers they have these comedic traits that make them more entertaining and fun to watch. Same with Genkins, who continues to be a delight. I may hate the bastard for 'killing Huggins' (STILL IN DENIAL) but man he is just SO MUCH FN. His line about Tucker's heterosexuality was by far the best line in the episode. Nd the fact that he can possess any AI figures in the past, like Church? Yeah... that is both genius and terrifying. Helps that Ricco Fajardo and Lee Eddy are clearly having so much fun in these roles XD
So... timelines... holy Hell. I think we all kind of expected alternate timelines, but IDT that ANY of us predicted this. The Reds and Blues are reliving their past as Genkins changes thing up from the main timeline, or the Singularity as it were. Which leaves us with a buffer period as the chain of paradoxes keeps shattering the already weakened timeline. And all of it makes sense. The Reds and Blues history was used as the backswing and they were the ones who caused the paradox so it makes sense that this would be used to further shatter the prison. It explains why we got the paradox explanation last season as now all of the scenarios (Closed Loop, Multiverse, Stable Timeline) are all in effect. Since Donut was in Chrovos' domain, he wasn't affected and is the only one who has a chance in fixing all of this. It all lines up and promises us a lot of insanity, hilarity, and pain.
Speaking of Donut... oh Lord Donut. This is very much going to be his season. He was so great in this episode too. He's still a dimwit, but he's still fun and understands that shit is going down. It's really nice to see him get frustrated about time travel cause honestly? It DOES suck. But yeah he talks back against Chrovos, is still funny and gullible, and he is more than ready to do whatever he can to save his friends. Yeah, he understands the consequences, but screw it. He cares about his friends and he isn't going to let Chrovos get away with making them suffer to get free. He doesn't hesitate at all when Chrovos brings the option of going through the portal up. Is he going to succeed? Well... he's not going to have an easy time going about it, that's for sure. He's probably gonna go through a LOT of Hell. But hey, I'm rooting for him! Two years ago, when I first got into RvB, I would have NEVER said that I am all for Protagonist Donut. But damn it all, I AM ALL FOR IT!!! Also, Dan Godwin (who absolutely killed it in this episode) got top billing. Bless.
The direction of this episode was really well done. The effects are all super good. I mean just watch the credits sequence. The bluish-red mist, the character's appearing when their VA's name appears, Donut bein sent through the portal, it all looks amazing. The machinima was also really good and honestly, using the old Halo's is a MUCH better option than using Halo 2 Anniversary. It connects us more to those events since we recognize the settings and models much better in the past engines. Might also explain why we're only getting 12 episodes because going back and forth between engines had to have been pure murder on the machinimators. The camera work was also excellent, like Donut's first-person perspective when he wakes up. No real animation outside the credits, but honestly the effects were more than enough to keep things interesting. Very solid job by the RvB team.
Alright, we have our beginning... so what's gonna happen now? Honestly, it's hard to tell. We're probably going to spend the first half going through some notable RvB moments, exploring the new timelines, and Donut hopefully managing to get a few of the guys back to their senses. Honestly? There are a LOT of possibilities for how this season can go down. Moments to revisit, old characters to see again, SO MANY POSSIBILITIES. IDK where Jason is going to lead us, but I can safely say that I'm invested.
Final Thoughts
This was a solid start to the season! It wastes no time in getting us into the swing of things but still takes time to inform us of all we need to know and let the characters be characters. As I said, I already love Chrovos far more than I did last season. It perfectly sets up our main plot, and all that's left to do now is see where it leads us. 11 episodes to go people. Let's make them count.
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melodymgill49801 · 5 years ago
Text
The Endless Promise of the Mission-Driven Restaurant
This article appears in VICE Magazine's Means of Production issue. Conceived of pre-COVID-19 and constructed during it, it explores the organization and ownership of our world.
The first time Brad Reubendale visited the SAME Café in Denver was around 2012, when he really needed its help. (1) Reubendale was experiencing homelessness and food insecurity after he, a former pastor and religious nonprofit worker, was excommunicated from his church for coming out as gay. He figured that SAME—shorthand for So All May Eat, a “pay-what-you-can” restaurant where meals are exchanged for donations of money, produce, or volunteering—was a place where he could access healthy food.
(1) While I was reporting this story, the global COVID-19 outbreak forced the government to mandate the closure of restaurants and food businesses around the U.S. We’ve annotated the ways the pandemic has affected the restaurants mentioned in this piece.
Reubendale was right. He would continue to visit SAME, drawn to its healthy, good-tasting food, while he got his life back together. In 2014, he reentered the nonprofit sector through work with homeless and neglected youth.
Three years ago, SAME founders Brad and Libby Birky decided to take a step back from the day-to-day of the almost 14-year-old restaurant. “I said, ‘I want that job. I want to be able to expand SAME Café and help keep it operational,’” Reubendale told VICE. Now, he said, it’s more than that: , and as he’s gone from diner to director, Reubendale is tasked not just with raising enough funds to keep the cafe churning, but also with thinking of ways to expand—to spread the idea of SAME beyond Denver. (2)
While most restaurants put the focus on food and service with a goal of creating a thriving business, the mission-driven restaurant looks beyond innovation in the kitchen or the experience of dining. While food is still the center of the equation, mission-driven restaurants attempt to tackle larger issues like food insecurity, access to healthy food, sustainability, and more; it’s not just about turning a monetary profit. To run a restaurant guided by a philanthropic goal is a recurring dream across the industry, one that isn’t shared by all chefs or all restaurateurs but by enough that new iterations continue to pop up. Even as some mission-driven models prove unsuccessful, like the now-defunct pay-what-you-can chain Panera Cares, the possibility remains for the concept to be reworked. “Mission-driven” is a dream with endless promise.
That promise doesn’t come with a guarantee, but a sense of what the restaurant industry could look like: Wouldn’t a restaurant that can both feed and fix—and stay afloat while doing it—be a better way to operate? In an industry where traditional business models already hover on razor-thin margins, it’s a luxury that many restaurants can’t afford. But as bold as it may be to suggest that restaurants can do more and extend themselves further, people won’t stop trying.
Tumblr media
The exterior of Everytable in Los Angeles, coutesy of Everytable
At SAME, the menu feels like the one at your standard hometown cafe, and that’s the point. SAME is structured as a nonprofit, but it’s meant to feel like a restaurant, where dishes like quinoa salad, chicken chili, and barbecue chicken pizza share space on a handwritten menu board that changes by the day and where the food doesn’t feel like a handout—it’s not a soup kitchen, with a set selection of food provided for free—or an afterthought.
The difference comes in how you settle up, and while not every mission-driven restaurant follows a pay-what-you-can approach, that model has worked for SAME. Similar cafes exist through the nationwide group One World Everybody Eats, whose pay-what-you-can model inspired SAME’s.
The approach has been less successful for one larger company who attempted it. In 2010, beginning with its home state of Missouri, Panera Bread launched Panera Cares, its philanthropic arm, with a pay-what-you-can premise that expanded to Michigan, Oregon, Illinois, and Massachusetts.
But by 2013, flaws in the Panera Cares model made themselves known. Locations lost money and cracked down on how often visitors could dine, after complaints arose about students eating there daily and people who were experiencing homelessness eating there multiple times per day. According to a study in the Journal of Business Ethics of Panera Cares’ Yelp reviews, people with resources found it “unpleasant” to face the realities of food insecurity, while people with fewer resources were demoralized by having to publicly pay what they could, and they experienced issues like profiling and limited bathroom access.
As of February 2019, every Panera Cares location had closed, and a representative for JAB Holding Company, which acquired Panera Bread in 2017, told Bloomberg at the time, “Despite our commitment to this mission, it’s become clear that continued operation of the Boston Panera Cares is no longer viable.”
Even high-profile chefs have given the mission-driven restaurant model a shot. Despite name recognition and restaurant expertise, the results proved similar.
In 2014, the esteemed Philadelphia restaurant owners Steve Cook and Michael Solomonov began crowdfunding for Rooster Soup Co. As the owners of the chicken-focused restaurant Federal Donuts, the pair had 1,000 pounds of extra chicken parts per week that were otherwise going to waste, and this, they hoped, could be turned into soup. Instead of a pay-what-you-can model, Rooster Soup Co. would generate a profit, all of which would go to the Broad Street Ministry, which provides social services and community engagement across the city.
With Rooster Soup Co. forecasting $50,000 in annual net profits in its first year, more than 1,500 backers contributed a total of nearly $180,000 toward the endeavor, which opened in 2017. But when soup proved to be an unsustainable year-round focus, Rooster Soup Co. rebranded as The Rooster, a Jewish deli, the following year. In the summer of 2019, Cook and Solomonov announced that The Rooster was coming to an end.
Pulling in little foot traffic, the restaurant didn’t generate much profit; it donated just$16,000 in its first year. “For a restaurant whose fundamental premise is to generate funds for our non-profit partner, this has become an untenable and counterproductive situation,” Cook and Solomonov wrote in a statement at the time. (In a separate blow to Philadelphians experiencing food insecurity, the city’s first pay-what-you-can restaurant, the Drexel University–affiliated EAT Café, closed the same year because of rising operating costs and loss of funding.)
In 2016, the Los Angeles–based chef Roy Choi, who popularized Korean tacos through Kogi BBQ, and the Bay Area chef Daniel Patterson, of the Michelin-starred Coi, started Locol. With better-for-you burgers and bowls, locations in underserved areas of Watts and Oakland, and community-focused hiring practices, Locol was a new vision for cheap fast food.
If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
But the idea of Locol was more successful than the reality, according to a review by the New York Times’ Pete Wells. “The neighborhoods Locol is targeting have serious nutritional problems, from hunger to obesity,” he wrote, “but the solution isn’t to charge people for stuff that tastes like hospital food.”
While Wells’ heavily criticized zero-star review didn’t sink the Locol operation, the project wasn’t successful. Finances were a problem, and the neighborhood audience was indeed unexcited about Locol’s food. By August 2018, Locol had closed all four locations.
Between 2016 and 2019, Mission Street Food founders Anthony Myint and Karen Leibowitz ran San Francisco’s The Perennial, a restaurant whose goal was to be the city’s most sustainable through agricultural and business practices intended to minimize environmental damage.
But by early 2019, Myint and Leibowitz realized that their mission could be accomplished without so much stressful overhead. “At some point we started to feel like we could do more work on [improving the food system] if we could devote all our time and energy to it and not be losing money also,” Myint told Eater at the time. They’d become skeptical that a single restaurant could yield systemic change.
The pair have since shifted their efforts to the nonprofit sector through the Perennial Farming Initiative (PFI), which supports progressive agriculture and includes a collective of restaurants who commit 1 percent of revenue to farmers with soil-enriching projects. Instead of keeping one restaurant afloat, PFI can rely on the shared resources of many.
It’s clear that there isn’t one way to run a restaurant with a mission, but there also isn’t broader consensus (or broad governmental support) on how to solve problems like food deserts or environmental damage or homelessness, and as a result, perhaps one reason why so many mission-driven restaurants struggle is that there’s no guidebook on how to run them. Brad Reubendale eventually hopes to provide resources for running a restaurant structured like SAME, but individuals will always attempt their own approaches. While these restaurants can do their best to find solutions for societal problems, what they’re attempting to confront is ultimately rooted in institutions. If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
Tumblr media
A volunteer cleans green beans outside SAME Cafe, 2019. Photo by Letisha Steele, courtesy of Same Cafe
Three years into his work at SAME Café, Reubendale doesn’t feel like it’s all hanging on a thread. “For me, it feels completely secure and comfortable,” he said in late February. “The only tenuousness is because I’m ambitious, and I’m trying to move forward.” Reubendale attributes that security to his fundraising experience and SAME’s 501(c)(3) structure, which classifies it as a tax-exempt charitable organization. That’s where he thinks some mission-driven restaurants go wrong: by trying to operate as for-profit businesses with a philanthropic goal.
“They’re trying to make a for-profit business. [SAME’s pay-what-you-can structure] is a great nonprofit model and a really terrible for-profit model. You have to have the nonprofit thing,” Reubendale said. SAME relies completely on funding from donors, which allows it to focus on its mission instead of pleasing investors. “[Investors] make decisions, generally speaking, around middle-class and upper-class folks, and they’re not as picky about what it feels like to be on the need end of the spectrum.”
When it comes to pay-what-you-can models, as with Panera Cares, those decisions may take the form of a clearly stated suggested donation. “You want to know how much you should give, and you can give a little extra,” Reubendale said, referring to middle- or upper-class diners. “The problem is, if you can’t achieve that, then you feel less-than in the space and you’ve now created two classes of people.”
Perhaps a factor of his own experience dining at SAME all those years ago is that Reubendale puts a strong focus on recognizing everyone’s dignity: Guests who don’t have money to throw into the bucket have time and value to contribute. “We want to have a place where everyone feels like they actually legitimately belong. Some people will say, ‘You give dignity to people.’ No, we recognize the dignity that people already have,” he said.
The list of social issues that a restaurant could tackle never ends, and for every mission-driven restaurant that has closed, there’s one that’s still bright-eyed and ready to get started. Not all share Reubendale’s point of view or business model, but they’re trying to make it work.
Sam Polk, the CEO and co-founder of Everytable, used to be a senior trader at “one of the largest hedge funds in the world,” one where they actually made money during the stock market crash of 2008, he said. But Polk “was sort of empty. I was reading a lot of civil rights stuff, and I was coming to understand that the career path I was on didn’t have a lot of meaning behind it.” He saw the dark side of the finance industry—where people complained about the size of their bonuses despite massive layoffs and foreclosures nationwide. As he started to think more about inequality, he saw food as “one of the most pure expressions of that.”
After leaving his job in finance, Polk’s first approach to solving the food inequality puzzle was to start a nonprofit called Feast in 2013. Its aim was to work with families who wanted to get healthy but felt challenged by the options in their neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. The nonprofit structure and the inevitability of being beholden to donors wore on Polk, though. “I got frustrated with the fundraising process of the nonprofit model, and I started to see it as the other side of the inequality coin,” he said. The show of putting on and organizing events, for example, seemed to suit donors, and not the people he was hoping to help.
While Polk remains on the board of Feast, he and co-founder David Foster launched Everytable in 2015 with the goal of directly bringing healthy, high-quality food with affordable prices to marginalized communities. It’s easy to call Everytable a restaurant, because it has them: nine brick-and-mortar locations so far, all in the LA area from Brentwood to downtown and Compton. But Polk doesn’t necessarily see it that way, because Everytable’s approach is greater than just in-store dining.
Everytable relies on a single, central kitchen that supports three offshoots: There’s the restaurant, which provides low-cost, nutritious food that Polk likened to Sweetgreen in quality. Then, there’s the subscription service, which delivers premade meals on a weekly basis. Finally, there’s the smart fridge, which Everytable stocks with meals for businesses and offices. (3)
“The structure of most restaurants is pretty inefficient, where you have a single location that is making food from scratch and then selling it to customers right away, and there’s no economies of scale, there’s no volume efficiencies,” Polk explained. “But because we can have a single kitchen supporting all of our locations, we can have basically the same kind of efficiencies that massive manufacturing plants have. That’s how we can get super low prices.”
From there, Everytable’s variable pricing model comes into play, adjusting prices depending on what neighborhood the restaurant is in. A meal that costs $4.50 to produce might sell for $5 in an underserved neighborhood but $8 in a more affluent one. The science of it, Polk said, is in figuring out average household income, what margins Everytable needs to make, and what nearby fast food is charging. The art of it is in figuring out what exactly each neighborhood will find attractive.
“There’s a lot of talk about food deserts and food justice,” Polk said, “and the sad truth is that we don’t have many competitors selling healthy food in underserved neighborhoods.” He thinks Everytable’s mission is an interesting value proposition to people across the food spectrum: Corporations that could invest in it are always interested in figuring out how to sell healthy food for lower prices, while food and social justice advocates are also rallying around Everytable’s goals.
What Everytable wants to change goes beyond food accessibility. A fair-chance employer, Everytable hires from marginalized groups including former foster children and the formerly incarcerated, and in January 2020, Everytable won a $2.5 million investment to recruit franchisees of color. As the company started to consider franchising, Polk realized that the practice gives an advantage to people with capital; capital, clearly, isn’t equally distributed. With this investment, he hopes not just to expand access to healthy food but to extend the opportunity of owning a business to people who might not otherwise be able to start one.
“At the end of the day, for us, mission is everything—like the only reason that this company exists and that people come to work every day is because we have this core belief that healthy food is a human right and should be affordable and accessible to everyone,” Polk said. “If you took that away, then Everytable would just fizzle and disappear.”
Similarly, Camilla Marcus of west~bourne, an all-day cafe in New York City’s SoHo, has been guided from the beginning by the idea of neighborhood-focused hospitality. (4) She opened the cafe in January 2018 after attending culinary school, law school, and business school and working as the director of business development of Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Her background is varied, and her approach to community is, too, mostly with an eye toward wellness and collectivism.
Central to the idea of west~bourne is a partnership with a local nonprofit. “They were the first people I ever mentioned the word west~bourne to. The original concept was always what it is today: One percent goes to a local grantee called The Door,” Marcus said. The Door is a youth development program that provides counseling, food services, and job training across the city, and it’s supported by the poverty-fighting Robin Hood Foundation. “To start our own charitable arm at the start seemed too big a mountain to climb.”
As of early March, west~bourne was about to pass the $50,000 donation mark; aside from donating 1 percent of all sales, west~bourne also hires around 30 percent of employees through The Door. But the cafe diverges from the typical restaurant structure in other ways, beginning with the meditation that kicks off service each day.
Instead of employing front-of-house and back-of-house staff, Marcus reduces division by cross-training employees in all positions, and since late 2019, west~bourne has partnered with the childcare center Vivvi to provide employees with subsidized child-care from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. since, as Marcus pointed out, restaurant shifts are rarely compatible with day-care hours. It’s also currently on track to be Manhattan’s first certified zero-waste restaurant. “For us, it’s an evolution as much as it is a revolution,” (5) Marcus said.
The problems that mission-driven restaurants attempt to solve are rarely rooted in the restaurant industry alone: Restaurants aren’t to blame for food insecurity, environmentally harmful farming practices, the scarcity of affordable housing, or the lack of adequate childcare support. Amid institutional and government failings, it’s clear that people are trying to find any other means, and American individualism has always promoted personal responsibility over the expectation that the government will provide. But in an industry where so many businesses already hang by a thread, how much more of a burden can restaurants shoulder?
No matter how mission-driven restaurant owners approach the problems they’re trying to solve, they’re constrained by a system that relies on the flow of money, whether it’s to please investors in a for-profit restaurant model or to sway donors to continue giving funds. If keeping a restaurant open is hard, then keeping a restaurant that’s also trying to be something bigger than that is even harder. (6)
(2) As of late March, SAME Café was providing food for pickup only and increasing its services in the face of coronavirus-related layoffs. With the economy in a downturn, Reubendale shared concern about the flow of donations needed to keep SAME running.
(3) In response to COVID-19 and bans on dine-in restaurant service by the city of Los Angeles, Everytable shifted to a pickup only model at its restaurants and started a helpline to provide food for senior citizens, school districts, and anyone else in need.
(4) In mid-March, west~bourne announced that it would be closing “in the name of public health interest.”
(5) In response to mass layoffs across the restaurant industry, Marcus partnered with the Independent Restaurant Coalition to ask legislators to protect America's restaurants.
(6) This problem, however, is now happening on a scale too large for the solution to be on diners. When it comes to the restaurant industry, which is already picking up the slack of so many social failings, at what point do the institutions above stop adding more burden?
Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.
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0 notes
carolinechanson97838 · 5 years ago
Text
The Endless Promise of the Mission-Driven Restaurant
This article appears in VICE Magazine's Means of Production issue. Conceived of pre-COVID-19 and constructed during it, it explores the organization and ownership of our world.
The first time Brad Reubendale visited the SAME Café in Denver was around 2012, when he really needed its help. (1) Reubendale was experiencing homelessness and food insecurity after he, a former pastor and religious nonprofit worker, was excommunicated from his church for coming out as gay. He figured that SAME—shorthand for So All May Eat, a “pay-what-you-can” restaurant where meals are exchanged for donations of money, produce, or volunteering—was a place where he could access healthy food.
(1) While I was reporting this story, the global COVID-19 outbreak forced the government to mandate the closure of restaurants and food businesses around the U.S. We’ve annotated the ways the pandemic has affected the restaurants mentioned in this piece.
Reubendale was right. He would continue to visit SAME, drawn to its healthy, good-tasting food, while he got his life back together. In 2014, he reentered the nonprofit sector through work with homeless and neglected youth.
Three years ago, SAME founders Brad and Libby Birky decided to take a step back from the day-to-day of the almost 14-year-old restaurant. “I said, ‘I want that job. I want to be able to expand SAME Café and help keep it operational,’” Reubendale told VICE. Now, he said, it’s more than that: , and as he’s gone from diner to director, Reubendale is tasked not just with raising enough funds to keep the cafe churning, but also with thinking of ways to expand—to spread the idea of SAME beyond Denver. (2)
While most restaurants put the focus on food and service with a goal of creating a thriving business, the mission-driven restaurant looks beyond innovation in the kitchen or the experience of dining. While food is still the center of the equation, mission-driven restaurants attempt to tackle larger issues like food insecurity, access to healthy food, sustainability, and more; it’s not just about turning a monetary profit. To run a restaurant guided by a philanthropic goal is a recurring dream across the industry, one that isn’t shared by all chefs or all restaurateurs but by enough that new iterations continue to pop up. Even as some mission-driven models prove unsuccessful, like the now-defunct pay-what-you-can chain Panera Cares, the possibility remains for the concept to be reworked. “Mission-driven” is a dream with endless promise.
That promise doesn’t come with a guarantee, but a sense of what the restaurant industry could look like: Wouldn’t a restaurant that can both feed and fix—and stay afloat while doing it—be a better way to operate? In an industry where traditional business models already hover on razor-thin margins, it’s a luxury that many restaurants can’t afford. But as bold as it may be to suggest that restaurants can do more and extend themselves further, people won’t stop trying.
Tumblr media
The exterior of Everytable in Los Angeles, coutesy of Everytable
At SAME, the menu feels like the one at your standard hometown cafe, and that’s the point. SAME is structured as a nonprofit, but it’s meant to feel like a restaurant, where dishes like quinoa salad, chicken chili, and barbecue chicken pizza share space on a handwritten menu board that changes by the day and where the food doesn’t feel like a handout—it’s not a soup kitchen, with a set selection of food provided for free—or an afterthought.
The difference comes in how you settle up, and while not every mission-driven restaurant follows a pay-what-you-can approach, that model has worked for SAME. Similar cafes exist through the nationwide group One World Everybody Eats, whose pay-what-you-can model inspired SAME’s.
The approach has been less successful for one larger company who attempted it. In 2010, beginning with its home state of Missouri, Panera Bread launched Panera Cares, its philanthropic arm, with a pay-what-you-can premise that expanded to Michigan, Oregon, Illinois, and Massachusetts.
But by 2013, flaws in the Panera Cares model made themselves known. Locations lost money and cracked down on how often visitors could dine, after complaints arose about students eating there daily and people who were experiencing homelessness eating there multiple times per day. According to a study in the Journal of Business Ethics of Panera Cares’ Yelp reviews, people with resources found it “unpleasant” to face the realities of food insecurity, while people with fewer resources were demoralized by having to publicly pay what they could, and they experienced issues like profiling and limited bathroom access.
As of February 2019, every Panera Cares location had closed, and a representative for JAB Holding Company, which acquired Panera Bread in 2017, told Bloomberg at the time, “Despite our commitment to this mission, it’s become clear that continued operation of the Boston Panera Cares is no longer viable.”
Even high-profile chefs have given the mission-driven restaurant model a shot. Despite name recognition and restaurant expertise, the results proved similar.
In 2014, the esteemed Philadelphia restaurant owners Steve Cook and Michael Solomonov began crowdfunding for Rooster Soup Co. As the owners of the chicken-focused restaurant Federal Donuts, the pair had 1,000 pounds of extra chicken parts per week that were otherwise going to waste, and this, they hoped, could be turned into soup. Instead of a pay-what-you-can model, Rooster Soup Co. would generate a profit, all of which would go to the Broad Street Ministry, which provides social services and community engagement across the city.
With Rooster Soup Co. forecasting $50,000 in annual net profits in its first year, more than 1,500 backers contributed a total of nearly $180,000 toward the endeavor, which opened in 2017. But when soup proved to be an unsustainable year-round focus, Rooster Soup Co. rebranded as The Rooster, a Jewish deli, the following year. In the summer of 2019, Cook and Solomonov announced that The Rooster was coming to an end.
Pulling in little foot traffic, the restaurant didn’t generate much profit; it donated just$16,000 in its first year. “For a restaurant whose fundamental premise is to generate funds for our non-profit partner, this has become an untenable and counterproductive situation,” Cook and Solomonov wrote in a statement at the time. (In a separate blow to Philadelphians experiencing food insecurity, the city’s first pay-what-you-can restaurant, the Drexel University–affiliated EAT Café, closed the same year because of rising operating costs and loss of funding.)
In 2016, the Los Angeles–based chef Roy Choi, who popularized Korean tacos through Kogi BBQ, and the Bay Area chef Daniel Patterson, of the Michelin-starred Coi, started Locol. With better-for-you burgers and bowls, locations in underserved areas of Watts and Oakland, and community-focused hiring practices, Locol was a new vision for cheap fast food.
If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
But the idea of Locol was more successful than the reality, according to a review by the New York Times’ Pete Wells. “The neighborhoods Locol is targeting have serious nutritional problems, from hunger to obesity,” he wrote, “but the solution isn’t to charge people for stuff that tastes like hospital food.”
While Wells’ heavily criticized zero-star review didn’t sink the Locol operation, the project wasn’t successful. Finances were a problem, and the neighborhood audience was indeed unexcited about Locol’s food. By August 2018, Locol had closed all four locations.
Between 2016 and 2019, Mission Street Food founders Anthony Myint and Karen Leibowitz ran San Francisco’s The Perennial, a restaurant whose goal was to be the city’s most sustainable through agricultural and business practices intended to minimize environmental damage.
But by early 2019, Myint and Leibowitz realized that their mission could be accomplished without so much stressful overhead. “At some point we started to feel like we could do more work on [improving the food system] if we could devote all our time and energy to it and not be losing money also,” Myint told Eater at the time. They’d become skeptical that a single restaurant could yield systemic change.
The pair have since shifted their efforts to the nonprofit sector through the Perennial Farming Initiative (PFI), which supports progressive agriculture and includes a collective of restaurants who commit 1 percent of revenue to farmers with soil-enriching projects. Instead of keeping one restaurant afloat, PFI can rely on the shared resources of many.
It’s clear that there isn’t one way to run a restaurant with a mission, but there also isn’t broader consensus (or broad governmental support) on how to solve problems like food deserts or environmental damage or homelessness, and as a result, perhaps one reason why so many mission-driven restaurants struggle is that there’s no guidebook on how to run them. Brad Reubendale eventually hopes to provide resources for running a restaurant structured like SAME, but individuals will always attempt their own approaches. While these restaurants can do their best to find solutions for societal problems, what they’re attempting to confront is ultimately rooted in institutions. If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
Tumblr media
A volunteer cleans green beans outside SAME Cafe, 2019. Photo by Letisha Steele, courtesy of Same Cafe
Three years into his work at SAME Café, Reubendale doesn’t feel like it’s all hanging on a thread. “For me, it feels completely secure and comfortable,” he said in late February. “The only tenuousness is because I’m ambitious, and I’m trying to move forward.” Reubendale attributes that security to his fundraising experience and SAME’s 501(c)(3) structure, which classifies it as a tax-exempt charitable organization. That’s where he thinks some mission-driven restaurants go wrong: by trying to operate as for-profit businesses with a philanthropic goal.
“They’re trying to make a for-profit business. [SAME’s pay-what-you-can structure] is a great nonprofit model and a really terrible for-profit model. You have to have the nonprofit thing,” Reubendale said. SAME relies completely on funding from donors, which allows it to focus on its mission instead of pleasing investors. “[Investors] make decisions, generally speaking, around middle-class and upper-class folks, and they’re not as picky about what it feels like to be on the need end of the spectrum.”
When it comes to pay-what-you-can models, as with Panera Cares, those decisions may take the form of a clearly stated suggested donation. “You want to know how much you should give, and you can give a little extra,” Reubendale said, referring to middle- or upper-class diners. “The problem is, if you can’t achieve that, then you feel less-than in the space and you’ve now created two classes of people.”
Perhaps a factor of his own experience dining at SAME all those years ago is that Reubendale puts a strong focus on recognizing everyone’s dignity: Guests who don’t have money to throw into the bucket have time and value to contribute. “We want to have a place where everyone feels like they actually legitimately belong. Some people will say, ‘You give dignity to people.’ No, we recognize the dignity that people already have,” he said.
The list of social issues that a restaurant could tackle never ends, and for every mission-driven restaurant that has closed, there’s one that’s still bright-eyed and ready to get started. Not all share Reubendale’s point of view or business model, but they’re trying to make it work.
Sam Polk, the CEO and co-founder of Everytable, used to be a senior trader at “one of the largest hedge funds in the world,” one where they actually made money during the stock market crash of 2008, he said. But Polk “was sort of empty. I was reading a lot of civil rights stuff, and I was coming to understand that the career path I was on didn’t have a lot of meaning behind it.” He saw the dark side of the finance industry—where people complained about the size of their bonuses despite massive layoffs and foreclosures nationwide. As he started to think more about inequality, he saw food as “one of the most pure expressions of that.”
After leaving his job in finance, Polk’s first approach to solving the food inequality puzzle was to start a nonprofit called Feast in 2013. Its aim was to work with families who wanted to get healthy but felt challenged by the options in their neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. The nonprofit structure and the inevitability of being beholden to donors wore on Polk, though. “I got frustrated with the fundraising process of the nonprofit model, and I started to see it as the other side of the inequality coin,” he said. The show of putting on and organizing events, for example, seemed to suit donors, and not the people he was hoping to help.
While Polk remains on the board of Feast, he and co-founder David Foster launched Everytable in 2015 with the goal of directly bringing healthy, high-quality food with affordable prices to marginalized communities. It’s easy to call Everytable a restaurant, because it has them: nine brick-and-mortar locations so far, all in the LA area from Brentwood to downtown and Compton. But Polk doesn’t necessarily see it that way, because Everytable’s approach is greater than just in-store dining.
Everytable relies on a single, central kitchen that supports three offshoots: There’s the restaurant, which provides low-cost, nutritious food that Polk likened to Sweetgreen in quality. Then, there’s the subscription service, which delivers premade meals on a weekly basis. Finally, there’s the smart fridge, which Everytable stocks with meals for businesses and offices. (3)
“The structure of most restaurants is pretty inefficient, where you have a single location that is making food from scratch and then selling it to customers right away, and there’s no economies of scale, there’s no volume efficiencies,” Polk explained. “But because we can have a single kitchen supporting all of our locations, we can have basically the same kind of efficiencies that massive manufacturing plants have. That’s how we can get super low prices.”
From there, Everytable’s variable pricing model comes into play, adjusting prices depending on what neighborhood the restaurant is in. A meal that costs $4.50 to produce might sell for $5 in an underserved neighborhood but $8 in a more affluent one. The science of it, Polk said, is in figuring out average household income, what margins Everytable needs to make, and what nearby fast food is charging. The art of it is in figuring out what exactly each neighborhood will find attractive.
“There’s a lot of talk about food deserts and food justice,” Polk said, “and the sad truth is that we don’t have many competitors selling healthy food in underserved neighborhoods.” He thinks Everytable’s mission is an interesting value proposition to people across the food spectrum: Corporations that could invest in it are always interested in figuring out how to sell healthy food for lower prices, while food and social justice advocates are also rallying around Everytable’s goals.
What Everytable wants to change goes beyond food accessibility. A fair-chance employer, Everytable hires from marginalized groups including former foster children and the formerly incarcerated, and in January 2020, Everytable won a $2.5 million investment to recruit franchisees of color. As the company started to consider franchising, Polk realized that the practice gives an advantage to people with capital; capital, clearly, isn’t equally distributed. With this investment, he hopes not just to expand access to healthy food but to extend the opportunity of owning a business to people who might not otherwise be able to start one.
“At the end of the day, for us, mission is everything—like the only reason that this company exists and that people come to work every day is because we have this core belief that healthy food is a human right and should be affordable and accessible to everyone,” Polk said. “If you took that away, then Everytable would just fizzle and disappear.”
Similarly, Camilla Marcus of west~bourne, an all-day cafe in New York City’s SoHo, has been guided from the beginning by the idea of neighborhood-focused hospitality. (4) She opened the cafe in January 2018 after attending culinary school, law school, and business school and working as the director of business development of Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Her background is varied, and her approach to community is, too, mostly with an eye toward wellness and collectivism.
Central to the idea of west~bourne is a partnership with a local nonprofit. “They were the first people I ever mentioned the word west~bourne to. The original concept was always what it is today: One percent goes to a local grantee called The Door,” Marcus said. The Door is a youth development program that provides counseling, food services, and job training across the city, and it’s supported by the poverty-fighting Robin Hood Foundation. “To start our own charitable arm at the start seemed too big a mountain to climb.”
As of early March, west~bourne was about to pass the $50,000 donation mark; aside from donating 1 percent of all sales, west~bourne also hires around 30 percent of employees through The Door. But the cafe diverges from the typical restaurant structure in other ways, beginning with the meditation that kicks off service each day.
Instead of employing front-of-house and back-of-house staff, Marcus reduces division by cross-training employees in all positions, and since late 2019, west~bourne has partnered with the childcare center Vivvi to provide employees with subsidized child-care from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. since, as Marcus pointed out, restaurant shifts are rarely compatible with day-care hours. It’s also currently on track to be Manhattan’s first certified zero-waste restaurant. “For us, it’s an evolution as much as it is a revolution,” (5) Marcus said.
The problems that mission-driven restaurants attempt to solve are rarely rooted in the restaurant industry alone: Restaurants aren’t to blame for food insecurity, environmentally harmful farming practices, the scarcity of affordable housing, or the lack of adequate childcare support. Amid institutional and government failings, it’s clear that people are trying to find any other means, and American individualism has always promoted personal responsibility over the expectation that the government will provide. But in an industry where so many businesses already hang by a thread, how much more of a burden can restaurants shoulder?
No matter how mission-driven restaurant owners approach the problems they’re trying to solve, they’re constrained by a system that relies on the flow of money, whether it’s to please investors in a for-profit restaurant model or to sway donors to continue giving funds. If keeping a restaurant open is hard, then keeping a restaurant that’s also trying to be something bigger than that is even harder. (6)
(2) As of late March, SAME Café was providing food for pickup only and increasing its services in the face of coronavirus-related layoffs. With the economy in a downturn, Reubendale shared concern about the flow of donations needed to keep SAME running.
(3) In response to COVID-19 and bans on dine-in restaurant service by the city of Los Angeles, Everytable shifted to a pickup only model at its restaurants and started a helpline to provide food for senior citizens, school districts, and anyone else in need.
(4) In mid-March, west~bourne announced that it would be closing “in the name of public health interest.”
(5) In response to mass layoffs across the restaurant industry, Marcus partnered with the Independent Restaurant Coalition to ask legislators to protect America's restaurants.
(6) This problem, however, is now happening on a scale too large for the solution to be on diners. When it comes to the restaurant industry, which is already picking up the slack of so many social failings, at what point do the institutions above stop adding more burden?
Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.
via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network
0 notes
latoyajkelson70506 · 5 years ago
Text
The Endless Promise of the Mission-Driven Restaurant
This article appears in VICE Magazine's Means of Production issue. Conceived of pre-COVID-19 and constructed during it, it explores the organization and ownership of our world.
The first time Brad Reubendale visited the SAME Café in Denver was around 2012, when he really needed its help. (1) Reubendale was experiencing homelessness and food insecurity after he, a former pastor and religious nonprofit worker, was excommunicated from his church for coming out as gay. He figured that SAME—shorthand for So All May Eat, a “pay-what-you-can” restaurant where meals are exchanged for donations of money, produce, or volunteering—was a place where he could access healthy food.
(1) While I was reporting this story, the global COVID-19 outbreak forced the government to mandate the closure of restaurants and food businesses around the U.S. We’ve annotated the ways the pandemic has affected the restaurants mentioned in this piece.
Reubendale was right. He would continue to visit SAME, drawn to its healthy, good-tasting food, while he got his life back together. In 2014, he reentered the nonprofit sector through work with homeless and neglected youth.
Three years ago, SAME founders Brad and Libby Birky decided to take a step back from the day-to-day of the almost 14-year-old restaurant. “I said, ‘I want that job. I want to be able to expand SAME Café and help keep it operational,’” Reubendale told VICE. Now, he said, it’s more than that: , and as he’s gone from diner to director, Reubendale is tasked not just with raising enough funds to keep the cafe churning, but also with thinking of ways to expand—to spread the idea of SAME beyond Denver. (2)
While most restaurants put the focus on food and service with a goal of creating a thriving business, the mission-driven restaurant looks beyond innovation in the kitchen or the experience of dining. While food is still the center of the equation, mission-driven restaurants attempt to tackle larger issues like food insecurity, access to healthy food, sustainability, and more; it’s not just about turning a monetary profit. To run a restaurant guided by a philanthropic goal is a recurring dream across the industry, one that isn’t shared by all chefs or all restaurateurs but by enough that new iterations continue to pop up. Even as some mission-driven models prove unsuccessful, like the now-defunct pay-what-you-can chain Panera Cares, the possibility remains for the concept to be reworked. “Mission-driven” is a dream with endless promise.
That promise doesn’t come with a guarantee, but a sense of what the restaurant industry could look like: Wouldn’t a restaurant that can both feed and fix—and stay afloat while doing it—be a better way to operate? In an industry where traditional business models already hover on razor-thin margins, it’s a luxury that many restaurants can’t afford. But as bold as it may be to suggest that restaurants can do more and extend themselves further, people won’t stop trying.
Tumblr media
The exterior of Everytable in Los Angeles, coutesy of Everytable
At SAME, the menu feels like the one at your standard hometown cafe, and that’s the point. SAME is structured as a nonprofit, but it’s meant to feel like a restaurant, where dishes like quinoa salad, chicken chili, and barbecue chicken pizza share space on a handwritten menu board that changes by the day and where the food doesn’t feel like a handout—it’s not a soup kitchen, with a set selection of food provided for free—or an afterthought.
The difference comes in how you settle up, and while not every mission-driven restaurant follows a pay-what-you-can approach, that model has worked for SAME. Similar cafes exist through the nationwide group One World Everybody Eats, whose pay-what-you-can model inspired SAME’s.
The approach has been less successful for one larger company who attempted it. In 2010, beginning with its home state of Missouri, Panera Bread launched Panera Cares, its philanthropic arm, with a pay-what-you-can premise that expanded to Michigan, Oregon, Illinois, and Massachusetts.
But by 2013, flaws in the Panera Cares model made themselves known. Locations lost money and cracked down on how often visitors could dine, after complaints arose about students eating there daily and people who were experiencing homelessness eating there multiple times per day. According to a study in the Journal of Business Ethics of Panera Cares’ Yelp reviews, people with resources found it “unpleasant” to face the realities of food insecurity, while people with fewer resources were demoralized by having to publicly pay what they could, and they experienced issues like profiling and limited bathroom access.
As of February 2019, every Panera Cares location had closed, and a representative for JAB Holding Company, which acquired Panera Bread in 2017, told Bloomberg at the time, “Despite our commitment to this mission, it’s become clear that continued operation of the Boston Panera Cares is no longer viable.”
Even high-profile chefs have given the mission-driven restaurant model a shot. Despite name recognition and restaurant expertise, the results proved similar.
In 2014, the esteemed Philadelphia restaurant owners Steve Cook and Michael Solomonov began crowdfunding for Rooster Soup Co. As the owners of the chicken-focused restaurant Federal Donuts, the pair had 1,000 pounds of extra chicken parts per week that were otherwise going to waste, and this, they hoped, could be turned into soup. Instead of a pay-what-you-can model, Rooster Soup Co. would generate a profit, all of which would go to the Broad Street Ministry, which provides social services and community engagement across the city.
With Rooster Soup Co. forecasting $50,000 in annual net profits in its first year, more than 1,500 backers contributed a total of nearly $180,000 toward the endeavor, which opened in 2017. But when soup proved to be an unsustainable year-round focus, Rooster Soup Co. rebranded as The Rooster, a Jewish deli, the following year. In the summer of 2019, Cook and Solomonov announced that The Rooster was coming to an end.
Pulling in little foot traffic, the restaurant didn’t generate much profit; it donated just$16,000 in its first year. “For a restaurant whose fundamental premise is to generate funds for our non-profit partner, this has become an untenable and counterproductive situation,” Cook and Solomonov wrote in a statement at the time. (In a separate blow to Philadelphians experiencing food insecurity, the city’s first pay-what-you-can restaurant, the Drexel University–affiliated EAT Café, closed the same year because of rising operating costs and loss of funding.)
In 2016, the Los Angeles–based chef Roy Choi, who popularized Korean tacos through Kogi BBQ, and the Bay Area chef Daniel Patterson, of the Michelin-starred Coi, started Locol. With better-for-you burgers and bowls, locations in underserved areas of Watts and Oakland, and community-focused hiring practices, Locol was a new vision for cheap fast food.
If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
But the idea of Locol was more successful than the reality, according to a review by the New York Times’ Pete Wells. “The neighborhoods Locol is targeting have serious nutritional problems, from hunger to obesity,” he wrote, “but the solution isn’t to charge people for stuff that tastes like hospital food.”
While Wells’ heavily criticized zero-star review didn’t sink the Locol operation, the project wasn’t successful. Finances were a problem, and the neighborhood audience was indeed unexcited about Locol’s food. By August 2018, Locol had closed all four locations.
Between 2016 and 2019, Mission Street Food founders Anthony Myint and Karen Leibowitz ran San Francisco’s The Perennial, a restaurant whose goal was to be the city’s most sustainable through agricultural and business practices intended to minimize environmental damage.
But by early 2019, Myint and Leibowitz realized that their mission could be accomplished without so much stressful overhead. “At some point we started to feel like we could do more work on [improving the food system] if we could devote all our time and energy to it and not be losing money also,” Myint told Eater at the time. They’d become skeptical that a single restaurant could yield systemic change.
The pair have since shifted their efforts to the nonprofit sector through the Perennial Farming Initiative (PFI), which supports progressive agriculture and includes a collective of restaurants who commit 1 percent of revenue to farmers with soil-enriching projects. Instead of keeping one restaurant afloat, PFI can rely on the shared resources of many.
It’s clear that there isn’t one way to run a restaurant with a mission, but there also isn’t broader consensus (or broad governmental support) on how to solve problems like food deserts or environmental damage or homelessness, and as a result, perhaps one reason why so many mission-driven restaurants struggle is that there’s no guidebook on how to run them. Brad Reubendale eventually hopes to provide resources for running a restaurant structured like SAME, but individuals will always attempt their own approaches. While these restaurants can do their best to find solutions for societal problems, what they’re attempting to confront is ultimately rooted in institutions. If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
Tumblr media
A volunteer cleans green beans outside SAME Cafe, 2019. Photo by Letisha Steele, courtesy of Same Cafe
Three years into his work at SAME Café, Reubendale doesn’t feel like it’s all hanging on a thread. “For me, it feels completely secure and comfortable,” he said in late February. “The only tenuousness is because I’m ambitious, and I’m trying to move forward.” Reubendale attributes that security to his fundraising experience and SAME’s 501(c)(3) structure, which classifies it as a tax-exempt charitable organization. That’s where he thinks some mission-driven restaurants go wrong: by trying to operate as for-profit businesses with a philanthropic goal.
“They’re trying to make a for-profit business. [SAME’s pay-what-you-can structure] is a great nonprofit model and a really terrible for-profit model. You have to have the nonprofit thing,” Reubendale said. SAME relies completely on funding from donors, which allows it to focus on its mission instead of pleasing investors. “[Investors] make decisions, generally speaking, around middle-class and upper-class folks, and they’re not as picky about what it feels like to be on the need end of the spectrum.”
When it comes to pay-what-you-can models, as with Panera Cares, those decisions may take the form of a clearly stated suggested donation. “You want to know how much you should give, and you can give a little extra,” Reubendale said, referring to middle- or upper-class diners. “The problem is, if you can’t achieve that, then you feel less-than in the space and you’ve now created two classes of people.”
Perhaps a factor of his own experience dining at SAME all those years ago is that Reubendale puts a strong focus on recognizing everyone’s dignity: Guests who don’t have money to throw into the bucket have time and value to contribute. “We want to have a place where everyone feels like they actually legitimately belong. Some people will say, ‘You give dignity to people.’ No, we recognize the dignity that people already have,” he said.
The list of social issues that a restaurant could tackle never ends, and for every mission-driven restaurant that has closed, there’s one that’s still bright-eyed and ready to get started. Not all share Reubendale’s point of view or business model, but they’re trying to make it work.
Sam Polk, the CEO and co-founder of Everytable, used to be a senior trader at “one of the largest hedge funds in the world,” one where they actually made money during the stock market crash of 2008, he said. But Polk “was sort of empty. I was reading a lot of civil rights stuff, and I was coming to understand that the career path I was on didn’t have a lot of meaning behind it.” He saw the dark side of the finance industry—where people complained about the size of their bonuses despite massive layoffs and foreclosures nationwide. As he started to think more about inequality, he saw food as “one of the most pure expressions of that.”
After leaving his job in finance, Polk’s first approach to solving the food inequality puzzle was to start a nonprofit called Feast in 2013. Its aim was to work with families who wanted to get healthy but felt challenged by the options in their neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. The nonprofit structure and the inevitability of being beholden to donors wore on Polk, though. “I got frustrated with the fundraising process of the nonprofit model, and I started to see it as the other side of the inequality coin,” he said. The show of putting on and organizing events, for example, seemed to suit donors, and not the people he was hoping to help.
While Polk remains on the board of Feast, he and co-founder David Foster launched Everytable in 2015 with the goal of directly bringing healthy, high-quality food with affordable prices to marginalized communities. It’s easy to call Everytable a restaurant, because it has them: nine brick-and-mortar locations so far, all in the LA area from Brentwood to downtown and Compton. But Polk doesn’t necessarily see it that way, because Everytable’s approach is greater than just in-store dining.
Everytable relies on a single, central kitchen that supports three offshoots: There’s the restaurant, which provides low-cost, nutritious food that Polk likened to Sweetgreen in quality. Then, there’s the subscription service, which delivers premade meals on a weekly basis. Finally, there’s the smart fridge, which Everytable stocks with meals for businesses and offices. (3)
“The structure of most restaurants is pretty inefficient, where you have a single location that is making food from scratch and then selling it to customers right away, and there’s no economies of scale, there’s no volume efficiencies,” Polk explained. “But because we can have a single kitchen supporting all of our locations, we can have basically the same kind of efficiencies that massive manufacturing plants have. That’s how we can get super low prices.”
From there, Everytable’s variable pricing model comes into play, adjusting prices depending on what neighborhood the restaurant is in. A meal that costs $4.50 to produce might sell for $5 in an underserved neighborhood but $8 in a more affluent one. The science of it, Polk said, is in figuring out average household income, what margins Everytable needs to make, and what nearby fast food is charging. The art of it is in figuring out what exactly each neighborhood will find attractive.
“There’s a lot of talk about food deserts and food justice,” Polk said, “and the sad truth is that we don’t have many competitors selling healthy food in underserved neighborhoods.” He thinks Everytable’s mission is an interesting value proposition to people across the food spectrum: Corporations that could invest in it are always interested in figuring out how to sell healthy food for lower prices, while food and social justice advocates are also rallying around Everytable’s goals.
What Everytable wants to change goes beyond food accessibility. A fair-chance employer, Everytable hires from marginalized groups including former foster children and the formerly incarcerated, and in January 2020, Everytable won a $2.5 million investment to recruit franchisees of color. As the company started to consider franchising, Polk realized that the practice gives an advantage to people with capital; capital, clearly, isn’t equally distributed. With this investment, he hopes not just to expand access to healthy food but to extend the opportunity of owning a business to people who might not otherwise be able to start one.
“At the end of the day, for us, mission is everything—like the only reason that this company exists and that people come to work every day is because we have this core belief that healthy food is a human right and should be affordable and accessible to everyone,” Polk said. “If you took that away, then Everytable would just fizzle and disappear.”
Similarly, Camilla Marcus of west~bourne, an all-day cafe in New York City’s SoHo, has been guided from the beginning by the idea of neighborhood-focused hospitality. (4) She opened the cafe in January 2018 after attending culinary school, law school, and business school and working as the director of business development of Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Her background is varied, and her approach to community is, too, mostly with an eye toward wellness and collectivism.
Central to the idea of west~bourne is a partnership with a local nonprofit. “They were the first people I ever mentioned the word west~bourne to. The original concept was always what it is today: One percent goes to a local grantee called The Door,” Marcus said. The Door is a youth development program that provides counseling, food services, and job training across the city, and it’s supported by the poverty-fighting Robin Hood Foundation. “To start our own charitable arm at the start seemed too big a mountain to climb.”
As of early March, west~bourne was about to pass the $50,000 donation mark; aside from donating 1 percent of all sales, west~bourne also hires around 30 percent of employees through The Door. But the cafe diverges from the typical restaurant structure in other ways, beginning with the meditation that kicks off service each day.
Instead of employing front-of-house and back-of-house staff, Marcus reduces division by cross-training employees in all positions, and since late 2019, west~bourne has partnered with the childcare center Vivvi to provide employees with subsidized child-care from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. since, as Marcus pointed out, restaurant shifts are rarely compatible with day-care hours. It’s also currently on track to be Manhattan’s first certified zero-waste restaurant. “For us, it’s an evolution as much as it is a revolution,” (5) Marcus said.
The problems that mission-driven restaurants attempt to solve are rarely rooted in the restaurant industry alone: Restaurants aren’t to blame for food insecurity, environmentally harmful farming practices, the scarcity of affordable housing, or the lack of adequate childcare support. Amid institutional and government failings, it’s clear that people are trying to find any other means, and American individualism has always promoted personal responsibility over the expectation that the government will provide. But in an industry where so many businesses already hang by a thread, how much more of a burden can restaurants shoulder?
No matter how mission-driven restaurant owners approach the problems they’re trying to solve, they’re constrained by a system that relies on the flow of money, whether it’s to please investors in a for-profit restaurant model or to sway donors to continue giving funds. If keeping a restaurant open is hard, then keeping a restaurant that’s also trying to be something bigger than that is even harder. (6)
(2) As of late March, SAME Café was providing food for pickup only and increasing its services in the face of coronavirus-related layoffs. With the economy in a downturn, Reubendale shared concern about the flow of donations needed to keep SAME running.
(3) In response to COVID-19 and bans on dine-in restaurant service by the city of Los Angeles, Everytable shifted to a pickup only model at its restaurants and started a helpline to provide food for senior citizens, school districts, and anyone else in need.
(4) In mid-March, west~bourne announced that it would be closing “in the name of public health interest.”
(5) In response to mass layoffs across the restaurant industry, Marcus partnered with the Independent Restaurant Coalition to ask legislators to protect America's restaurants.
(6) This problem, however, is now happening on a scale too large for the solution to be on diners. When it comes to the restaurant industry, which is already picking up the slack of so many social failings, at what point do the institutions above stop adding more burden?
Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.
via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network
0 notes
deborahaphillips54303 · 5 years ago
Text
The Endless Promise of the Mission-Driven Restaurant
This article appears in VICE Magazine's Means of Production issue. Conceived of pre-COVID-19 and constructed during it, it explores the organization and ownership of our world.
The first time Brad Reubendale visited the SAME Café in Denver was around 2012, when he really needed its help. (1) Reubendale was experiencing homelessness and food insecurity after he, a former pastor and religious nonprofit worker, was excommunicated from his church for coming out as gay. He figured that SAME—shorthand for So All May Eat, a “pay-what-you-can” restaurant where meals are exchanged for donations of money, produce, or volunteering—was a place where he could access healthy food.
(1) While I was reporting this story, the global COVID-19 outbreak forced the government to mandate the closure of restaurants and food businesses around the U.S. We’ve annotated the ways the pandemic has affected the restaurants mentioned in this piece.
Reubendale was right. He would continue to visit SAME, drawn to its healthy, good-tasting food, while he got his life back together. In 2014, he reentered the nonprofit sector through work with homeless and neglected youth.
Three years ago, SAME founders Brad and Libby Birky decided to take a step back from the day-to-day of the almost 14-year-old restaurant. “I said, ‘I want that job. I want to be able to expand SAME Café and help keep it operational,’” Reubendale told VICE. Now, he said, it’s more than that: , and as he’s gone from diner to director, Reubendale is tasked not just with raising enough funds to keep the cafe churning, but also with thinking of ways to expand—to spread the idea of SAME beyond Denver. (2)
While most restaurants put the focus on food and service with a goal of creating a thriving business, the mission-driven restaurant looks beyond innovation in the kitchen or the experience of dining. While food is still the center of the equation, mission-driven restaurants attempt to tackle larger issues like food insecurity, access to healthy food, sustainability, and more; it’s not just about turning a monetary profit. To run a restaurant guided by a philanthropic goal is a recurring dream across the industry, one that isn’t shared by all chefs or all restaurateurs but by enough that new iterations continue to pop up. Even as some mission-driven models prove unsuccessful, like the now-defunct pay-what-you-can chain Panera Cares, the possibility remains for the concept to be reworked. “Mission-driven” is a dream with endless promise.
That promise doesn’t come with a guarantee, but a sense of what the restaurant industry could look like: Wouldn’t a restaurant that can both feed and fix—and stay afloat while doing it—be a better way to operate? In an industry where traditional business models already hover on razor-thin margins, it’s a luxury that many restaurants can’t afford. But as bold as it may be to suggest that restaurants can do more and extend themselves further, people won’t stop trying.
Tumblr media
The exterior of Everytable in Los Angeles, coutesy of Everytable
At SAME, the menu feels like the one at your standard hometown cafe, and that’s the point. SAME is structured as a nonprofit, but it’s meant to feel like a restaurant, where dishes like quinoa salad, chicken chili, and barbecue chicken pizza share space on a handwritten menu board that changes by the day and where the food doesn’t feel like a handout—it’s not a soup kitchen, with a set selection of food provided for free—or an afterthought.
The difference comes in how you settle up, and while not every mission-driven restaurant follows a pay-what-you-can approach, that model has worked for SAME. Similar cafes exist through the nationwide group One World Everybody Eats, whose pay-what-you-can model inspired SAME’s.
The approach has been less successful for one larger company who attempted it. In 2010, beginning with its home state of Missouri, Panera Bread launched Panera Cares, its philanthropic arm, with a pay-what-you-can premise that expanded to Michigan, Oregon, Illinois, and Massachusetts.
But by 2013, flaws in the Panera Cares model made themselves known. Locations lost money and cracked down on how often visitors could dine, after complaints arose about students eating there daily and people who were experiencing homelessness eating there multiple times per day. According to a study in the Journal of Business Ethics of Panera Cares’ Yelp reviews, people with resources found it “unpleasant” to face the realities of food insecurity, while people with fewer resources were demoralized by having to publicly pay what they could, and they experienced issues like profiling and limited bathroom access.
As of February 2019, every Panera Cares location had closed, and a representative for JAB Holding Company, which acquired Panera Bread in 2017, told Bloomberg at the time, “Despite our commitment to this mission, it’s become clear that continued operation of the Boston Panera Cares is no longer viable.”
Even high-profile chefs have given the mission-driven restaurant model a shot. Despite name recognition and restaurant expertise, the results proved similar.
In 2014, the esteemed Philadelphia restaurant owners Steve Cook and Michael Solomonov began crowdfunding for Rooster Soup Co. As the owners of the chicken-focused restaurant Federal Donuts, the pair had 1,000 pounds of extra chicken parts per week that were otherwise going to waste, and this, they hoped, could be turned into soup. Instead of a pay-what-you-can model, Rooster Soup Co. would generate a profit, all of which would go to the Broad Street Ministry, which provides social services and community engagement across the city.
With Rooster Soup Co. forecasting $50,000 in annual net profits in its first year, more than 1,500 backers contributed a total of nearly $180,000 toward the endeavor, which opened in 2017. But when soup proved to be an unsustainable year-round focus, Rooster Soup Co. rebranded as The Rooster, a Jewish deli, the following year. In the summer of 2019, Cook and Solomonov announced that The Rooster was coming to an end.
Pulling in little foot traffic, the restaurant didn’t generate much profit; it donated just$16,000 in its first year. “For a restaurant whose fundamental premise is to generate funds for our non-profit partner, this has become an untenable and counterproductive situation,” Cook and Solomonov wrote in a statement at the time. (In a separate blow to Philadelphians experiencing food insecurity, the city’s first pay-what-you-can restaurant, the Drexel University–affiliated EAT Café, closed the same year because of rising operating costs and loss of funding.)
In 2016, the Los Angeles–based chef Roy Choi, who popularized Korean tacos through Kogi BBQ, and the Bay Area chef Daniel Patterson, of the Michelin-starred Coi, started Locol. With better-for-you burgers and bowls, locations in underserved areas of Watts and Oakland, and community-focused hiring practices, Locol was a new vision for cheap fast food.
If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
But the idea of Locol was more successful than the reality, according to a review by the New York Times’ Pete Wells. “The neighborhoods Locol is targeting have serious nutritional problems, from hunger to obesity,” he wrote, “but the solution isn’t to charge people for stuff that tastes like hospital food.”
While Wells’ heavily criticized zero-star review didn’t sink the Locol operation, the project wasn’t successful. Finances were a problem, and the neighborhood audience was indeed unexcited about Locol’s food. By August 2018, Locol had closed all four locations.
Between 2016 and 2019, Mission Street Food founders Anthony Myint and Karen Leibowitz ran San Francisco’s The Perennial, a restaurant whose goal was to be the city’s most sustainable through agricultural and business practices intended to minimize environmental damage.
But by early 2019, Myint and Leibowitz realized that their mission could be accomplished without so much stressful overhead. “At some point we started to feel like we could do more work on [improving the food system] if we could devote all our time and energy to it and not be losing money also,” Myint told Eater at the time. They’d become skeptical that a single restaurant could yield systemic change.
The pair have since shifted their efforts to the nonprofit sector through the Perennial Farming Initiative (PFI), which supports progressive agriculture and includes a collective of restaurants who commit 1 percent of revenue to farmers with soil-enriching projects. Instead of keeping one restaurant afloat, PFI can rely on the shared resources of many.
It’s clear that there isn’t one way to run a restaurant with a mission, but there also isn’t broader consensus (or broad governmental support) on how to solve problems like food deserts or environmental damage or homelessness, and as a result, perhaps one reason why so many mission-driven restaurants struggle is that there’s no guidebook on how to run them. Brad Reubendale eventually hopes to provide resources for running a restaurant structured like SAME, but individuals will always attempt their own approaches. While these restaurants can do their best to find solutions for societal problems, what they’re attempting to confront is ultimately rooted in institutions. If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
Tumblr media
A volunteer cleans green beans outside SAME Cafe, 2019. Photo by Letisha Steele, courtesy of Same Cafe
Three years into his work at SAME Café, Reubendale doesn’t feel like it’s all hanging on a thread. “For me, it feels completely secure and comfortable,” he said in late February. “The only tenuousness is because I’m ambitious, and I’m trying to move forward.” Reubendale attributes that security to his fundraising experience and SAME’s 501(c)(3) structure, which classifies it as a tax-exempt charitable organization. That’s where he thinks some mission-driven restaurants go wrong: by trying to operate as for-profit businesses with a philanthropic goal.
“They’re trying to make a for-profit business. [SAME’s pay-what-you-can structure] is a great nonprofit model and a really terrible for-profit model. You have to have the nonprofit thing,” Reubendale said. SAME relies completely on funding from donors, which allows it to focus on its mission instead of pleasing investors. “[Investors] make decisions, generally speaking, around middle-class and upper-class folks, and they’re not as picky about what it feels like to be on the need end of the spectrum.”
When it comes to pay-what-you-can models, as with Panera Cares, those decisions may take the form of a clearly stated suggested donation. “You want to know how much you should give, and you can give a little extra,” Reubendale said, referring to middle- or upper-class diners. “The problem is, if you can’t achieve that, then you feel less-than in the space and you’ve now created two classes of people.”
Perhaps a factor of his own experience dining at SAME all those years ago is that Reubendale puts a strong focus on recognizing everyone’s dignity: Guests who don’t have money to throw into the bucket have time and value to contribute. “We want to have a place where everyone feels like they actually legitimately belong. Some people will say, ‘You give dignity to people.’ No, we recognize the dignity that people already have,” he said.
The list of social issues that a restaurant could tackle never ends, and for every mission-driven restaurant that has closed, there’s one that’s still bright-eyed and ready to get started. Not all share Reubendale’s point of view or business model, but they’re trying to make it work.
Sam Polk, the CEO and co-founder of Everytable, used to be a senior trader at “one of the largest hedge funds in the world,” one where they actually made money during the stock market crash of 2008, he said. But Polk “was sort of empty. I was reading a lot of civil rights stuff, and I was coming to understand that the career path I was on didn’t have a lot of meaning behind it.” He saw the dark side of the finance industry—where people complained about the size of their bonuses despite massive layoffs and foreclosures nationwide. As he started to think more about inequality, he saw food as “one of the most pure expressions of that.”
After leaving his job in finance, Polk’s first approach to solving the food inequality puzzle was to start a nonprofit called Feast in 2013. Its aim was to work with families who wanted to get healthy but felt challenged by the options in their neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. The nonprofit structure and the inevitability of being beholden to donors wore on Polk, though. “I got frustrated with the fundraising process of the nonprofit model, and I started to see it as the other side of the inequality coin,” he said. The show of putting on and organizing events, for example, seemed to suit donors, and not the people he was hoping to help.
While Polk remains on the board of Feast, he and co-founder David Foster launched Everytable in 2015 with the goal of directly bringing healthy, high-quality food with affordable prices to marginalized communities. It’s easy to call Everytable a restaurant, because it has them: nine brick-and-mortar locations so far, all in the LA area from Brentwood to downtown and Compton. But Polk doesn’t necessarily see it that way, because Everytable’s approach is greater than just in-store dining.
Everytable relies on a single, central kitchen that supports three offshoots: There’s the restaurant, which provides low-cost, nutritious food that Polk likened to Sweetgreen in quality. Then, there’s the subscription service, which delivers premade meals on a weekly basis. Finally, there’s the smart fridge, which Everytable stocks with meals for businesses and offices. (3)
“The structure of most restaurants is pretty inefficient, where you have a single location that is making food from scratch and then selling it to customers right away, and there’s no economies of scale, there’s no volume efficiencies,” Polk explained. “But because we can have a single kitchen supporting all of our locations, we can have basically the same kind of efficiencies that massive manufacturing plants have. That’s how we can get super low prices.”
From there, Everytable’s variable pricing model comes into play, adjusting prices depending on what neighborhood the restaurant is in. A meal that costs $4.50 to produce might sell for $5 in an underserved neighborhood but $8 in a more affluent one. The science of it, Polk said, is in figuring out average household income, what margins Everytable needs to make, and what nearby fast food is charging. The art of it is in figuring out what exactly each neighborhood will find attractive.
“There’s a lot of talk about food deserts and food justice,” Polk said, “and the sad truth is that we don’t have many competitors selling healthy food in underserved neighborhoods.” He thinks Everytable’s mission is an interesting value proposition to people across the food spectrum: Corporations that could invest in it are always interested in figuring out how to sell healthy food for lower prices, while food and social justice advocates are also rallying around Everytable’s goals.
What Everytable wants to change goes beyond food accessibility. A fair-chance employer, Everytable hires from marginalized groups including former foster children and the formerly incarcerated, and in January 2020, Everytable won a $2.5 million investment to recruit franchisees of color. As the company started to consider franchising, Polk realized that the practice gives an advantage to people with capital; capital, clearly, isn’t equally distributed. With this investment, he hopes not just to expand access to healthy food but to extend the opportunity of owning a business to people who might not otherwise be able to start one.
“At the end of the day, for us, mission is everything—like the only reason that this company exists and that people come to work every day is because we have this core belief that healthy food is a human right and should be affordable and accessible to everyone,” Polk said. “If you took that away, then Everytable would just fizzle and disappear.”
Similarly, Camilla Marcus of west~bourne, an all-day cafe in New York City’s SoHo, has been guided from the beginning by the idea of neighborhood-focused hospitality. (4) She opened the cafe in January 2018 after attending culinary school, law school, and business school and working as the director of business development of Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Her background is varied, and her approach to community is, too, mostly with an eye toward wellness and collectivism.
Central to the idea of west~bourne is a partnership with a local nonprofit. “They were the first people I ever mentioned the word west~bourne to. The original concept was always what it is today: One percent goes to a local grantee called The Door,” Marcus said. The Door is a youth development program that provides counseling, food services, and job training across the city, and it’s supported by the poverty-fighting Robin Hood Foundation. “To start our own charitable arm at the start seemed too big a mountain to climb.”
As of early March, west~bourne was about to pass the $50,000 donation mark; aside from donating 1 percent of all sales, west~bourne also hires around 30 percent of employees through The Door. But the cafe diverges from the typical restaurant structure in other ways, beginning with the meditation that kicks off service each day.
Instead of employing front-of-house and back-of-house staff, Marcus reduces division by cross-training employees in all positions, and since late 2019, west~bourne has partnered with the childcare center Vivvi to provide employees with subsidized child-care from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. since, as Marcus pointed out, restaurant shifts are rarely compatible with day-care hours. It’s also currently on track to be Manhattan’s first certified zero-waste restaurant. “For us, it’s an evolution as much as it is a revolution,” (5) Marcus said.
The problems that mission-driven restaurants attempt to solve are rarely rooted in the restaurant industry alone: Restaurants aren’t to blame for food insecurity, environmentally harmful farming practices, the scarcity of affordable housing, or the lack of adequate childcare support. Amid institutional and government failings, it’s clear that people are trying to find any other means, and American individualism has always promoted personal responsibility over the expectation that the government will provide. But in an industry where so many businesses already hang by a thread, how much more of a burden can restaurants shoulder?
No matter how mission-driven restaurant owners approach the problems they’re trying to solve, they’re constrained by a system that relies on the flow of money, whether it’s to please investors in a for-profit restaurant model or to sway donors to continue giving funds. If keeping a restaurant open is hard, then keeping a restaurant that’s also trying to be something bigger than that is even harder. (6)
(2) As of late March, SAME Café was providing food for pickup only and increasing its services in the face of coronavirus-related layoffs. With the economy in a downturn, Reubendale shared concern about the flow of donations needed to keep SAME running.
(3) In response to COVID-19 and bans on dine-in restaurant service by the city of Los Angeles, Everytable shifted to a pickup only model at its restaurants and started a helpline to provide food for senior citizens, school districts, and anyone else in need.
(4) In mid-March, west~bourne announced that it would be closing “in the name of public health interest.”
(5) In response to mass layoffs across the restaurant industry, Marcus partnered with the Independent Restaurant Coalition to ask legislators to protect America's restaurants.
(6) This problem, however, is now happening on a scale too large for the solution to be on diners. When it comes to the restaurant industry, which is already picking up the slack of so many social failings, at what point do the institutions above stop adding more burden?
Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.
via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network
0 notes
cyberpoetryballoon · 5 years ago
Text
The Endless Promise of the Mission-Driven Restaurant
This article appears in VICE Magazine's Means of Production issue. Conceived of pre-COVID-19 and constructed during it, it explores the organization and ownership of our world.
The first time Brad Reubendale visited the SAME Café in Denver was around 2012, when he really needed its help. (1) Reubendale was experiencing homelessness and food insecurity after he, a former pastor and religious nonprofit worker, was excommunicated from his church for coming out as gay. He figured that SAME—shorthand for So All May Eat, a “pay-what-you-can” restaurant where meals are exchanged for donations of money, produce, or volunteering—was a place where he could access healthy food.
(1) While I was reporting this story, the global COVID-19 outbreak forced the government to mandate the closure of restaurants and food businesses around the U.S. We’ve annotated the ways the pandemic has affected the restaurants mentioned in this piece.
Reubendale was right. He would continue to visit SAME, drawn to its healthy, good-tasting food, while he got his life back together. In 2014, he reentered the nonprofit sector through work with homeless and neglected youth.
Three years ago, SAME founders Brad and Libby Birky decided to take a step back from the day-to-day of the almost 14-year-old restaurant. “I said, ‘I want that job. I want to be able to expand SAME Café and help keep it operational,’” Reubendale told VICE. Now, he said, it’s more than that: , and as he’s gone from diner to director, Reubendale is tasked not just with raising enough funds to keep the cafe churning, but also with thinking of ways to expand—to spread the idea of SAME beyond Denver. (2)
While most restaurants put the focus on food and service with a goal of creating a thriving business, the mission-driven restaurant looks beyond innovation in the kitchen or the experience of dining. While food is still the center of the equation, mission-driven restaurants attempt to tackle larger issues like food insecurity, access to healthy food, sustainability, and more; it’s not just about turning a monetary profit. To run a restaurant guided by a philanthropic goal is a recurring dream across the industry, one that isn’t shared by all chefs or all restaurateurs but by enough that new iterations continue to pop up. Even as some mission-driven models prove unsuccessful, like the now-defunct pay-what-you-can chain Panera Cares, the possibility remains for the concept to be reworked. “Mission-driven” is a dream with endless promise.
That promise doesn’t come with a guarantee, but a sense of what the restaurant industry could look like: Wouldn’t a restaurant that can both feed and fix—and stay afloat while doing it—be a better way to operate? In an industry where traditional business models already hover on razor-thin margins, it’s a luxury that many restaurants can’t afford. But as bold as it may be to suggest that restaurants can do more and extend themselves further, people won’t stop trying.
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The exterior of Everytable in Los Angeles, coutesy of Everytable
At SAME, the menu feels like the one at your standard hometown cafe, and that’s the point. SAME is structured as a nonprofit, but it’s meant to feel like a restaurant, where dishes like quinoa salad, chicken chili, and barbecue chicken pizza share space on a handwritten menu board that changes by the day and where the food doesn’t feel like a handout—it’s not a soup kitchen, with a set selection of food provided for free—or an afterthought.
The difference comes in how you settle up, and while not every mission-driven restaurant follows a pay-what-you-can approach, that model has worked for SAME. Similar cafes exist through the nationwide group One World Everybody Eats, whose pay-what-you-can model inspired SAME’s.
The approach has been less successful for one larger company who attempted it. In 2010, beginning with its home state of Missouri, Panera Bread launched Panera Cares, its philanthropic arm, with a pay-what-you-can premise that expanded to Michigan, Oregon, Illinois, and Massachusetts.
But by 2013, flaws in the Panera Cares model made themselves known. Locations lost money and cracked down on how often visitors could dine, after complaints arose about students eating there daily and people who were experiencing homelessness eating there multiple times per day. According to a study in the Journal of Business Ethics of Panera Cares’ Yelp reviews, people with resources found it “unpleasant” to face the realities of food insecurity, while people with fewer resources were demoralized by having to publicly pay what they could, and they experienced issues like profiling and limited bathroom access.
As of February 2019, every Panera Cares location had closed, and a representative for JAB Holding Company, which acquired Panera Bread in 2017, told Bloomberg at the time, “Despite our commitment to this mission, it’s become clear that continued operation of the Boston Panera Cares is no longer viable.”
Even high-profile chefs have given the mission-driven restaurant model a shot. Despite name recognition and restaurant expertise, the results proved similar.
In 2014, the esteemed Philadelphia restaurant owners Steve Cook and Michael Solomonov began crowdfunding for Rooster Soup Co. As the owners of the chicken-focused restaurant Federal Donuts, the pair had 1,000 pounds of extra chicken parts per week that were otherwise going to waste, and this, they hoped, could be turned into soup. Instead of a pay-what-you-can model, Rooster Soup Co. would generate a profit, all of which would go to the Broad Street Ministry, which provides social services and community engagement across the city.
With Rooster Soup Co. forecasting $50,000 in annual net profits in its first year, more than 1,500 backers contributed a total of nearly $180,000 toward the endeavor, which opened in 2017. But when soup proved to be an unsustainable year-round focus, Rooster Soup Co. rebranded as The Rooster, a Jewish deli, the following year. In the summer of 2019, Cook and Solomonov announced that The Rooster was coming to an end.
Pulling in little foot traffic, the restaurant didn’t generate much profit; it donated just$16,000 in its first year. “For a restaurant whose fundamental premise is to generate funds for our non-profit partner, this has become an untenable and counterproductive situation,” Cook and Solomonov wrote in a statement at the time. (In a separate blow to Philadelphians experiencing food insecurity, the city’s first pay-what-you-can restaurant, the Drexel University–affiliated EAT Café, closed the same year because of rising operating costs and loss of funding.)
In 2016, the Los Angeles–based chef Roy Choi, who popularized Korean tacos through Kogi BBQ, and the Bay Area chef Daniel Patterson, of the Michelin-starred Coi, started Locol. With better-for-you burgers and bowls, locations in underserved areas of Watts and Oakland, and community-focused hiring practices, Locol was a new vision for cheap fast food.
If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
But the idea of Locol was more successful than the reality, according to a review by the New York Times’ Pete Wells. “The neighborhoods Locol is targeting have serious nutritional problems, from hunger to obesity,” he wrote, “but the solution isn’t to charge people for stuff that tastes like hospital food.”
While Wells’ heavily criticized zero-star review didn’t sink the Locol operation, the project wasn’t successful. Finances were a problem, and the neighborhood audience was indeed unexcited about Locol’s food. By August 2018, Locol had closed all four locations.
Between 2016 and 2019, Mission Street Food founders Anthony Myint and Karen Leibowitz ran San Francisco’s The Perennial, a restaurant whose goal was to be the city’s most sustainable through agricultural and business practices intended to minimize environmental damage.
But by early 2019, Myint and Leibowitz realized that their mission could be accomplished without so much stressful overhead. “At some point we started to feel like we could do more work on [improving the food system] if we could devote all our time and energy to it and not be losing money also,” Myint told Eater at the time. They’d become skeptical that a single restaurant could yield systemic change.
The pair have since shifted their efforts to the nonprofit sector through the Perennial Farming Initiative (PFI), which supports progressive agriculture and includes a collective of restaurants who commit 1 percent of revenue to farmers with soil-enriching projects. Instead of keeping one restaurant afloat, PFI can rely on the shared resources of many.
It’s clear that there isn’t one way to run a restaurant with a mission, but there also isn’t broader consensus (or broad governmental support) on how to solve problems like food deserts or environmental damage or homelessness, and as a result, perhaps one reason why so many mission-driven restaurants struggle is that there’s no guidebook on how to run them. Brad Reubendale eventually hopes to provide resources for running a restaurant structured like SAME, but individuals will always attempt their own approaches. While these restaurants can do their best to find solutions for societal problems, what they’re attempting to confront is ultimately rooted in institutions. If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
Tumblr media
A volunteer cleans green beans outside SAME Cafe, 2019. Photo by Letisha Steele, courtesy of Same Cafe
Three years into his work at SAME Café, Reubendale doesn’t feel like it’s all hanging on a thread. “For me, it feels completely secure and comfortable,” he said in late February. “The only tenuousness is because I’m ambitious, and I’m trying to move forward.” Reubendale attributes that security to his fundraising experience and SAME’s 501(c)(3) structure, which classifies it as a tax-exempt charitable organization. That’s where he thinks some mission-driven restaurants go wrong: by trying to operate as for-profit businesses with a philanthropic goal.
“They’re trying to make a for-profit business. [SAME’s pay-what-you-can structure] is a great nonprofit model and a really terrible for-profit model. You have to have the nonprofit thing,” Reubendale said. SAME relies completely on funding from donors, which allows it to focus on its mission instead of pleasing investors. “[Investors] make decisions, generally speaking, around middle-class and upper-class folks, and they’re not as picky about what it feels like to be on the need end of the spectrum.”
When it comes to pay-what-you-can models, as with Panera Cares, those decisions may take the form of a clearly stated suggested donation. “You want to know how much you should give, and you can give a little extra,” Reubendale said, referring to middle- or upper-class diners. “The problem is, if you can’t achieve that, then you feel less-than in the space and you’ve now created two classes of people.”
Perhaps a factor of his own experience dining at SAME all those years ago is that Reubendale puts a strong focus on recognizing everyone’s dignity: Guests who don’t have money to throw into the bucket have time and value to contribute. “We want to have a place where everyone feels like they actually legitimately belong. Some people will say, ‘You give dignity to people.’ No, we recognize the dignity that people already have,” he said.
The list of social issues that a restaurant could tackle never ends, and for every mission-driven restaurant that has closed, there’s one that’s still bright-eyed and ready to get started. Not all share Reubendale’s point of view or business model, but they’re trying to make it work.
Sam Polk, the CEO and co-founder of Everytable, used to be a senior trader at “one of the largest hedge funds in the world,” one where they actually made money during the stock market crash of 2008, he said. But Polk “was sort of empty. I was reading a lot of civil rights stuff, and I was coming to understand that the career path I was on didn’t have a lot of meaning behind it.” He saw the dark side of the finance industry—where people complained about the size of their bonuses despite massive layoffs and foreclosures nationwide. As he started to think more about inequality, he saw food as “one of the most pure expressions of that.”
After leaving his job in finance, Polk’s first approach to solving the food inequality puzzle was to start a nonprofit called Feast in 2013. Its aim was to work with families who wanted to get healthy but felt challenged by the options in their neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. The nonprofit structure and the inevitability of being beholden to donors wore on Polk, though. “I got frustrated with the fundraising process of the nonprofit model, and I started to see it as the other side of the inequality coin,” he said. The show of putting on and organizing events, for example, seemed to suit donors, and not the people he was hoping to help.
While Polk remains on the board of Feast, he and co-founder David Foster launched Everytable in 2015 with the goal of directly bringing healthy, high-quality food with affordable prices to marginalized communities. It’s easy to call Everytable a restaurant, because it has them: nine brick-and-mortar locations so far, all in the LA area from Brentwood to downtown and Compton. But Polk doesn’t necessarily see it that way, because Everytable’s approach is greater than just in-store dining.
Everytable relies on a single, central kitchen that supports three offshoots: There’s the restaurant, which provides low-cost, nutritious food that Polk likened to Sweetgreen in quality. Then, there’s the subscription service, which delivers premade meals on a weekly basis. Finally, there’s the smart fridge, which Everytable stocks with meals for businesses and offices. (3)
“The structure of most restaurants is pretty inefficient, where you have a single location that is making food from scratch and then selling it to customers right away, and there’s no economies of scale, there’s no volume efficiencies,” Polk explained. “But because we can have a single kitchen supporting all of our locations, we can have basically the same kind of efficiencies that massive manufacturing plants have. That’s how we can get super low prices.”
From there, Everytable’s variable pricing model comes into play, adjusting prices depending on what neighborhood the restaurant is in. A meal that costs $4.50 to produce might sell for $5 in an underserved neighborhood but $8 in a more affluent one. The science of it, Polk said, is in figuring out average household income, what margins Everytable needs to make, and what nearby fast food is charging. The art of it is in figuring out what exactly each neighborhood will find attractive.
“There’s a lot of talk about food deserts and food justice,” Polk said, “and the sad truth is that we don’t have many competitors selling healthy food in underserved neighborhoods.” He thinks Everytable’s mission is an interesting value proposition to people across the food spectrum: Corporations that could invest in it are always interested in figuring out how to sell healthy food for lower prices, while food and social justice advocates are also rallying around Everytable’s goals.
What Everytable wants to change goes beyond food accessibility. A fair-chance employer, Everytable hires from marginalized groups including former foster children and the formerly incarcerated, and in January 2020, Everytable won a $2.5 million investment to recruit franchisees of color. As the company started to consider franchising, Polk realized that the practice gives an advantage to people with capital; capital, clearly, isn’t equally distributed. With this investment, he hopes not just to expand access to healthy food but to extend the opportunity of owning a business to people who might not otherwise be able to start one.
“At the end of the day, for us, mission is everything—like the only reason that this company exists and that people come to work every day is because we have this core belief that healthy food is a human right and should be affordable and accessible to everyone,” Polk said. “If you took that away, then Everytable would just fizzle and disappear.”
Similarly, Camilla Marcus of west~bourne, an all-day cafe in New York City’s SoHo, has been guided from the beginning by the idea of neighborhood-focused hospitality. (4) She opened the cafe in January 2018 after attending culinary school, law school, and business school and working as the director of business development of Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Her background is varied, and her approach to community is, too, mostly with an eye toward wellness and collectivism.
Central to the idea of west~bourne is a partnership with a local nonprofit. “They were the first people I ever mentioned the word west~bourne to. The original concept was always what it is today: One percent goes to a local grantee called The Door,” Marcus said. The Door is a youth development program that provides counseling, food services, and job training across the city, and it’s supported by the poverty-fighting Robin Hood Foundation. “To start our own charitable arm at the start seemed too big a mountain to climb.”
As of early March, west~bourne was about to pass the $50,000 donation mark; aside from donating 1 percent of all sales, west~bourne also hires around 30 percent of employees through The Door. But the cafe diverges from the typical restaurant structure in other ways, beginning with the meditation that kicks off service each day.
Instead of employing front-of-house and back-of-house staff, Marcus reduces division by cross-training employees in all positions, and since late 2019, west~bourne has partnered with the childcare center Vivvi to provide employees with subsidized child-care from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. since, as Marcus pointed out, restaurant shifts are rarely compatible with day-care hours. It’s also currently on track to be Manhattan’s first certified zero-waste restaurant. “For us, it’s an evolution as much as it is a revolution,” (5) Marcus said.
The problems that mission-driven restaurants attempt to solve are rarely rooted in the restaurant industry alone: Restaurants aren’t to blame for food insecurity, environmentally harmful farming practices, the scarcity of affordable housing, or the lack of adequate childcare support. Amid institutional and government failings, it’s clear that people are trying to find any other means, and American individualism has always promoted personal responsibility over the expectation that the government will provide. But in an industry where so many businesses already hang by a thread, how much more of a burden can restaurants shoulder?
No matter how mission-driven restaurant owners approach the problems they’re trying to solve, they’re constrained by a system that relies on the flow of money, whether it’s to please investors in a for-profit restaurant model or to sway donors to continue giving funds. If keeping a restaurant open is hard, then keeping a restaurant that’s also trying to be something bigger than that is even harder. (6)
(2) As of late March, SAME Café was providing food for pickup only and increasing its services in the face of coronavirus-related layoffs. With the economy in a downturn, Reubendale shared concern about the flow of donations needed to keep SAME running.
(3) In response to COVID-19 and bans on dine-in restaurant service by the city of Los Angeles, Everytable shifted to a pickup only model at its restaurants and started a helpline to provide food for senior citizens, school districts, and anyone else in need.
(4) In mid-March, west~bourne announced that it would be closing “in the name of public health interest.”
(5) In response to mass layoffs across the restaurant industry, Marcus partnered with the Independent Restaurant Coalition to ask legislators to protect America's restaurants.
(6) This problem, however, is now happening on a scale too large for the solution to be on diners. When it comes to the restaurant industry, which is already picking up the slack of so many social failings, at what point do the institutions above stop adding more burden?
Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.
via VICE US - undefined US VICE US - undefined US via Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network Mom's Kitchen Recipe Network
0 notes
carolrhackett85282 · 5 years ago
Text
The Endless Promise of the Mission-Driven Restaurant
This article appears in VICE Magazine's Means of Production issue. Conceived of pre-COVID-19 and constructed during it, it explores the organization and ownership of our world.
The first time Brad Reubendale visited the SAME Café in Denver was around 2012, when he really needed its help. (1) Reubendale was experiencing homelessness and food insecurity after he, a former pastor and religious nonprofit worker, was excommunicated from his church for coming out as gay. He figured that SAME—shorthand for So All May Eat, a “pay-what-you-can” restaurant where meals are exchanged for donations of money, produce, or volunteering—was a place where he could access healthy food.
(1) While I was reporting this story, the global COVID-19 outbreak forced the government to mandate the closure of restaurants and food businesses around the U.S. We’ve annotated the ways the pandemic has affected the restaurants mentioned in this piece.
Reubendale was right. He would continue to visit SAME, drawn to its healthy, good-tasting food, while he got his life back together. In 2014, he reentered the nonprofit sector through work with homeless and neglected youth.
Three years ago, SAME founders Brad and Libby Birky decided to take a step back from the day-to-day of the almost 14-year-old restaurant. “I said, ‘I want that job. I want to be able to expand SAME Café and help keep it operational,’” Reubendale told VICE. Now, he said, it’s more than that: , and as he’s gone from diner to director, Reubendale is tasked not just with raising enough funds to keep the cafe churning, but also with thinking of ways to expand—to spread the idea of SAME beyond Denver. (2)
While most restaurants put the focus on food and service with a goal of creating a thriving business, the mission-driven restaurant looks beyond innovation in the kitchen or the experience of dining. While food is still the center of the equation, mission-driven restaurants attempt to tackle larger issues like food insecurity, access to healthy food, sustainability, and more; it’s not just about turning a monetary profit. To run a restaurant guided by a philanthropic goal is a recurring dream across the industry, one that isn’t shared by all chefs or all restaurateurs but by enough that new iterations continue to pop up. Even as some mission-driven models prove unsuccessful, like the now-defunct pay-what-you-can chain Panera Cares, the possibility remains for the concept to be reworked. “Mission-driven” is a dream with endless promise.
That promise doesn’t come with a guarantee, but a sense of what the restaurant industry could look like: Wouldn’t a restaurant that can both feed and fix—and stay afloat while doing it—be a better way to operate? In an industry where traditional business models already hover on razor-thin margins, it’s a luxury that many restaurants can’t afford. But as bold as it may be to suggest that restaurants can do more and extend themselves further, people won’t stop trying.
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The exterior of Everytable in Los Angeles, coutesy of Everytable
At SAME, the menu feels like the one at your standard hometown cafe, and that’s the point. SAME is structured as a nonprofit, but it’s meant to feel like a restaurant, where dishes like quinoa salad, chicken chili, and barbecue chicken pizza share space on a handwritten menu board that changes by the day and where the food doesn’t feel like a handout—it’s not a soup kitchen, with a set selection of food provided for free—or an afterthought.
The difference comes in how you settle up, and while not every mission-driven restaurant follows a pay-what-you-can approach, that model has worked for SAME. Similar cafes exist through the nationwide group One World Everybody Eats, whose pay-what-you-can model inspired SAME’s.
The approach has been less successful for one larger company who attempted it. In 2010, beginning with its home state of Missouri, Panera Bread launched Panera Cares, its philanthropic arm, with a pay-what-you-can premise that expanded to Michigan, Oregon, Illinois, and Massachusetts.
But by 2013, flaws in the Panera Cares model made themselves known. Locations lost money and cracked down on how often visitors could dine, after complaints arose about students eating there daily and people who were experiencing homelessness eating there multiple times per day. According to a study in the Journal of Business Ethics of Panera Cares’ Yelp reviews, people with resources found it “unpleasant” to face the realities of food insecurity, while people with fewer resources were demoralized by having to publicly pay what they could, and they experienced issues like profiling and limited bathroom access.
As of February 2019, every Panera Cares location had closed, and a representative for JAB Holding Company, which acquired Panera Bread in 2017, told Bloomberg at the time, “Despite our commitment to this mission, it’s become clear that continued operation of the Boston Panera Cares is no longer viable.”
Even high-profile chefs have given the mission-driven restaurant model a shot. Despite name recognition and restaurant expertise, the results proved similar.
In 2014, the esteemed Philadelphia restaurant owners Steve Cook and Michael Solomonov began crowdfunding for Rooster Soup Co. As the owners of the chicken-focused restaurant Federal Donuts, the pair had 1,000 pounds of extra chicken parts per week that were otherwise going to waste, and this, they hoped, could be turned into soup. Instead of a pay-what-you-can model, Rooster Soup Co. would generate a profit, all of which would go to the Broad Street Ministry, which provides social services and community engagement across the city.
With Rooster Soup Co. forecasting $50,000 in annual net profits in its first year, more than 1,500 backers contributed a total of nearly $180,000 toward the endeavor, which opened in 2017. But when soup proved to be an unsustainable year-round focus, Rooster Soup Co. rebranded as The Rooster, a Jewish deli, the following year. In the summer of 2019, Cook and Solomonov announced that The Rooster was coming to an end.
Pulling in little foot traffic, the restaurant didn’t generate much profit; it donated just$16,000 in its first year. “For a restaurant whose fundamental premise is to generate funds for our non-profit partner, this has become an untenable and counterproductive situation,” Cook and Solomonov wrote in a statement at the time. (In a separate blow to Philadelphians experiencing food insecurity, the city’s first pay-what-you-can restaurant, the Drexel University–affiliated EAT Café, closed the same year because of rising operating costs and loss of funding.)
In 2016, the Los Angeles–based chef Roy Choi, who popularized Korean tacos through Kogi BBQ, and the Bay Area chef Daniel Patterson, of the Michelin-starred Coi, started Locol. With better-for-you burgers and bowls, locations in underserved areas of Watts and Oakland, and community-focused hiring practices, Locol was a new vision for cheap fast food.
If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
But the idea of Locol was more successful than the reality, according to a review by the New York Times’ Pete Wells. “The neighborhoods Locol is targeting have serious nutritional problems, from hunger to obesity,” he wrote, “but the solution isn’t to charge people for stuff that tastes like hospital food.”
While Wells’ heavily criticized zero-star review didn’t sink the Locol operation, the project wasn’t successful. Finances were a problem, and the neighborhood audience was indeed unexcited about Locol’s food. By August 2018, Locol had closed all four locations.
Between 2016 and 2019, Mission Street Food founders Anthony Myint and Karen Leibowitz ran San Francisco’s The Perennial, a restaurant whose goal was to be the city’s most sustainable through agricultural and business practices intended to minimize environmental damage.
But by early 2019, Myint and Leibowitz realized that their mission could be accomplished without so much stressful overhead. “At some point we started to feel like we could do more work on [improving the food system] if we could devote all our time and energy to it and not be losing money also,” Myint told Eater at the time. They’d become skeptical that a single restaurant could yield systemic change.
The pair have since shifted their efforts to the nonprofit sector through the Perennial Farming Initiative (PFI), which supports progressive agriculture and includes a collective of restaurants who commit 1 percent of revenue to farmers with soil-enriching projects. Instead of keeping one restaurant afloat, PFI can rely on the shared resources of many.
It’s clear that there isn’t one way to run a restaurant with a mission, but there also isn’t broader consensus (or broad governmental support) on how to solve problems like food deserts or environmental damage or homelessness, and as a result, perhaps one reason why so many mission-driven restaurants struggle is that there’s no guidebook on how to run them. Brad Reubendale eventually hopes to provide resources for running a restaurant structured like SAME, but individuals will always attempt their own approaches. While these restaurants can do their best to find solutions for societal problems, what they’re attempting to confront is ultimately rooted in institutions. If change happens one restaurant at a time, how much change can we really expect?
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A volunteer cleans green beans outside SAME Cafe, 2019. Photo by Letisha Steele, courtesy of Same Cafe
Three years into his work at SAME Café, Reubendale doesn’t feel like it’s all hanging on a thread. “For me, it feels completely secure and comfortable,” he said in late February. “The only tenuousness is because I’m ambitious, and I’m trying to move forward.” Reubendale attributes that security to his fundraising experience and SAME’s 501(c)(3) structure, which classifies it as a tax-exempt charitable organization. That’s where he thinks some mission-driven restaurants go wrong: by trying to operate as for-profit businesses with a philanthropic goal.
“They’re trying to make a for-profit business. [SAME’s pay-what-you-can structure] is a great nonprofit model and a really terrible for-profit model. You have to have the nonprofit thing,” Reubendale said. SAME relies completely on funding from donors, which allows it to focus on its mission instead of pleasing investors. “[Investors] make decisions, generally speaking, around middle-class and upper-class folks, and they’re not as picky about what it feels like to be on the need end of the spectrum.”
When it comes to pay-what-you-can models, as with Panera Cares, those decisions may take the form of a clearly stated suggested donation. “You want to know how much you should give, and you can give a little extra,” Reubendale said, referring to middle- or upper-class diners. “The problem is, if you can’t achieve that, then you feel less-than in the space and you’ve now created two classes of people.”
Perhaps a factor of his own experience dining at SAME all those years ago is that Reubendale puts a strong focus on recognizing everyone’s dignity: Guests who don’t have money to throw into the bucket have time and value to contribute. “We want to have a place where everyone feels like they actually legitimately belong. Some people will say, ‘You give dignity to people.’ No, we recognize the dignity that people already have,” he said.
The list of social issues that a restaurant could tackle never ends, and for every mission-driven restaurant that has closed, there’s one that’s still bright-eyed and ready to get started. Not all share Reubendale’s point of view or business model, but they’re trying to make it work.
Sam Polk, the CEO and co-founder of Everytable, used to be a senior trader at “one of the largest hedge funds in the world,” one where they actually made money during the stock market crash of 2008, he said. But Polk “was sort of empty. I was reading a lot of civil rights stuff, and I was coming to understand that the career path I was on didn’t have a lot of meaning behind it.” He saw the dark side of the finance industry—where people complained about the size of their bonuses despite massive layoffs and foreclosures nationwide. As he started to think more about inequality, he saw food as “one of the most pure expressions of that.”
After leaving his job in finance, Polk’s first approach to solving the food inequality puzzle was to start a nonprofit called Feast in 2013. Its aim was to work with families who wanted to get healthy but felt challenged by the options in their neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. The nonprofit structure and the inevitability of being beholden to donors wore on Polk, though. “I got frustrated with the fundraising process of the nonprofit model, and I started to see it as the other side of the inequality coin,” he said. The show of putting on and organizing events, for example, seemed to suit donors, and not the people he was hoping to help.
While Polk remains on the board of Feast, he and co-founder David Foster launched Everytable in 2015 with the goal of directly bringing healthy, high-quality food with affordable prices to marginalized communities. It’s easy to call Everytable a restaurant, because it has them: nine brick-and-mortar locations so far, all in the LA area from Brentwood to downtown and Compton. But Polk doesn’t necessarily see it that way, because Everytable’s approach is greater than just in-store dining.
Everytable relies on a single, central kitchen that supports three offshoots: There’s the restaurant, which provides low-cost, nutritious food that Polk likened to Sweetgreen in quality. Then, there’s the subscription service, which delivers premade meals on a weekly basis. Finally, there’s the smart fridge, which Everytable stocks with meals for businesses and offices. (3)
“The structure of most restaurants is pretty inefficient, where you have a single location that is making food from scratch and then selling it to customers right away, and there’s no economies of scale, there’s no volume efficiencies,” Polk explained. “But because we can have a single kitchen supporting all of our locations, we can have basically the same kind of efficiencies that massive manufacturing plants have. That’s how we can get super low prices.”
From there, Everytable’s variable pricing model comes into play, adjusting prices depending on what neighborhood the restaurant is in. A meal that costs $4.50 to produce might sell for $5 in an underserved neighborhood but $8 in a more affluent one. The science of it, Polk said, is in figuring out average household income, what margins Everytable needs to make, and what nearby fast food is charging. The art of it is in figuring out what exactly each neighborhood will find attractive.
“There’s a lot of talk about food deserts and food justice,” Polk said, “and the sad truth is that we don’t have many competitors selling healthy food in underserved neighborhoods.” He thinks Everytable’s mission is an interesting value proposition to people across the food spectrum: Corporations that could invest in it are always interested in figuring out how to sell healthy food for lower prices, while food and social justice advocates are also rallying around Everytable’s goals.
What Everytable wants to change goes beyond food accessibility. A fair-chance employer, Everytable hires from marginalized groups including former foster children and the formerly incarcerated, and in January 2020, Everytable won a $2.5 million investment to recruit franchisees of color. As the company started to consider franchising, Polk realized that the practice gives an advantage to people with capital; capital, clearly, isn’t equally distributed. With this investment, he hopes not just to expand access to healthy food but to extend the opportunity of owning a business to people who might not otherwise be able to start one.
“At the end of the day, for us, mission is everything—like the only reason that this company exists and that people come to work every day is because we have this core belief that healthy food is a human right and should be affordable and accessible to everyone,” Polk said. “If you took that away, then Everytable would just fizzle and disappear.”
Similarly, Camilla Marcus of west~bourne, an all-day cafe in New York City’s SoHo, has been guided from the beginning by the idea of neighborhood-focused hospitality. (4) She opened the cafe in January 2018 after attending culinary school, law school, and business school and working as the director of business development of Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group. Her background is varied, and her approach to community is, too, mostly with an eye toward wellness and collectivism.
Central to the idea of west~bourne is a partnership with a local nonprofit. “They were the first people I ever mentioned the word west~bourne to. The original concept was always what it is today: One percent goes to a local grantee called The Door,” Marcus said. The Door is a youth development program that provides counseling, food services, and job training across the city, and it’s supported by the poverty-fighting Robin Hood Foundation. “To start our own charitable arm at the start seemed too big a mountain to climb.”
As of early March, west~bourne was about to pass the $50,000 donation mark; aside from donating 1 percent of all sales, west~bourne also hires around 30 percent of employees through The Door. But the cafe diverges from the typical restaurant structure in other ways, beginning with the meditation that kicks off service each day.
Instead of employing front-of-house and back-of-house staff, Marcus reduces division by cross-training employees in all positions, and since late 2019, west~bourne has partnered with the childcare center Vivvi to provide employees with subsidized child-care from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. since, as Marcus pointed out, restaurant shifts are rarely compatible with day-care hours. It’s also currently on track to be Manhattan’s first certified zero-waste restaurant. “For us, it’s an evolution as much as it is a revolution,” (5) Marcus said.
The problems that mission-driven restaurants attempt to solve are rarely rooted in the restaurant industry alone: Restaurants aren’t to blame for food insecurity, environmentally harmful farming practices, the scarcity of affordable housing, or the lack of adequate childcare support. Amid institutional and government failings, it’s clear that people are trying to find any other means, and American individualism has always promoted personal responsibility over the expectation that the government will provide. But in an industry where so many businesses already hang by a thread, how much more of a burden can restaurants shoulder?
No matter how mission-driven restaurant owners approach the problems they’re trying to solve, they’re constrained by a system that relies on the flow of money, whether it’s to please investors in a for-profit restaurant model or to sway donors to continue giving funds. If keeping a restaurant open is hard, then keeping a restaurant that’s also trying to be something bigger than that is even harder. (6)
(2) As of late March, SAME Café was providing food for pickup only and increasing its services in the face of coronavirus-related layoffs. With the economy in a downturn, Reubendale shared concern about the flow of donations needed to keep SAME running.
(3) In response to COVID-19 and bans on dine-in restaurant service by the city of Los Angeles, Everytable shifted to a pickup only model at its restaurants and started a helpline to provide food for senior citizens, school districts, and anyone else in need.
(4) In mid-March, west~bourne announced that it would be closing “in the name of public health interest.”
(5) In response to mass layoffs across the restaurant industry, Marcus partnered with the Independent Restaurant Coalition to ask legislators to protect America's restaurants.
(6) This problem, however, is now happening on a scale too large for the solution to be on diners. When it comes to the restaurant industry, which is already picking up the slack of so many social failings, at what point do the institutions above stop adding more burden?
Follow Bettina Makalintal on Twitter.
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28.06.2017 – Journal: Brent Leaving & Trying New Things
I’ve been so fucking shit at writing recently. Recent events have fucked me up. I don’t know. I’m afraid my honesty’s fucked. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to talk about my life without sounding like a fuckhead. Or a liar. Or both.
I’ve not spent enough much time sitting down and writing. I’ve been exercising, working, doing sets, and getting drunk and high. I haven’t felt guilt for not making a podcast or a journal. Underneath the surface I must feel productive enough.
I haven’t been meticulously recording everything for once. I’ve just been experiencing.
I have been putting off a lot of shit. But haven’t cared. Have I levelled up or am I deluded?
When I think about all the shit I must do I become paralysed. It’s not even that much shit. Somethings wrong in my brain. I have too much anxiety for the situation. I’m taking life way too seriously. I’m being a big baby.  
I feel good when I do stand-up a lot. Gives me self-esteem even if I do bad. Because I gave it a shot. Fuck it feels good when you’re up there and it’s going well. That is a fucking incredible feeling that no drug can replicate.
Brent
My friend Brent went back to Tasmania. I think it was a terrible idea. He went so he could save money for 3 months and then return. I think he was freaking out because he ran out of money. Initially I offered him for him to stay in my garage. I didn’t offer it forcefully enough. He just thanked me and shrugged it off. The day he was leaving we had lunch. Me, Brent and his new friend Amber.
Midway through my cheeseburger I thought – ‘Na fuck this, this is some bullshit!’. I went to town, explaining how fucking horrendous the idea was.
He whinged back ‘But if I stay with you… you live so far away from where I work… I’m late to work as it is and I live a kilometre away!’.
‘You’re going to move states because you can’t wake up for a fucking alarm?’. I said.
Brent’s new friend. A sweetheart girl named Amber stopped in the street laughing when I said this.
We stopped at a 7/11. Brent got Krispy Kreme’s*. A sign that he was going back to Hobart. I started going hard on him. I did a George Carlin style rant about how stupid moving back is. He went quiet for a bit. ‘You know I’m right don’t you…?’ I said. ‘Yeah…’ he said.
We got to his car.
‘Look mate it’s been a great lunch and I can’t wait to see you at home. I’ll get us 2 bottles of wine. When I come home from work I want you to greet me at my door. I’ll have KFC chips, you know the ones you like, and we can watch any Superhero movie you want and I’ll pretend to enjoy it. Then we’ll get drunk in your new room (the garage) and you’ll say wow Liam you were so right and tomorrow we’ll do an open mic’ I said.
He went to hug me but I stopped him - ‘There should be no reason to hug me, I’ll see you at home. I call dibs on the pink Krispy Kreme’s’.
I walked away and went straight to an AUDI and bought 2 bottles of wine. They were $2.60 each. They had a discount tag that said, ‘Was $2.80 now $2.60!’. Probably should’ve stayed at $2.80. Have some respect.
I Snapchatted a photo of the wine and he snapped back a photo of the inside of the Spirit of Tas.
He agreed to come back in 2 weeks as opposed to 3 months. Better than nothing. Still depressing.
*For some cunting reason… Tasmanians rave about Krispy Kreme and it fucks me off to no end. It’s a fucking donut. Every time someone from Tassie goes to Melbourne... I remember going to Melbourne in high school. A guy in my class asked, ‘Are you going to bring back some Krispy Kreme’s?’. He didn’t ask why I was going to Melbourne or what I was doing. He simply asked if I was going to buy some motherfucking donuts from a fucking chain store of donuts. What the fuck man?! What the fucking fuck?! They’re just donuts. Donuts are everywhere. Fuck you Krispy Kreme.
Trying New Things
I’ve been trying new things recently. I went to the gym for the first time, tried Ketamine and I fucked someone other than my girlfriend.
Me and my girlfriend have been together for nearly 4 years. She’s my best friend. She’s fucking sick dude! We’re very similar.
She’s into all the shit I enjoy; the darkness of the universe, heavy drinking, comedy, brutal horror movies, Asian food, skating, suicidal thoughts, dominant sex, Doug Stanhope, social anxiety, depression, traveling, meditation, video games, soccer, hangovers, letting me smell the top of her head (which smells like a baby) even though it’ll inevitably fuck up the dynamic of our sex life.
Unfortunately, she fucking hates Jazz and thinks Frank Zappa’s a bit of cunt. But she doesn’t mind Captain Beefheart which I think is a good compromise.
I can’t see us not being together. Not in a romantic, lame way. Just our compatibility’s so fluid between us. It’s never been that difficult being together. There’s been minimal jarring between our personalities.
She’s like a creative person that chooses not to be creative. I think she realizes that committing to being creative is brutal and not exactly wise. She comes from an ironic background. She comes from a family that encouraged her to pursue creativity and the arts. So being creative probably seems lame to her.
The biggest problem we have is sex - me not fucking her enough. Wow isn’t my life hard! I don’t know why… We, I… just got bored quick. Maybe I’m a cunt. Sex is easy when you don’t know the other person. Not to say it’s better. But easier. In a long-term relationship sex can become monotonous like a day job.
We reached a point where we agreed we should be allowed fuck other people. It seems mental after a while that we can only fuck each other. I love my girlfriend. I want her to experience all the dicks she wants. Who am I to deny her that! We’re in our early twenties. Let’s get the fuck out there and fuck and come back with good stories! When we lived in Tasmania we were super hesitant to fuck anyone. It’s a small community and most friendship circles are connected. But since moving to Melbourne we’ve began searching for new sexual experiences.
I’ve moved into a house with my longest and best friend. I’ve known him since I was 4. Me and my girlfriend share a room in the same house. My girlfriend would really like to fuck him. She’s been telling me for ages. I was reluctant at first. Don’t shit where you eat you know?
After a lot of thought I concluded I was fine with it. Me and my girlfriend decided on a trade of sorts: I can fuck someone that’d I see on some regular basis if she can fuck someone she’d see on a regular basis. Even if hers would be a bit more regular…
There’s a girl I mentioned a few posts ago. The comic stripper girl that I really wanted to meet. I never outwardly implied that I was interested in fucking her. But my light obsession with her gave away more than I could’ve foreseen.
After a gig where she went up. My girlfriend was like ‘You laughed way too hard at her when she went up… it’s so obvious you want to fuck her!’.
Which I still defend. She’s fucking funny. I mean it’s true I want to fuck. But she’s still a sick comic and I wasn’t forcing laughs.
One night I got drunk after doing a set at an open mic. She was hanging around. She sat at the back next to me and said she probably wouldn’t bother going up.
‘Na dude you should go on you’ve waited all this time, don’t worry it’ll be sick!’ I said.
She went and got a beer and said she’d go on. Secretly I was just hanging around because I wanted to see her perform.
Later we started talking on Facebook. Chatting about general shit. Very quickly it turned to sex.
We decided to meet up. I went to a gig beforehand. Freaked out. Decided against it. Went home.
The next week came and it was more certain this time. At the same time my girlfriend was timing a Tinder date at our house. Everything was running smoothly.
I headed out. Nervous as all fuck.
Sitting in the Uber my girlfriend messages me.
‘What about the trade?’ she asked. (Obviously the Tinder date fell through)
���Yeah fucking go for it dude!’ I said.
‘Really?’ she asked.
‘Yeah dude, get in there!’ I said.
***
Earlier in my Facebook conversation with comedian stripper girl:
‘How do you know if you’re good at sex?’ I said.
‘I dunno? What? You’re joking, right?’ She said.
‘Yeah but every gig’s different.’ I said.
That’s kind of how I approached it. I reminded myself that nothing matters, how insignificant everything is. I treated it like a stand-up set - present yourself as calm as possible, try your best, try not to over think everything and who cares if you bomb.
I met her on the street. We went inside. We walked up the stairs passing the lounge room. She introduced me to her cat. The cat’s name was Bukkake. It was a white cat. I asked if she’d named it. She had. Fuck yeah.
Her room smelt like a Yoga studio I used to go to. A real pleasant smell. It relaxed me about 1%. I sat on the bed and said ‘hello, it’s nice to meet you’. I couldn’t think of anything to say. If I said too much I’d give away the fear inside me.
She asked if I wanted to kiss Bukkake. I did. I think I even closed my eyes. As if it was a person – what the fuck is wrong with me? Little soft white hairs on my lips.
She pushed a light pink square rock candle thing against the door to keep it shut. She asked if I felt weird. I said yes. I asked if she ever felt weird. She said no.
We flicked through a magazine she’d mentioned in the Facebook chat. It was an old school porn mag she’d got from Club X. Medium level hair and lots of gaping vagina’s and arseholes. It turned me on a bit. But still, I didn’t know what to say.
I kept reminding myself prior to meeting this girl that I needed to wear a condom. I clutched them in my pocket on the train. 2 fingers on the condoms, 2 fingers on my MyKi. Gripping them like keys when you’re out late in a dodgy area. Like a makeshift knuckleduster.
I haven’t used a condom for over 3 years. Me and my girlfriend would just fuck and roll the dice. We both agreed prior that we’d certainly kill a baby if we accidently made one. So, neither of us were worried. So, we never used them.
The idea of wearing a condom was so foreign to me that I thought about practicing putting one on before I went to see her.
She’s one of the smallest people I’d ever seen. So, adorable and so sexy at the same time. She took off the massive white shirt she was wearing and I grabbed her waist. ‘Your so fucking small’ I breathed out.
‘Does it make you feel like a paedophile?’ she asked laughing.
‘No!... fuck… Jesus’ and we kissed.  
It was acknowledged in our chats that she wanted to be fucked rough and I wanted to fuck someone roughly. So that’s what I attempted to do.
We started fucking and I just went straight in without a condom. I could hear my breathing and it didn’t sound like me. I was so fucking jacked on adrenaline. Towards the end I realised I hadn’t bothered to put on a condom. At that point, it seemed redundant. I felt bad about not using a condom and my eagerness and lack of thinking scared me.
As a dude, you have 2 fears. Cumming quick or not getting it up. Neither happened. Which was nice I guess.
The whole situation was so intense that I didn’t even attempt to try and make her cum. I just pounded away and tried to draw up as much brutality from under the surface of my meek personality.
A bit selfish I guess but I imagine it’s what casual sex usually is for girls. I want to have a long discussion with an older experienced lesbian. I think I could learn so much. Everyone should work on their ability to make others cum well. Guys don’t know shit about girls. But I know guys and I’m sure girls know girls.
With guys cumming is guaranteed. Guys fight off cumming. We think of fucked shit in our heads to distract us from cumming.
Cumming is so unglamorous. Disgusting and awesome at the same time. Why do I want to cum on girls faces, on their glasses, on their hair? Where did this come from? It’s so fucking degrading yet I grind my teeth craving it. Did porn make me want this? Why did it become a staple closer?  
It occurred to me that I was struggling to cum. I fucked her from behind holding her arms down. Bukkake started to take a shit in the bathroom. The smell was fairly distracting. I wondered whether she could smell it. I remembered she smoked and her sense of smell wouldn’t be as good. For some reason, I hoped she wouldn’t be embarrassed about Bukkake taking a shit. All of this really threw me off my cum game.
We reshuffled our positions and I remembered how to cum. A little went on the floor.
‘Fuck sake dude… on the carpet! Oh well you get it steam cleaned when you move anyway…’.
She hopped up like nothing had happened. We had a shower together and I apologised about the lack of condom. She said ‘…No that’s OK… I’m sorry for you… I haven’t been checked for a while’.
I told her I really liked her style of existence. She said thanks – ‘honesty’s the best policy’.
We sat on the balcony and she smoked a cigarette and told me about her life. We talked about paedophiles, drugs and anxiety. She told me she struggled to express herself. That she left out context and detail when trying to explain things.
I wanted to talk more. Or listen more. I don’t know. She asked if I’d write about what happened. I asked if she’d do a set about it. I said I would. She said she might.
I headed home. My housemate messaged me asking if it was totally cool with him fucking my girlfriend. I said ‘Of course dude. Just go for it’.
I got home. I was hesitant to open the door. I had no idea if they’d finished fucking. I decided to go to my friend’s house 2 doors down. I drank a bunch of tall Asahi cans. I talked to my friends about the experience and waited while they presumably fucked.
Eventually I get a message from my roommate.
‘cunt can you get drunk
and then come up to my room
can confirm didnt fuck bt’.
I found this disappointing. It wasn’t a fair trade! I went home and laid in bed with my friend. We talked about the whole thing. He said it was just too weird. Fair enough really. I said he was a big pussy for not fucking my girlfriend. He told me to shut up.
My girlfriend was OK. She was pissed off that she didn’t get to fuck and that I didn’t wear a condom. Very fair I thought.  
 New podcast coming tomorrow…
Hope you’re having a good existence.
Love Liam.
Tumblr media
0 notes
lauramalchowblog · 5 years ago
Text
How to Intermittent Fast and Which Type of Fasting Is Right For You
Intermittent fasting has taken the world by storm. No longer is it the province of fitness freaks. No longer do you get weird looks because you skipped the break room donuts. Now you’ve got grandmothers trying it and doctors recommending it. It’s here, the benefits are legion, and you’re interested. But how should you do it? Are there different types of intermittent fasting? Are there different benefits associated with the various flavors of IF?
Thinking about fasting, reading about fasting, and reciting the benefits of fasting are all pointless if you don’t know how to go about doing it.
First, the most fundamental concept central to all the flavors of intermittent fasting is not eating. Skipping meals, skipping entire days of meals, letting yourself get a little hungry. There’s no getting around that. It will happen. let’s go over the different variations of fasting. I’ll give a quick rundown. Each involves not eating for a period of time, unsurprisingly.
A couple other rules that apply to all the given methods:
Sleeping hours (provided you don’t sleep-eat) count as fasting hours.
Eat well regardless. While some fasting plans tout their adherents’ ability to eat crappy food and still lose weight, I’m not interested in fasting solely as a weight loss method. Keep your food Primal as possible.
Okay, on to the variations.
Stay on track, no matter where you are! Instantly download your Guide to Dining Out
12:12, 16:8, 18:6, or 20:4 Intermittent Fasting
As the names suggest, these breakdowns of intermittent fasting involves fasting for either 12, 16, 18, or 20 hours and taking in all of your food for the day over the remaining window of hours.
How to find out which fasting length is the the best one for you? There’s only one way. You have to experiment.
You can start with a 12:12 intermittent fast, which comes with the benefits of intermittent fasting and is easy to do for most people. You stop eating a couple of hours before bedtime, and delay breakfast a couple of hours after waking. If that works well, extend your fasting period the next day, and repeat until you find the eating and fasting pattern that feels good.
Lots of diets have added more detail to the intermittent fasting model, but bare-bones intermittent fasting is simply a shorter feeding period.
If you’ve heard of Leangains, Martin Berkhan’s incredibly popular fasting protocol, you’ve heard of 16:8 intermittent fasting. How does it work?
A daily 16 hour fast during which you eat nothing containing calories. Coffee, tea, and other non-caloric fluids are fine. Some people get away with a little cream in their drink.
A daily 8 hour eating window.
Three days of weight training, ideally performed at the tail end of the fasting period. To improve performance and muscle protein synthesis, you have the option of consuming 10 grams of branched chain amino acids 10 minutes before the workout.
Always eat high protein.
On training days, eat more carbs and less fat.
On rest days, eat more fat, fewer carbs, and slightly reduce calories.
Most people begin their fast after dinner (say, 9 PM), workout in the afternoon (at around 12 PM), and break their fast immediately post-workout (at around 1 PM), but you can use any schedule you prefer as long as you hit the 16 hours of fasting.
Your post-workout meal should have about 50% of your day’s caloric allotment (a real feast).
Who should try it?
12 or 16 hours isn’t a long time to wait for a meal, which makes intermittent fasting a great model for anyone who wants to experiment with fasting. One benefit of fasting this way is that it’s not that long a fast – you eat every day. It is totally doable. Whether you add the detailed lifting days and carb days is up to you.
Women may have better success with slightly shorter fasting windows—12-14 hours long instead of 16 hours. To understand why, check out my post on women and fasting.
People with steady eating schedules will have more success than people with erratic schedules. A huge benefit of intermittent fasting is the hormonal entrainment induced by regular feeding times. Once you get locked into your routine, your hunger hormones will adapt to the schedule, and the fasting should get easier, or even effortless. For this reason, it’s a good idea to get a feeding schedule and stick to it.
OMAD — One Meal a Day
Ori Hofmekler’s plan is based on the feast-and-fast concept:
Eat one meal a day, at night, and make it a big one. A real feast. You have three or four hours to eat until full. So it’s basically 20/4 hours.
You can occasionally snack on low-calorie raw fruit and vegetables during the day, but try to limit protein as much as possible until the feast.
Exercise during the day, in a fasted state.
Who should try it?
People who have trouble sticking to a stricter fast will do better on the OMAD, as it allows light eating during the time leading up to the feast, but I wonder if you’d be squandering some of the benefits by eating.
Alternate Day Fasting
Researchers often use this method in lab studies:
Eat normally one day (last meal at, say, 9 PM Monday).
Don’t eat the next day.
Resume eating the day after that (at, say, 9 AM Wednesday).
It works out to a 36-ish hour fast, although there’s plenty of wiggle room. You could eat at 10 PM Monday and break the fast at 6 AM Wednesday for a “mere” 32 hour fast.
Who should try it?
People who have no trouble going to bed hungry. With other intermittent fasting methods, you can always manage to get to bed with a full belly; with ADF, you will be going to bed on an empty stomach several times a week. That can be tough.
That said, the therapeutic benefits to serious conditions will most likely really be pronounced with this way of fasting. The casual 20-something Primal eater who lifts heavy things and enjoys going out with friends? Probably not ideal. The older Primal eater interested in generating some autophagy and maybe staving off neurodegeneration? It might just work out. And while I’m not able to tell a cancer patient undergoing chemotherapy what to do, I’d guess that the longer fasts will be more beneficial in that regard, too.
Eat Stop Eat
Put together by Brad Pilon, Eat Stop Eat is really basic:
Once or twice a week, don’t eat for 24 hours.
Start your fast in the morning, at lunch, or at dinner. It doesn’t matter as long as you don’t eat for 24 hours.
Break your fast with a “normal-sized meal.” Don’t try to make up for the lost calories by feasting.
Exercise regularly.
Who should try it?
People interesting in fasting for the therapeutic benefits (cancer protection, autophagy, life extension, etc.) would probably get a lot out of this method, as opposed to people interested in the body composition benefits.
Going a full 24 hours without food is a much tougher slog than going for 16 hours. In my experience, going lower-carb and higher-fat makes longer fasts easier, so I’d have to say a low-carb Primal eater would do better than most.
But my personal favorite way of implementing fasting?
WHEN — When Hunger Ensues Naturally
I’m not going to put any bullet points here, because none are required. Instead, I’ll give a few scenarios:
I wake up bright and early on a Saturday morning. It’s about 65 degrees, the sun’s out, my dog is walking around with the leash in his mouth, and Red Rock Canyon is kinda calling my name. I’ve got my coffee already and I’m actually not all that hungry from dinner. You know what? I’ll go on that hike, skip breakfast, and really work up an appetite for lunch. Or not. If I’m hungry afterwards, I’ll eat. It’s a fast, but not really.
I hit the gym, put in a light workout, then swing by the beach for some sand sprints. I’m toast by the end and have to stagger back to my car, but I’m not hungry. Even when I get home and smell the grilled salmon, I have no desire for it. I might eat later that night, but only if my appetite returns. I’m fasting post-workout only because it doesn’t occur to me to eat, not because I’m following a plan.
I’m away on business, stuck on a layover that’s turned into a delay that’s turned into an overnighter. The only food available is a Kudos candy bar – I mean, healthy granola bar (they seriously still make these?) from the mini fridge, a greasy pizza joint on the corner across the street from the hotel, a Chinese takeout place next to the pizza joint, and a slew of fast food restaurants some ways down the road. It’s late, I’m tired, I had a Big Ass Salad before I left for LAX… you know what? I’m just going to skip the “meal.” I’ll figure out something at the airport in the morning (20 hour fast) or once I land (24 hour fast). And I’ll be okay either way.
That’s eating When Hunger Ensues Naturally.
This is the most natural, most effortless way of “fasting,” at least for me, because it allows a person to eat intuitively. Although most people will eventually acclimate to more regimented fasting schedules, and many may even need and thrive with that structure, I prefer a more fractal, loose, random pattern of “missing” (in quotations because I don’t feel like I’m missing anything, and that’s the whole point!) meals. I have no data on whether it’s as effective or more effective than the more popular methods, but I do know that I’ll often fast for 16 hours and eat for eight, or skip an entire day of eating, or sometimes (but very, very rarely) even approach a full 30 hours, and it seems likely that this random pattern of eating characterized the eating “schedules” of our ancestors.
In short, we’re all doing the same thing, chasing the same goals. We’re all skipping meals, reducing calories, staying active, and all the while we’re doing this without feeling miserable and restricted. It just so happens that because we’re efficient Primal fat-burning beasts, switching over to burning our own body fat reserves for energy during a fast is a natural, seamless transition. We often don’t even notice it. There’s no effort involved.
That’s the key: lack of stress. If any or all of these fasting methods stress you out, make you irritable, kill your performance, make you feel restricted, or reduce your ability to enjoy life, and these feelings persist beyond the first five fasts you attempt (when some adaptation difficulties are totally expected), you shouldn’t employ them. You should shelve fasting for a while and come back to it later, or never. It’s not a “requirement” or anything. It’s just a tool you can wield if your situation warrants it. In fact, this is the perfect opportunity to conduct an informal experiment of one. Try one style for a week or two, then throw in a a different style once or twice a week for a bit, then try another method. Compare and contrast. How did you feel? How did you perform at work, at home, and in the gym? Take some waist measurements perhaps, or analyze your favorite barometer of body composition to see how the different fasting methods worked – or didn’t work – for you.
Now, I’d like to hear from you. What’s your favorite fasting method? Do you have one, or you just kinda go with the flow? Be sure to review the previous installments below and if you have any questions about any of the stuff I’ve covered in this series, leave them in the comment section and I’ll try to get them answered for you next week. Thanks for reading!
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jesseneufeld · 5 years ago
Text
How to Intermittent Fast and Which Type of Fasting Is Right For You
Intermittent fasting has taken the world by storm. No longer is it the province of fitness freaks. No longer do you get weird looks because you skipped the break room donuts. Now you’ve got grandmothers trying it and doctors recommending it. It’s here, the benefits are legion, and you’re interested. But how should you do it? Are there different types of intermittent fasting? Are there different benefits associated with the various flavors of IF?
Thinking about fasting, reading about fasting, and reciting the benefits of fasting are all pointless if you don’t know how to go about doing it.
First, the most fundamental concept central to all the flavors of intermittent fasting is not eating. Skipping meals, skipping entire days of meals, letting yourself get a little hungry. There’s no getting around that. It will happen. let’s go over the different variations of fasting. I’ll give a quick rundown. Each involves not eating for a period of time, unsurprisingly.
A couple other rules that apply to all the given methods:
Sleeping hours (provided you don’t sleep-eat) count as fasting hours.
Eat well regardless. While some fasting plans tout their adherents’ ability to eat crappy food and still lose weight, I’m not interested in fasting solely as a weight loss method. Keep your food Primal as possible.
Okay, on to the variations.
Stay on track, no matter where you are! Instantly download your Guide to Dining Out
12:12, 16:8, 18:6, or 20:4 Intermittent Fasting
As the names suggest, these breakdowns of intermittent fasting involves fasting for either 12, 16, 18, or 20 hours and taking in all of your food for the day over the remaining window of hours.
How to find out which fasting length is the the best one for you? There’s only one way. You have to experiment.
You can start with a 12:12 intermittent fast, which comes with the benefits of intermittent fasting and is easy to do for most people. You stop eating a couple of hours before bedtime, and delay breakfast a couple of hours after waking. If that works well, extend your fasting period the next day, and repeat until you find the eating and fasting pattern that feels good.
Lots of diets have added more detail to the intermittent fasting model, but bare-bones intermittent fasting is simply a shorter feeding period.
If you’ve heard of Leangains, Martin Berkhan’s incredibly popular fasting protocol, you’ve heard of 16:8 intermittent fasting. How does it work?
A daily 16 hour fast during which you eat nothing containing calories. Coffee, tea, and other non-caloric fluids are fine. Some people get away with a little cream in their drink.
A daily 8 hour eating window.
Three days of weight training, ideally performed at the tail end of the fasting period. To improve performance and muscle protein synthesis, you have the option of consuming 10 grams of branched chain amino acids 10 minutes before the workout.
Always eat high protein.
On training days, eat more carbs and less fat.
On rest days, eat more fat, fewer carbs, and slightly reduce calories.
Most people begin their fast after dinner (say, 9 PM), workout in the afternoon (at around 12 PM), and break their fast immediately post-workout (at around 1 PM), but you can use any schedule you prefer as long as you hit the 16 hours of fasting.
Your post-workout meal should have about 50% of your day’s caloric allotment (a real feast).
Who should try it?
12 or 16 hours isn’t a long time to wait for a meal, which makes intermittent fasting a great model for anyone who wants to experiment with fasting. One benefit of fasting this way is that it’s not that long a fast – you eat every day. It is totally doable. Whether you add the detailed lifting days and carb days is up to you.
Women may have better success with slightly shorter fasting windows—12-14 hours long instead of 16 hours. To understand why, check out my post on women and fasting.
People with steady eating schedules will have more success than people with erratic schedules. A huge benefit of intermittent fasting is the hormonal entrainment induced by regular feeding times. Once you get locked into your routine, your hunger hormones will adapt to the schedule, and the fasting should get easier, or even effortless. For this reason, it’s a good idea to get a feeding schedule and stick to it.
OMAD — One Meal a Day
Ori Hofmekler’s plan is based on the feast-and-fast concept:
Eat one meal a day, at night, and make it a big one. A real feast. You have three or four hours to eat until full. So it’s basically 20/4 hours.
You can occasionally snack on low-calorie raw fruit and vegetables during the day, but try to limit protein as much as possible until the feast.
Exercise during the day, in a fasted state.
Who should try it?
People who have trouble sticking to a stricter fast will do better on the OMAD, as it allows light eating during the time leading up to the feast, but I wonder if you’d be squandering some of the benefits by eating.
Alternate Day Fasting
Researchers often use this method in lab studies:
Eat normally one day (last meal at, say, 9 PM Monday).
Don’t eat the next day.
Resume eating the day after that (at, say, 9 AM Wednesday).
It works out to a 36-ish hour fast, although there’s plenty of wiggle room. You could eat at 10 PM Monday and break the fast at 6 AM Wednesday for a “mere” 32 hour fast.
Who should try it?
People who have no trouble going to bed hungry. With other intermittent fasting methods, you can always manage to get to bed with a full belly; with ADF, you will be going to bed on an empty stomach several times a week. That can be tough.
That said, the therapeutic benefits to serious conditions will most likely really be pronounced with this way of fasting. The casual 20-something Primal eater who lifts heavy things and enjoys going out with friends? Probably not ideal. The older Primal eater interested in generating some autophagy and maybe staving off neurodegeneration? It might just work out. And while I’m not able to tell a cancer patient undergoing chemotherapy what to do, I’d guess that the longer fasts will be more beneficial in that regard, too.
Eat Stop Eat
Put together by Brad Pilon, Eat Stop Eat is really basic:
Once or twice a week, don’t eat for 24 hours.
Start your fast in the morning, at lunch, or at dinner. It doesn’t matter as long as you don’t eat for 24 hours.
Break your fast with a “normal-sized meal.” Don’t try to make up for the lost calories by feasting.
Exercise regularly.
Who should try it?
People interesting in fasting for the therapeutic benefits (cancer protection, autophagy, life extension, etc.) would probably get a lot out of this method, as opposed to people interested in the body composition benefits.
Going a full 24 hours without food is a much tougher slog than going for 16 hours. In my experience, going lower-carb and higher-fat makes longer fasts easier, so I’d have to say a low-carb Primal eater would do better than most.
But my personal favorite way of implementing fasting?
WHEN — When Hunger Ensues Naturally
I’m not going to put any bullet points here, because none are required. Instead, I’ll give a few scenarios:
I wake up bright and early on a Saturday morning. It’s about 65 degrees, the sun’s out, my dog is walking around with the leash in his mouth, and Red Rock Canyon is kinda calling my name. I’ve got my coffee already and I’m actually not all that hungry from dinner. You know what? I’ll go on that hike, skip breakfast, and really work up an appetite for lunch. Or not. If I’m hungry afterwards, I’ll eat. It’s a fast, but not really.
I hit the gym, put in a light workout, then swing by the beach for some sand sprints. I’m toast by the end and have to stagger back to my car, but I’m not hungry. Even when I get home and smell the grilled salmon, I have no desire for it. I might eat later that night, but only if my appetite returns. I’m fasting post-workout only because it doesn’t occur to me to eat, not because I’m following a plan.
I’m away on business, stuck on a layover that’s turned into a delay that’s turned into an overnighter. The only food available is a Kudos candy bar – I mean, healthy granola bar (they seriously still make these?) from the mini fridge, a greasy pizza joint on the corner across the street from the hotel, a Chinese takeout place next to the pizza joint, and a slew of fast food restaurants some ways down the road. It’s late, I’m tired, I had a Big Ass Salad before I left for LAX… you know what? I’m just going to skip the “meal.” I’ll figure out something at the airport in the morning (20 hour fast) or once I land (24 hour fast). And I’ll be okay either way.
That’s eating When Hunger Ensues Naturally.
This is the most natural, most effortless way of “fasting,” at least for me, because it allows a person to eat intuitively. Although most people will eventually acclimate to more regimented fasting schedules, and many may even need and thrive with that structure, I prefer a more fractal, loose, random pattern of “missing” (in quotations because I don’t feel like I’m missing anything, and that’s the whole point!) meals. I have no data on whether it’s as effective or more effective than the more popular methods, but I do know that I’ll often fast for 16 hours and eat for eight, or skip an entire day of eating, or sometimes (but very, very rarely) even approach a full 30 hours, and it seems likely that this random pattern of eating characterized the eating “schedules” of our ancestors.
In short, we’re all doing the same thing, chasing the same goals. We’re all skipping meals, reducing calories, staying active, and all the while we’re doing this without feeling miserable and restricted. It just so happens that because we’re efficient Primal fat-burning beasts, switching over to burning our own body fat reserves for energy during a fast is a natural, seamless transition. We often don’t even notice it. There’s no effort involved.
That’s the key: lack of stress. If any or all of these fasting methods stress you out, make you irritable, kill your performance, make you feel restricted, or reduce your ability to enjoy life, and these feelings persist beyond the first five fasts you attempt (when some adaptation difficulties are totally expected), you shouldn’t employ them. You should shelve fasting for a while and come back to it later, or never. It’s not a “requirement” or anything. It’s just a tool you can wield if your situation warrants it. In fact, this is the perfect opportunity to conduct an informal experiment of one. Try one style for a week or two, then throw in a a different style once or twice a week for a bit, then try another method. Compare and contrast. How did you feel? How did you perform at work, at home, and in the gym? Take some waist measurements perhaps, or analyze your favorite barometer of body composition to see how the different fasting methods worked – or didn’t work – for you.
Now, I’d like to hear from you. What’s your favorite fasting method? Do you have one, or you just kinda go with the flow? Be sure to review the previous installments below and if you have any questions about any of the stuff I’ve covered in this series, leave them in the comment section and I’ll try to get them answered for you next week. Thanks for reading!
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biofunmy · 5 years ago
Text
It’s Called ‘Plant-Based,’ Look It Up
The terms “vegan” and “plant-based” are often used interchangeably, but there’s a growing effort to define just what it means to follow a plant-based lifestyle.
According to Brian Wendel, the founder of the “plant-based living” website Forks Over Knives, going plant-based is “for people who are very enthusiastic about the health angle” of eating mainly whole plant foods.
Reynolde Jordan, who runs a food blog called Plant-Based Vibe in Memphis, said it’s also a way to distance oneself from the rigid ideology of veganism, which calls for abstaining from animal products of all kinds.
“When you classify yourself as vegan, you’re now being watched,” said Mr. Jordan, who posts vegan recipes for dishes such as Cajun seaweed gumbo and raw beet balls along with photos of the vegetarian meals he orders on trips. “In my DMs, I’d get all these messages from activists for protests. I’m just not that guy — I did this for the purpose of eating better.”
Mr. Jordan is one of a growing number of health-conscious consumers embracing a plant-based lifestyle. Unlike many vegans who adhere to a philosophy of animal rights, those going plant-based tend to be inspired by research showing the health benefits of a diet made up of largely fruits, vegetables, beans, legumes, grains and nuts. Free from specific ethical constraints, plant-based eaters often have no qualms buying or wearing items made with or tested on animals.
Awareness of the term is growing. And though just 6 percent of Americans eat vegetarian, according to Nielsen, almost 40 percent now make an effort to eat more plant-based foods.
Plant-Based Eating Enters the Mainstream
In 2015, Beyoncé wrote in an email to The New York Times: “First it’s important that you know I am not a vegan.” However she and Jay-Z co-own a food company with Marco Borges, their personal trainer, called 22 Days Nutrition, which promotes what is essentially a vegan diet.
But as Mr. Borges later explained to The Times, Beyoncé eats a “plant-based breakfast daily” and consumes no meat on Mondays. Jay-Z, meanwhile, eats “2 plant-based meals a day,” he wrote in an email.
The number of food and drink products made in the United States that use “plant-based” in their labeling spiked 287 percent between 2012 and 2018, according to the consumer research firm Mintel.
Plant-based items such as jerky, ice cream and protein bars are becoming increasingly common on supermarket shelves. Fast-food chains including Dunkin’ Donuts and Burger King have even started offering plant-based menu options such as the Impossible Whopper.
Some restaurants, such as Café Gratitude, a small chain in Southern California, have even rebranded themselves as entirely plant-based after originally characterizing their menus as vegan. In 2016, after a website dug up a year-old blog post by the restaurant’s owners revealing they had begun raising and slaughtering animals on their family farm, many vegans boycotted and picketed the chain while its founders reportedly received death threats.
In the wake of the controversy, the restaurant made a “conscious choice” to rebrand as entirely plant-based, according to its head chef, Dreux Ellis.
But with the abundance of plant-based choices now available, customers are increasingly looking for options they know reflect vegan values, Mr. Ellis said. In response, Café Gratitude employees have again begun describing the restaurant as vegan, and there have been discussions about restoring the term in its branding.
“We feel like there’s nothing to be lost by trying to regain that confidence in the vegan community,” Mr. Ellis said. “It’s us reclaiming what is rightfully ours.”
The implications of a plant-based diet
Thomas Colin Campbell, the Cornell University biochemist who claims responsibility for coining the term plant-based, said he came up with the phrase to help present his research on diet to skeptical colleagues at the National Institutes of Health in 1980.
“I wanted to emphasize that my work and ideas were coming totally from science and not any sort of ethical or philosophical consideration,” he said.
Mr. Campbell now advocates a “whole food plant-based diet,” which he termed to draw a distinction between more nutritious whole plants and processed food products such as veggie burgers. He said he’s noticed the term catch on since the release of the 2016 edition of his book “The China Study,” which summarized his findings from a survey of 6,500 Chinese people on their eating and other lifestyle habits. The study’s results suggested that following a plant-based diet may help reduce the risk of certain cancers and diseases.
But not everyone thinks eating only plants is always healthy. “Anytime you’re restricting a whole food group or number of food groups, it’s a red flag for a possible disordered eating mentality,” said Vandana Sheth, a registered dietitian and spokeswoman for the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics. “That’s not always the case, but it’s important to figure out how to get all the nutrients you need to prevent chronic conditions within your diet choice.”
“The Game Changers,” a documentary released on Netflix in 2019 about plant-based diets and athletic performance, has both broadened the appeal of plant-based diets and drawn criticism for some of its health claims.
According to Joseph Pace, a producer and writer on the film, the vegan and vegetarian movements carry connotations of New Agey-types or PETA activists, which don’t always resonate with male viewers.
“Using ‘plant-based’ allows people to feel they’re not joining a specific group for eating a specific way,” he said.
Mr. Campbell sees the plant-based concept as a way to educate people on the environmental consequences of eating meat. A recent report from the World Resources Institute pointed to raising livestock as a significant source of carbon emissions and recommended reducing meat consumption as a way to combat climate change and stem deforestation.
“The environmental issue is a big one, and this plant-based phraseology works well when you think about it in a broader context,” he said.
The trouble with labels
Yovana Mendoza Ayres, the vlogger formerly known as Rawvana, was a star of the expansive world of vegan YouTube — until she was caught eating fish in another YouTuber’s video earlier this year.
The backlash was swift. “Fishgate,” as the ensuing controversy was dubbed, triggered a deluge of outraged comments and videos chastising the 30-year-old influencer for misleading her followers.
Some disgruntled fans flooded her social media pages with taunting fish emojis and GIFs. Others made death threats, which Ms. Ayers said she continues to receive.
“Just like how the vegan community welcomed me, when this came out, I became their enemy,” she said.
In an apology video titled “THIS IS WHAT IS HAPPENING,” Ms. Ayers said she began eating meat after experiencing a variety of health problems including a gastrointestinal disorder and the loss of her period, which occurred after completing a 25-day water cleanse during which she consumed nothing but water. In an interview, she added that she had planned to tell her followers about giving up her raw vegan diet but “didn’t want other people’s opinions to affect my transition.”
In the months since her public apology, a half-dozen popular influencers have roiled the vegan internet by renouncing veganism after claiming to have experienced health complications caused by their diet. Ms. Ayers, who now goes by her first name online, said that as she and other vloggers have left veganism behind, she’s noticed more discussion about what it means to be vegan as opposed to eating a plant-based diet.
“A lot of us used the word ‘vegan’ because that was a way of communicating that we ate only plants,” she said. “Maybe after seeing us, people are learning not to put labels on themselves or on their diet,” she added.
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biscuitincharge · 5 years ago
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((Archie Universe lore galore!))
The Big Donut of Beach City is no more and has since been replaced by Bagel Barn. Some time in the mid-21st century, the Big Donut corporation faced some financial struggles and closed several smaller locations to make ends meet. They sold the locations, the one in Beach City being purchased by an aspiring bagel-making chain.
Fish Stew Pizza and Beach Citywalk Fries were and are local family companies, so they are still run by members of those families descended from the ones we know from the show. Beach Citywalk Fries, however, has grown to sell a wide variety of potato-based products, not just french fries and hash browns. Lars is, of course, still kicking and still running Galaxy Bakery. Pepe's Burgers opened a location within Beach City, which has since become its most popular one as more of the general public learned that the original composer of their catchy jingle settled down there in his lifetime.
Humanity as a whole had gradually shifted to greener energy sources over the time span between the 21st and 22nd centuries; in fact, fossil fuels are all but outlawed in most, but not all, countries. Basic AI exists, but you're not gonna be seeing robots walking around or anything like that. AI programming is, for the most part, only used by large companies, government organizations, and really wealthy people due to how expensive it is to produce. Rudimentary holographic technology also exists, but this is also very expensive to produce, and most people can only afford fairly small hologram projectors. Hard light projections, for the time being, is still something only Gems know how to do.
Speaking of, Gemkind had become more acknowledged by governments has Gems overtime got more actively involved with humanity. The Crystal Gems' efforts to protect humanity are formally recognized and appreciated, and most government bodies assign liaisons to maintain a healthy relationship and ensure that the Crystal Gems always have their people's best interests at heart. Humans who regularly interact with Gems have access to software for smartphones and other devices capable of producing frequencies that activate warp streams to wherever the user wants to go. Warp Whistles are totally obsolete now, but that's not to say there aren't still a few lying around here and there.
The Beach House is currently looked after by Archie's eldest cousin and is occasionally something of a tour spot. Of course, the temple foyer just beyond the living room is off-limits to the public. Once Archie formally started learning to use his Gem powers, he would occasionally stay over for a night or two, most often during summer vacation.
Archie doesn’t interact with most of Gemkind on his own all that often, and most don’t quite understand what happened to Steven, the human/Pink Diamond hybrid that began Era 3, or how there’s an entirely different human/Pink Diamond hybrid now. Archie does, however, enjoy accompanying a Crystal Gem or two during visits to one of the many Gem-populated planets, most of which have been restored thanks to a plan enacted by Steven himself with the Diamonds’ help, for a taste for the different interplanetary locales.
The Diamonds occasionally interact with Archie, but the Crystal Gems insist on having at least one of their own--usually Pearl--accompany to watch his back. The Diamonds are still in denial that this isn’t just “Steven with amnesia”, just as they had initially been in denial of Steven not being just “Pink with amnesia”, but they respect his wishes to be treated “like another person” and call him by his name. They occasionally invite him to join them in the pool or extraction chamber to unwind, which Archie actually finds quite relaxing--even after he realized they were bringing him there mainly to harvest his sweat, which is kinda gross, but oh well.
Steven was very old by the time he died, and he could feel when his days were numbered.  But he kept in good spirits, offering parting advice to his descendants and his Gem family and looking back fondly upon all he had accomplished in life. Sometime earlier, while pondering his own mortality, he considered some form of rebirth/reincarnation as a possibility of what would happen to the unprecedented hybrid, and he half-jokingly said that if that’s what happened, he wanted his new name to be Archimicarus Gregory Universe. When this actually turned out to be what happened, some remembered what he said and decided to honor his (if somewhat humorous) request.
After Steven died and Archie was “born”, there was a big and lovely public funeral proceeding held for the former while his human and Gem families tried to figure out what just happened that led to the latter. Isabelle stepped in to take Archie in, because she was a Steven descendant of proper age to be a parent while not having any kids of her own already. Lion became incredibly reclusive, to the point where Archie never even met him until he was 13 when Lion finally approached and initially startled the poor kid. By that point of time, Lion has been starting to actually look a little old, but he will still live for a fair number more years.
Archie dying would result in another “biological reset” like the one that created him in the first place, but only if body and gem are intact with one another upon death. Kind of like if the Avatar of the Avatar: The Last Airbender franchise were to die while in the Avatar State, a Pink Diamond hybrid dying while their human and gem halves are separated would break the cycle.
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iamthelightofyourlife · 5 years ago
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For a while, future-thinking cooks have interpreted the basic Romanian worth in unique, unique meals. It began slowly in the capital, however now there are restaurants serving "new Romanian food" in Sibiu, Brasov, Cluj-Napoca and Targu Mures.
International Approval: Gault & Millau Information
In June, another Romanian model of the worldwide restaurant information Gault & Millau was released. The information focuses on "nouvelle dishes", which emphasize the freshness of the elements, their overlapping on the plate, the innovation and the best way they provide each other flavor. Gault & Millau is the primary internationally acknowledged restaurant guide to enter the Romanian market. On the launch of the first edition in November 2017, Côme de Chérisey, CEO of Gault & Millau, stated: “We’ve got seen that Romanians are more and more serious about quality gastronomic experiences and that the development of Romanian eating places has been developed and cooks are offering.
Alexandru Dumitru, Gault & Millau's chef 2019
The transition was the first signal that Romanian cuisine is turning into increasingly more artistic when using worldwide standards to consider native eating places, acknowledging nationwide food once we attempt to analyze the culinary universe of Romania. In addition, the guide in 2019 revealed 275 new restaurants featuring 15 new cities and solely 154 eateries in the first version.
Specialty of the chef
Through the yr 2018, the chef of the yr was Alex Petricea from the Corn – Farm to the Desk (presently cooking at Noua Restaurant) this time by Alexandru Dumitru of Bistro Ateneu (formerly often known as Atra Doftana), who obtained 15.5 points 20: from a world guide. Massive tomorrow's chefs have been named Andrei Chelaru of the Fragment (Cluj-Napoca), who’s at present training on the Danish Nova. In accordance to him, the world's most famous restaurant, Kaiamon Radu Ionescu (Bucharest) and Baraccan Roland Suciu (Cluj-Napoca). In addition, the lady of the yr is Oana Coanta, Bistro de l & # 39; Arte (Brasov), and the pastry chef is Ana Consulea Zexe Braserie (Bucharest).
Fragment of Cluj-Napoca
The New Romanian Taste
The novels are great native restaurants that respect the number of local eating places pizza, pasta, hamburgers, hen and pork. So "Romanian new kitchen" is public? The enterprise assessment requested the food magazine Vlad Macre to describe it. “Because it's nonetheless at first, it's still very chaotic. The modernization of Romanian cuisine requires many initiatives that always battle. First, over ten years in the past, Romanian chefs realized that they need to scale back the quantity of lipids that’s crucial source of energy in traditional foods. Sarmal, with 80 % fats in pork, has turn out to be a "diet", the place low-fat beef is an important a part of this recipe. On the similar time, a extra minimalist strategy to Romanian recipes was adopted: allow us to cease throwing eight sarmals and polenta on Mount Everest, but solely three corners and one or two spoonfuls of Polen. (…). "
Macri quoted Cosmin Dragomir, who wrote Dilema Veche, who made fun of those terribly shortly launched" Oltenia pata shrimp "or" shepherd squid ". In the event that they weren't ridiculous, they might be surreal. (…) A better concept can be inspiration for New Nordic delicacies. Nordic chefs have their very own manifesto: the unique use of nationwide and even regional components. Subsequently, when they need to acidify one thing, they don’t use citrus, despite the fact that lemons have turn into a type of widespread ingredient. What prevents us from consuming food with immature grape juice (often known as 'agurida', the French 'blood' that they used for hundreds of years, however forgot in time)? Or a good better suggestion that also sowed food with Mirabelle plums (“corcoduse”)? No one. This return to local raw supplies generates unique recipes and restores worth to immediately's neglected products. Last but not least, earlier than introducing shrimps to our rods, it could be a greater concept to attempt the other: use Western cooking methods in Romanian components. What’s Romanian as Polenta?! And what is so troublesome to bake polenta within the oven, identical to a pizza?! In all its variations! I might call it "pizzalenta". "
Journalist Dragomir, a food historian who writes about native food at www.gastroart.ro, advised the BR:" Trendy Romanian kitchens have two giant subcategories: one that includes a contemporary cooking method and elements from local manufacturing and traditional food. , an old style dish comparable to that of our childhood, cooked in a contemporary means, but pretreated, to the original style. You possibly can't make carp with cabbage and sea sprouts (…) We've managed to develop new gastronomic new gastronomic feelings like the new Nordic kitchen manifesto or a new Anatolian kitchen, but we are still distant. I'd like to study from their errors and don't do them. Tourists ought to anticipate tasty products that provide a exceptional terrain and flavor that features the influences of Japanese, Slavic and Central Europe An unusual but tried and examined combination that may give you an exciting expertise for any sort of papilla.
When custom encounters both music and nouvelle meals
Romanian meals in style
The start of the yr was inspiring news for Romanian delicacies: Vogue Paris journal included Ibrik Kitchen in its January listing "No 5 restaurants du Paris in Paris". What is the key to success in world style and gourmand capital? The Romanian-born owner Ecaterina Paraschiv tells in an interview that it’s why (specialty minced meat), sarmale (minced meat that’s forged cabbage leaf) and papana (donut with jam and acid). Food blogger Alexander Lobrano says in his weblog that the venue presents "excellent" neo-nostalgic "chef" chefs Ovidio Malisevsch and Bogdan Alexandrescu, or Dexter chef (see his Instagram feed: https://www.instagram.com/dexterchef /) . So let me simply say that this dinner was not solely the perfect non-French meal, which I've been to Paris over the past twelve months, however top-of-the-line. In truth, this small gallery of art-like Sentier aspect road was a delightful surprise in virtually each approach. And now when individuals ask me what "foreign" kitchens I recommend for a trip to Paris, the Romanians will now include unusual Israelis, Moroccans, Tunisians, Laos and Vietnamese. "Chapeau is a Romanian gourmand ambassador and doing this unimaginable work.
Tripp & # 39; Food Tales
Documenting the history and effects of Romanian cuisine in Romania, two impressive style experiences and tales (presently only out there in Romanian) value mentioning: Claudia Romana Rista (recognized for her cooking blog Fata Care gătește cu Flori) and younger chef Mihai Toader and musician Bogdan Simion, who describes the Fragment vlog. Greatest Recipes With the help of the Profi grocery store he has already launched two cookbooks filled with tasty tales: the collection is obtainable within the supermarket chain, Zestre culinară (Culinary Dowry).
Hidden recipes are additionally hunted by Toader, Simion, Romania's youngest cobza participant. , av Their videos embrace traditional music and sluggish meals. But there’s extra: you’ll be able to style the chef's interpretation of the recipes you could have discovered, and the featured on-line video materials can also be present in pop-up dinners in occasional places in Bucharest, Toader's cooking and Simion's singing.
The Sibiu-European gastronomic space 2019
It’s still a thriller that occurred to somebody who should have been the second elevation of the Sibiu area. As an alternative, the Sibiu-European gastronomic area in 2019 has been rejected as a failure, provided that one yr is half and little has occurred. But things are in search of, as at the start of June, County Corridor introduced that RON 1.25 million was earmarked for the challenge, with several Sibiu County City Corridor and non-governmental organizations promoting custom and local meals as a way of organizing occasions
The overall impression is that the officers behind the undertaking have made little effort up to now. Just lately, the event's visible id was talked about: a flower comprised of the famous Sibiu Sámi, with a real butterfly and a woman dressed in a ham and salad gown, was talking of the country – not a very good habit. Sibiu European Gastronomic Officials (Primarily All Sibiu Public Institutions) Refused to Remark
One of the Sibiu European gastronomic aspect tasks
However the incompetence of Sibiu County authorities can’t weaken the cooks who expertise native produce and promote sluggish food with out the authorities approval. In their real efforts in restaurants, there are local producers who are in a position to provide their components for his or her dish – and this is the most important challenge as they commit to a seemingly unimaginable activity to change the menu every week. BR was notably impressed with Syndicat Gourmand (chef Ioan Bebeselea), Hochmeister (chef Daniel Joa), Kombinat Sibiu (prepare dinner Mihai Toader) and Pasaj (chef Andrei Luminea).
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