It was another beautiful, clear Florida day. I’d just put a visiting friend on the plane back to New York and headed out for my weekly restaurant tasting. There was talk of a new virus, so we were extra careful about washing our hands and what surfaces we touched at the restaurant. Very soon thereafter, the bottom fell out of the world.
The COVID-19 pandemic quickly shut down the two sectors that anchored my life for decades, restaurants and the arts, especially theater. Nearly everyone I knew was out of work or having to reinvent themselves. The human urge to gather together to share food and drink or to engage in a communal storytelling experience to touch your heart is as old as civilization. That fact alone tells you just how essential to our emotional health these experiences are. And now, they’re all gone and a date for their return is uncertain. Even Spring Training at the Blue Jays’ splendid new stadium was cut short and all sports, save for professional wrestling in Florida—are now on hold.
So, I sit alone in my Dunedin condo—extra grateful for the view and the magnificent birds that soar past my window oblivious to the contagion that has shut us down. I FaceTime with family and friends and bake cookies when I feel energized. But I know the pain that surrounds me. My enthusiastic young food editor has been laid off as Creative Loafing Tampa Bay figures out a way to survive. Newly unemployed friends with young children worry how they’ll pay the bills.
“The Temporary”
420 Patricia Ave., Dunedin
Wed.-Sat. 727-223-1705.
restorativerestaurant.com
The days turn into weeks. And, if the projections are correct, we’re facing months of physical distancing to assure that we remain safe. But, as we keep our physical distance—one meme suggests the length of a Florida gator—we’re lucky that technology binds us. We can rejoice in Zoom to connect offices able to work from home or just groups of friends to stay sane. As disorienting at this new paradigm is, at least no one is dropping bombs. Apart from bartering for toilet paper, most of us are not yet imperiled. But the ripples await.
As you’ve seen from his weekly editor’s notes, Ray Roa (with publisher James Howard) is doing everything in his power to keep CL thriving. Our connection to the Tampa Bay community is deep and wide. We need you and you’ve shown that you value us. So until I’m able to report back again on a new restaurant, I’ll be sending in periodic reports from the field on just how some of our comrades in arms are coping; you’ve already heard from Rooster & the Till’s Ferrell Alvarez and Karla Hartley at Stageworks.
After my Top 50 Restaurants of 2019 list appeared in December, it became clear that my infatuation with an 18-seater in Dunedin never waned. From my first visit, Jason and Cricket Borajkiewicz’s captivating and ever-changing small plates at The Restorative filled my dreams. As a small restaurant with just two employees, could they be nimble enough to survive this storm?
Jason says they saw the shutdown coming and anticipated the move to takeout, even though that meant cancelling some eat-in reservations.
“To change our model and pivot quickly wasn’t that difficult. Our sales have dropped, but so have our costs.” Luckily they’ve built up a loyal following on Instagram and email. “The first couple of weeks our regulars definitely came in and really supported us, but honestly we’re seeing a lot of new faces since switching to takeout. It’s surprising.”
They’re now over a month into their reinvention as “The Temporary,” with a limited menu that just changes weekly. The takeout experiment began as an Italian theme, quickly followed up by weeks of Japanese, French, and comfort food. The Borajkiewiczs had to let go of their teenage dishwasher, but sous chef Tom Cochrane, who was apprenticed upon the birth of their son (Ezra) last July, is going strong. He’s prepping for tonight’s menu while young Ezra naps in the office. The Borajkiewicz’s operation is a well-oiled machine and they’ve even been able to retain their babysitter who watches over Ezra at their nearby home just before takeout begins.
When they realize that they’re seeing the same number of people a week, they decide to consolidate them into a four-day period from Wed.-Sat.
“I’m not gonna lie, a four day work week is kind of nice,” Jason says.
“Our once-a-week people tend to get the whole menu” says Cricket. There are not lots of restaurants with their lights on in Dunedin.
“People are just happy that we’re open,” she adds with a sigh. “Our regulars just want us to make it through.”
It’s not all smooth sailing, though. It’s getting harder to find supplies; their local produce market closed and there’s a niggling thought that when the pandemic is behind us, that the newfound patrons who helped carry them through might miss the new status quo.
“How much backlash will we get from not doing takeout?,” Jason ponders.
They realize they’re lucky to have each other and worry about the future for all their culinary friends forced to shut down and lay-off huge staffs; the change to takeout for larger operations isn’t as easy in the face of an unknown future.
“We don’t want anyone to lose their business. It’s a very hard decision to make,” Jason adds. “You can only be closed for so long.”
As I’m writing, I hear a news report that the James Beard Foundation claims only one restaurant in five will survive. “Top Chef” Tom Colicchio worries aloud about losing the 20 million jobs connected to restaurants and farmers. “The question isn’t when we can open up, the question is when the public feels safe enough to gather in great numbers again,” Colicchio writes. And that’s when we get a vaccine.”
I share these worries about the region’s restaurants, but I know the road is even rockier for the nonprofit professional theaters. Pivoting to takeout isn’t an option. Next, I’ll check in on the theatre side of the equation. Stay tuned.
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