Hi Root Cellar Community,
Eight months into pandemic-living and pandemic-entrepreneurship I generally feel like I’m getting the hang of things in both of these realms.
Our family has found a new groove, with some downsides but lots of ups.
The Root Cellar is an entire new beast, having been operationally overhauled. We’ve learned so much about what matters most in our business model, what we can do without, and what areas needed some tuning up. We’re seeing more clearly than ever, we’re more comfortable letting things go that aren’t working, and our creative problem solving skills have flourished. We’ve had struggles but are very aware how lucky we are to still be here with open doors providing both food and jobs to our community.
Our gratitude is high, and I thought my awareness was too. I feel pretty connected to our community, its small businesses and particularly our food scene, and I make every effort to contribute to this scene; I thought.
Then last week we lost a treasure. Adam + I were lucky to enjoy the ‘last supper’ at OLO as they prepared to close their doors. I shed a few tears in my wild mushrooms, and my salmon, and my octopus, and my wine, but was heartened by the energy in the restaurant. It isn’t easy to know what’s right, how long to fight, and how much to sacrifice for what you love, and I commend the decision making while I mourn the menu. The room was filled with Olo-Lovers and you could feel the charge in the room. The team was on their game, the food as always was phenomenal, and it was lovely to have the opportunity to wish Brad & Sahara the best (and to overshare a billion ideas for their culinary future – my apologies. Go bloody relax for a few seconds while I bite my tongue.).
While previously waxing on sorrowfully about the looming Olo closure, a friend shared ‘Oh darn, I always meant to go there.’ Lets learn from this. PLEASE take the time. GO to that place you always meant to check out. We need to put our money where our mouths are (even if you’re just in it for the semolina cubes) to ensure that our food community remains viable, and hopefully soon returns to thriving.
Thank you for what you brought to our community Olo, and for pouring your heart into it for so many years. We could taste it. I look forward to what the future holds for you – it will certainly be delicious and I will be patient; but please, feed me again.
If we don’t love them WE WILL LOSE THEM.
Please join me in loving a little harder.