Dear Feastlings,
For twenty-three years, Feast has had an ever-changing menu of dishes, an ever-changing catering menu, an ever-changing wine list, and an ever-changing group of people working to offer it all. While some dishes were short-lived and some wines were allocated in allotments as small as a single bottle, and some employees have walked out mid-shift after just a day or two, there are dishes whose periodic return means that even though they leave seasonally, they’re permanent fixtures. It wouldn’t be winter without a lobster bread pudding, and it wouldn’t be summer without a roasted strawberry shortcake.
And Feast wouldn’t be Feast without so many of the people who’ve come and gone over the years. Some spent fifteen or twenty years here, and there are some who’ve left after a shorter stint but who’ll always be family. Some who’ve come and gone I still see every week, and some live in another hemisphere but visited only last week. I love them dearly. I know my emails are often just me venting to four or five thousand people about an employee who disappears or swipes a few bottles of wine, or a compressor, but by and large, the crew here are like the core of our regular guests: they knit together a community of people who genuinely care for one another, and look out for one another, and treat each other with kindness, warmth and respect. Just like with any business, there are those who come and go, but as a handful of talented cooks returns this week to help us make Thanksgiving food for a couple hundred of you, I’m supremely grateful that Feast has become what it’s become. Damn, I’m lucky, and I have all of you to thank for it.
We’ve certainly lost people here and there, both crew and guests, and I’m sure we’ll lose more, some to our own shortcomings and some to whimsy or, God help us, politics. But I sure do love the people who put other people above all the other petty tangibles and intangibles, and who appreciate it when we do the same. I’m lucky to run a restaurant in which I actually get thank-you notes from guests for what we do for them, and to work with people who’ll be there for each other when times are difficult, and who make plans to visit when they return to town.
To make someone feel valued is rewarding in a way that making a few extra dollars can never be, and it’s been a delight to be on both sides of the interaction. This week, people I’ve worked with as long ago as thirty-eight years ago came in and helped us out as nearly half the staff was felled by colds and flu and disasters large and small, and they were nice enough to me to come help feed people who were as nice as you, and I can’t thank any of you or them enough. After a stint of back-to-back open-to close days, frantic trips to various stores and outages of everything from ingredients to exhaust fans on the line, people in our little community pulled it together and got the job done, hugged each other and wished each other well, gave gifts of time and energy and kindness, and relit the tiny, flickering flame of my faith in humanity.
Today, I slept in, came in to do the ordering and schedule-writing I hadn’t had time to do as we prepped a whole lot of Thanksgiving food, banged out a nearly complete draft of the December menu that’ll start in less than five days, posted the wine tasting we have this Saturday
complete with food pairings, after only having taken the wines home last night at the end of a day that kicked off at 5:30 am and ended around 11:00 pm with scribbled tasting notes and heavy eyelids and a cat between my feet.
Even coming in to work today is something for which I feel monumentally grateful, as I’ve not been interrupted once with a question or a problem, and the kitchen is silent, and I knew where to find a cartoonishly large brown butter triple chocolate chip cookie. And this, the last responsibility of my day, is complete in time for a nap, a quiet Thanksgiving dinner for two with no turkey in sight, a peaceful walk in the neighborhood, and a sip of something warming.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Love,
Doug