Dear Feastlings,
A friend with whom I used to ride bikes on a regular basis had a tradition each August of anticipating autumn well before anyone else would consider it. “Can’t you see that the light is changing?” she’d say, “it’s almost fall. I can feel it.” And we, her cohorts, would dismiss her out of hand, rolling our eyes, twisting our lips into wry smiles of condescension. “She’s sure it’s autumn again,” we’d mock, and we’d all pedal into the heat.
But the other night, as I left Feast, it was palpably cooler than usual outside. And today, at lunchtime, there were people in here. PEOPLE.
Feast isn’t busy yet, not by any stretch- we won’t get busy until around mid-October for catering, and the restaurant won’t be crowded until around Halloween, assuming enough people can shelve their pre-election jitters to dine out like they used to.
It’s a welcome moment, to be sure. Just yesterday I was chatting it up with another restaurateur, and we were consoling each other by noting that we both were experiencing the slowest summer we had in some time, and that other people we knew were hanging on by their fingernails as well. Another of us that I ran into at the grocery store compared notes with me, each of us tallying up how many of our own paychecks we’d shoveled back into our restaurants to keep them operational through the summer
I’m delighted that people finally felt able this summer to get away more than they had since 2020, but I can’t say it’s been good for the bottom line, or for our spirits.
Still, it means that when people filter back into Tucson, and they’ve already begun to, they’ll be able to include dinner out in their regular plans. And that feels pretty good- not as good as it felt to leave the building walking into cooler air than that of our kitchen the other night, but pretty good nonetheless. It feels, as my bygone bicycle buddy would have said, like that ineffable first sliver of fall is coming. And I know it will come in dribs and drabs, in fits and starts, but it sure is pleasant to feel it’s headed this way.
Tonight looks pretty good, as we have an event in the private dining room, and tomorrow looks pretty empty, and Thursday is filling up at a rapid rate- it is, after all, Ferragosto-
And then Friday and Saturday look more like summertime versions of Friday and Saturday again, but that’s to be expected when you create an evening like that of Ferragosto, with all the bargain Italian wine and the carbonara and osso buco and whatnot. Nonetheless, we’ll keep plugging away as if the light is changing and fall is coming. We’ll keep having wine tastings
and we’ll keep offering squash blossoms for a few more weeks, and we’ll keep getting in treats like lobster mushrooms and Jimmy Nardello peppers, sea beans and borage flowers, and delicious Italian and French wines. And so on. And before you know it, the light will have changed, the temperature will be bearable, the seats will be full, and the restaurateurs will stop biting their nails. Do come visit soon- it’s nearly fall and it will be harder to get a table.
Your pal,
Doug