photograph courtesy drew beamer / unsplash
Not long ago, I parked in front of a local restaurant a little before noon for a business lunch. An associate had arrived first and informed me that the spot we had chosen was closed. No one was inside, and the door she had tried was locked. We began to leave for a different eatery in the neighborhood when a colleague of mine called my cell to say that he was already inside the apparently closed restaurant and that they were open and happy to seat us, which they proceeded to do.
Our group spent close to two hours in the dining room on a Wednesday at lunchtime; during those two hours, precisely zero other customers walked through the single open door. The service was, as you would imagine, attentive. We had no competition. We had our choice of tables — no dark corners near the restrooms for us! We never worried about curtailing our conversation to allow the staff to turn our table, and we never strained to hear each other over the din of others’ chatter — because other than the man who seated us and waited on us (and, we wondered, maybe cooked our meals, too?), there were no other living beings to be found. I found the experience unsettling, eerie — like we were munching on salads after the apocalypse. But it was also distressing, more practically, to ponder the fate of this beloved restaurant. Theoretically beloved, at least.
Each February, we at Memphis magazine publish our dining issue, featuring the results of the annual readers’ restaurant poll as well as our staff’s food musings. Based on the number of people who vote each year in the restaurant poll, we know that our community members hold strong feelings about local dining. But are we doing our part, as members of a community, to ensure that we’re backing up our strong feelings with our dollars?
It’s easy to feel disappointed when a business doesn’t make it. It’s more uncomfortable to feel … responsible. But when it comes to profit-and-loss spreadsheets, there’s no column for whether a business is theoretically beloved.
My guess is that we have all been part of a conversation that goes like this:
“Oh no! [Insert restaurant name here] closed!”
“Aww, really? But I loved that place! I used to go there all the time.”
“Me too. So many good memories. What a bummer.”
Here’s the thing, though. Our collective happy memories won’t pay the rent. It’s easy to feel disappointed when a business doesn’t make it. It’s more uncomfortable to feel … responsible. But when it comes to profit-and-loss spreadsheets, there’s no column for whether a business is theoretically beloved.
I’m far from perfect; I nurture fond memories of plenty of businesses that I haven’t patronized in ages. Most of us lack the cash and the time to support as many places as we might wish. But I could probably be a little more intentional in my decisions. By the time you’re reading this, it’s February, and a bit late for resolution-making — but I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, and it’s never too late to try just a bit harder to support the places I want to stick around. Maybe that simply looks like choosing the neighborhood taco shop or coffeehouse instead of the national chain, or picking up sushi from a favorite local spot rather than the grocery store’s sushi counter.
The same goes for other small local businesses, of course. Speaking as someone who runs one, we wouldn’t still be here if not for you. And we won’t be here in the future without you. It’s because of your fellow readers and especially your fellow subscribers that we’re able to sell ads, and to remain affordable and accessible, and most of all to preserve the stories and art of this moment in Memphis history. Whether or not you sign up for a subscription, or renew yours when it expires — these may seem like minor decisions, but to us, they’re anything but.
Most of all, what I want to say is that you matter, and your choices matter. It can be easy to think that a business will always be there, waiting for us to darken its door again, because after all it always has been there, as far back as anyone can remember. Which doesn’t mean it will still be there tomorrow. So tonight, I hope you’ll take a seat at a local restaurant — we’ve got lots of suggestions in the pages that follow. Not because it’s a holiday, or a birthday, or a designated date night. Just because you want that restaurant to be waiting for you, next time.
