Last night we shuttered the doors to our beloved restaurant in SE Portland. Our new location opens tomorrow. The details are probably really boring to most folks, so I won't go into them here. (You can find news profiles here, and here.) It was both sudden and a long time coming. There is a lot I cannot say, although I wish it were otherwise. I can say this: the decision to close was not made lightly or without significant cause. We held out hope until the very end. We used to joke that St. Jack was actually our first born child, and Ewan was our second. The restaurant was our dream made real. It has been an emotional month for us. I can't even bring myself to drive by the now empty old space. I raised my baby within those walls. Watched him learn to crawl, walk, eat, grow.
If my absence here is any indication, I have been a little busy. Using nap time, after bedtime and any free moments in between to design a new space that feels as much like home as the first. And the only thing scarier than designing a restaurant with absolutely NO money (like three years ago), is designing a new restaurant with a firm budget with enough room to make terrible mistakes. I have no idea how professionals do it. The amount of anxiety I am capable of over wallpaper is ridiculous. I keep saying to anyone who will listen that I want a disclaimer painted to the front windows that says, "Warning: All design decisions made in a toddler induced, sleep-deprived stupor." Aaron has essentially been working two full time jobs preparing for the move. Tonight he is hanging light fixtures and doing food prep for Valentines Day. He deserves a medal. Or at least a nap and a beer.
We gathered with friends, family and staff on Sunday for our last night of service. We took over the talbes and ate and drank wine and shared stories about our little restaurant, and how special it was to so many people. There was a lot of ugly-crying. But we also talked about the future. The miracle of the new location, which already feels as much a part of our hearts as the first. The uncanny timing. How lucky we are to watch our business grow. How grateful we are for the support of the restaurant community along the way. There is really no way to convey how heartbroken we are about the closure. But there is also so much excitement and a great deal of hope for what comes next. What could be.
After the moving vans had come and gone and the curtains (that I made at 2am, the night before we opened three years ago) came down, and the last light fixture was unscrewed from the ceiling, Aaron turned to me and asked, "What is the thing that people used to say? After a monarch dies?"
"The King is dead. Long live the King."
Yes. That's it.
Exactly.
Image credits include Kimi Kolba, John Valls, Liz Devine, and myself.
