Since age 15, when I got a job at Subs Etc. in Durham, I’ve spent almost my entire life around restaurants.

Between 2004 and 2018, I opened or owned five local food-service establishments—Pop’s Trattoria, Rue Cler (I left before it opened), Six Plates Wine Bar, Local Yogurt, Mattie B’s Public House, and County Fare (again, I left before opening)—with the help of amazing equity and silent partners and some of the most creative, hardworking people in the business.

I was lucky to walk away with very little debt. I didn’t actually make money selling my restaurants—contrary to popular belief, they’re not cash cows—but I emerged mostly financially unscathed as I searched for my next career. 

I’m also lucky because, when I gave up restaurant life, I gained time back with my two small children and my wife. Don’t get me wrong: I loved working in restaurants and providing an experience that made people smile. Somewhere along the way, however, I lost my love of restaurant management.

But my heart breaks for my industry. 

In a twist of fate, I’m back in the building I owned for 10 years running a bottle shop for my new employer, Stem Ciders, while I wait for my job managing East Coast distribution and sales to become viable again. Because I don’t own a restaurant, I haven’t had to furlough or lay off a single worker. I haven’t had to worry about closing my doors. I haven’t had to worry about how to support my family.

While I worry about what the restaurant landscape is going to look like, I know that we hospitality folk are resilient. Many dedicated diners have ordered takeout, bought merch and gift certificates, and donated to local relief funds. 

I’m not here to tell anyone to do more right now. But I do want to prepare you for some changes that are coming.

Fewer tables, no bar

Restaurants can begin to reopen in phase 2 of Governor Cooper’s plan—starting on May 22 at the earliest—but there will be obvious changes: You’ll see lots of sanitizing stations. You’ll see gloves and masks on all employees. You’ll also see fewer employees because there will be fewer patrons. Restaurants will have half the normal number of tables. But how much staff can restaurants cut, considering the sanitizing and cleaning they’ll have to do? Menus will be more compact so food isn’t wasted. 

There will be no bar to congregate around, which will be a big financial hit, as bars are among restaurants’ biggest moneymakers. Another big hit: no big parties. Guaranteeing 30 people are walking in on a Tuesday night pads the bottom line.

Every restaurant, in other words, will face learning curves. 

You’ll pay more 

Restaurants operate on tight margins. And with fewer tables and fewer diners, they’ll have less of an opportunity to make money to cover costs. So your entree will probably cost more. 

Beyond that, the pandemic has laid bare the fragilities of the industry’s ecosystem. 

In my day, not a single restaurant could have survived this shutdown. The most successful eateries I owned—Mattie B’s or Six Plates—would have struggled to make rent or utilities by week two. 

It’s not just the tight margins; it’s that restaurants have largely kept their prices consistent even as other costs—rent, utilities, ingredients, online ordering, reservation systems—have gone up. And many restaurants have shouldered the burden of tackling systemic issues like low pay, poor benefits, and wage disparities while consumer expectations have increased. 

Every piece of technology a restaurant uses costs them money: third-party reservation systems, online delivery apps, the top spot on an online review list, you name it. Same with conveniences like freshly laundered hand towels in the bathroom and bougie candles. 

Restaurants that survive are going to need a bigger cushion. So prepare yourself: The $1 online reservation charge will get added to your bill. (Just call the restaurant directly.) Those hand towels and fresh-cut flowers? They’ll be priced into the steak frites price you just ordered.

Your meal will also cost more because the smiling waitperson who took care of you is going to need that 20 percent tip more than ever; they only get paid $2.14 per hour, and that hour they work before and after the shift just became two due to sanitation practices (tip generously).  

Be patient

Everyone who’s dined in independent, casual sit-down spots has their complaints, of course (see Yelp). People at Pop’s thought the tables were too close together; at Six Plates, they thought the towels were over the top. Sometimes they think the service isn’t attentive enough or the meal is too expensive. 

I’m not asking you to change your opinion. But I do ask that you change the way you react to your restaurant experience in the future. Restaurants aren’t perfect. In the weeks and months to come, we’re going to need a little understanding on both sides of the table.

So let me take this time to say they are sorry. If they didn’t exceed your expectations, they are sorry. If you didn’t think they were on their best behavior, they are sorry. If you didn’t think the meal was worth the price, they are sorry. 

Please accept this apology, and please, please, please refrain from taking to the internet to voice your disappointment.  

Restaurants are a central part of any community. They’re where we congregate, celebrate, and commiserate. They’re where we meet new friends and reunite with old ones. Restaurateurs are also the folks we turn to when we need support for our fundraiser, charity, or tragedy.

To survive this crisis, they’re going to need our support.

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