Illustration by Carson McNamara
When Shani Hudson was told not to return to her restaurant jobs in mid-March, the former line cook says it felt like “the shackles were off.” “I thought, ‘This is my chance to run. I have to get out of this industry,’ ” Hudson says.
After over a decade in hospitality and, most recently, 55-hour work weeks spent between Dutch & Company and the now-shuttered Naked Onion, she was free.
“Being in that survival mode for that long starts to wear you down,” she says of working in restaurants. “I think I convinced myself it was the pressure everyone was feeling when they work all the time, and that it was unavoidable.”
But the pandemic granted Hudson an unexpected gift: an opportunity to see that the way of life she had carved out for herself in the industry was avoidable.
Sitting inside her apartment, with time away from kitchens, was what she describes as a “soul breath.” A break from the pro-hustle nature of restaurants has presented her, and other industry workers, with a chance to examine their mental health, redirect their energy and look to the future.
“You tie so much of your identity to your productivity and how much you’re grinding, and you don’t have a life or sense of self,” she says. “You become caught in a cycle of working, repairing from work, then getting ready for work.”
But slowing down comes with a price.
“You realize you haven’t made that time for yourself or created that space to be a person in so long,” she says, noting that she wants to focus on community-related food efforts in the future. “It’s tough to deal with in the present and also be compassionate for yourself in the past.”
Jason Alley, co-owner of Bingo Beer Co. and Alley/Jones Hospitality, began working in restaurants when he was 10 years old. He’s a few years shy of 50.
During the pandemic, Alley has spent time with and cooked for his family, lit fires in his Church Hill backyard, and participated in daily national and local Zoom calls for Ben’s Friends, an industry-wide addiction support group, of which he started a local chapter with chef Joe Sparatta.
The isolation from others, the inability to see his therapist in person and detachment from the restaurant world — the only world he’s ever known — have led to a lot of inward reflection for Alley, who has clinical depression, generalized anxiety disorder and PTSD.
“If you’re somebody that has mental health issues, a lot of what’s going on now feeds directly right into that s---,” he says, sharing that he writes daily gratitude lists.
Alley, who left the kitchen years ago, believes the pandemic has been a little gentler on him, but for those earlier in their careers and still active in daily service, it can be an overwhelming change.
This was the first time in five years that Can Can Brasserie General Manager Laurel Burnette, 31, was able to visit her parents on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, because the restaurant was closed. And while she’s thankful, being away from the normally bustling Carytown restaurant has been “jolting.”
“It’s hard to fill that time when you’ve had it filled for you for so long,” she says.
She misses the convivial nature of restaurants, her co-workers — the people she typically spends holidays with — and the regulars who have become family.
“For me, I truly enjoy hospitality as a whole, for many different reasons, so if anything, it makes me want to fight a little harder to keep it going,” she says.
As Richmond restaurants begin to reopen to varying degrees, the dialogue surrounding industry culture and its systemic issues that has been ignited by this unprecedented break, will continue.
“I’m hearing this conversation a ton from owners, really looking at their operations, our operations, looking at ourselves and saying, ‘Man, we have been f---ing everyone’s quality of life for such a long time,’ ” Alley says. “Everything has been at the service of service — of getting open, getting closed, doing all these things. I think there’s such a bigger appreciation now for quality of life and the importance of equity and mental health.”
Olivia Wilson, co-owner of Brenner Pass, says the pandemic has given her the space to redirect her energy.
“In restaurants there is no time, we just have to get it done,” says Wilson, who recently helped launch the community initiative Richmond Bakers Against Racism, months after leaving her role as Brenner’s in-house pastry chef.
“What are restaurants going to look like?” she says. “I think it’s a really wonderful time to stew on that … so we don’t just continue with all the mistakes we’ve been making for so long.”
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