The Domino Effect

Members of the restaurant community endure a historic industry crisis as dining rooms close

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Ida MaMusu, Chef-owner of Africanne on Main

After I shut down, friends and customers were saying, “Chef, we miss you and your food.” Some asked if I could make them greens or oxtails to pick up from my house. [Laughs]

We’re a buffet, so we weren’t prepared for takeout or delivery. I’m from Africa, though, and we deal with stuff like this all the time and readjust our lifestyles. Malaria, smallpox, measles, cholera, Ebola — we went through all of that. We don’t panic and fall apart.

The second week of April, we reopened with a scaled-back menu. In order to pay my employees and keep the restaurant open, I have to sell 70 plates a day.  

I made disposable masks for customers. I’ve given out over 200 already. At the door a greeter makes sure everyone is covered. There’s only three of us in the restaurant at a time. Once customers order, they wait outside.  

When I reopened, one of my customers said, “Chef, in Africa, when the queen is coming out, there is a drumroll. I will do a drumroll and buy the first 20 meals for customers.” It makes you feel important, and that your food is worth it. —As told to Eileen Mellon 

Chris Vaughan, Owner of Cabbage Hill Farm  

My restaurant sales have gone to about 2% of what they were. We were having our best winter ever until March 13, then it died. I’ve been farming 21 years, so I’ve known a lot of these people longer than I’ve known my kids. Everyone’s hurting. People hear about chefs, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything without the waitstaff, prep cooks, cleaning people. They’re the lifeblood of restaurants.  

I’m lucky. We bought this place three years ago, and it’s paid off. I might lose my tractor, but I could always buy another down the line. If I’m not making money, we’ll be eating a lot of greens and vegetables I grow. It won’t be our whole food bill, but I’ll take care of the produce part. My wife works for the state, so I’m lucky that it’s not a traditional family farm where we’re completely tied to it, and we’ll sink or swim with it.   

I’m more worried about the future. If 50% of restaurants close, I’m looking at 50% of business. Richmond will still be a food destination, but it may take years to get back to where we were in terms of numbers, so then it’s like going back to where I was. That scares me more than anything. —As told to Stephanie Ganz 

William ‘Suds’ Plott, Former Dishwasher at Nota Bene and Metzger Bar & Butchery

I’ve been at Metzger for about a year, Nota Bene closer to four.

My second day at Southbound, I nearly flooded the dish pit, creating a mound of bubbles nearly the size of me. I panicked — everyone else laughed. Since then, I’ve been called “Suds.”   

Around the time New York’s coronavirus crisis was blooming, I was told that despite the scare, my hours wouldn’t change. Over the weekend, Nota Bene swapped to takeout, and then myself and the staff were laid off.  I wasn’t lied to; the chef and owner genuinely thought we’d be able to stay open. Then Metzger followed. I was scheduled for a double, one shift at each spot, and by the end of the day Sunday, I was unemployed at both.   

I’ve received unemployment benefits. Mentally, I’m in and out. Right now, I can say I’m fine, but in a month, I may not be. —As told to Piet E. Jones

Austin Winslow, Chop Chop Delivery Driver

I started with Chop Chop back in late 2019. It originally served as a side hustle while I maintained my full-time job at Belle Isle Moonshine as a production technician.   

I carry nitrile gloves and hand sanitizer with me at all times, as well as disinfecting wipes for my car. My worry isn’t as much for myself as it is for those with weaker immune systems.    

Delivery in all forms is one of the biggest public services right now. Our services are helping to keep other businesses open. We are keeping people fed. While I’m currently furloughed from Belle Isle, working for Chop Chop has allowed me to find a financial medium to get me through this rough patch. I am still able to support my main employer — Belle Isle Moonshine can continue to be distributed locally through Chop Chop. It’s a cycle of helping one another. —As told to PEJ

Spencer Morris, Cavalier Produce

I’ve been here for 20 years, since the beginning. The impact was overnight; it wasn’t gradual. The schools and universities closed, and restaurants switched to takeout. We went from running 26 trucks a day to eight and cut our number of employees in half.

We lost 90% of our sales and had to start selling to the public, setting up satellite pickup spots in Charlottesville and Richmond.

We had over 1,000 people initially sign up for the email price list — it’s been amazing.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, we give produce boxes to restaurant workers who have been laid off through our buy-a-box, give-a-box program. One woman called in just to buy 20 boxes for us to donate to industry people, nothing for herself.  

I’m worried that if things don’t pick up when July hits, a bunch of growers are going to be sitting on product they can’t sell. The public is buying in 1-pound, one-each increments, compared to restaurants and universities buying in cases. We rarely talk to our wholesale customers now. I miss them, and when I talk to these restaurant guys, I just want to cry for them. It’s so bad. It’s so bad, man. —As told to EM