Restaurateurs enduring ‘the death of a dream’
When the pandemic began and Gov. J.B. Pritzker, born with that platinum spoon in his mouth, began issuing those restaurant shutdown edicts, you could find people facing it with stubborn Chicago optimism.
Months ago, therewas a definitewe’re-in-this-together vibe. You could see or read news stories encouraging people to order takeout or delivery as away to save the independent restaurants we love. The journalists who crafted those stories obviously cared deeply about the restaurateurs and theworkers, and their stories offered a sense of hope. But here’s what you don’t see. “You don’t see the death of a dream,” saidmy friend Jimmy Banakis at his Juicy-ORestaurant, 2942 Finley Road, in Downers Grove.
“You don’t see the restaurant owner with their heart cut out, losing their home they put up for collateral, and all their savings. You don’t see that or marriages broken under the stress. You don’t see the guilt that comes with failure or depth of feeling for the employees and their kids that you’vewatched growup all their lives and call you Papouli (little grandfather),” he said.
“A good restaurant is a family. But most people who haven’t spent years in a restaurant don’t see that.”
What you see is a governor giving shutdown orders. But you don’t see the restaurant owner awake at 3 in the morning, sitting still with the mind racing because the bank and the landlordwant their money. You don’t hear the silence in the home, the silence that crushes a family, weighing down on a spouse and the kids.
In a busy restaurant there is no silence, no sitting still. In the kitchen the cooks are shouting, the owner shouts back while scanning the plates going out. Thewait staff is running. There are jokes and spats and feuds and drama— and a quick turn out the door with a calm face to greet the customers.
Somebody ruined the salad dressing. Somebody has to clean the bathroom. If the bussers are busy, the owner does it.
The hostess’s boyfriend
stopped in to break up and she’s upset, and there is no time and there is no roomand no sitting. That long table of complainers, all 12 of them, just asked for separate checks and say they hated the soup.
What do they knowabout soup? Itwas great soup. Fish headswere used. What do they want, soup from a can? And always theywant more bread. Back in the kitchen, the sound of dishes and silverware clattering and obscene jokes in many languages. But after the governor’s shutdowns, the restaurants grow silent.
And later, at home at night, the silence is so loud. But not loud enough to cover the sound of an owner’s pride breaking. The silence that crushes life out of a family when a business is strangled by government edict.
I knowthat silence. And so does Banakis.
He’s been in the business all his life. His parents had a diner. He had restaurants. Hewent on to
manage Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises restaurants for Rich Melman and became a partner. He knows howto win and knows howto lose.
He’s optimistic. He expects to survive. Butmanywon’t and they knowit.
Banakis isn’t talking about this to publicize his own place, though I love the breakfasts, especially the feta spinach omelet and Jimmy’s potatoes. What he hopes is that by reading this, you’ll understand what the owners are going through now.
“Juicy-Owill stay open. We want to make sure everyone’s safe, and thatworkers and customers understand the protocols. I expect to survive because I don’t have a mortgage. I’ve done this a long time and knowI can control my costs,” he said.
“I’m able to do things that larger restaurants can’t do. I’ve run big restaurants downtown, at Bub City, Papagus, R.J. Grunts, Lawrence of Oregano and others. It’s all different now. The pan
demic has changed everything in the restaurant business.”
I asked him about Pritzker and that platinum spoon. He’s not angry at Pritzker or other politicians who shut down businesses with the flick of a wrist that never scrubbed a toilet.
“They just don’t understand,” Banakis said. “Howcould he understand? It would be good if he talked to restaurant owners, actually talked to them. He said you can have outdoor dining. Whowants to eat in an igloo? You won’t order a $50 piece of fish and eat it in a frozen igloo outside.”
Or an au poivre Popsicle, I said. “The pot shops stay open, the liquor stores, the businesses that the state is in. And they shut our businesses? I’m not angry at our leaders. I justwant to get on with my life.”
Though an optimist, he has discouraged many fromgoing into the business.
“That columnist whowanted to open a rib joint,” he said. “Re
member?”
Yeah, Jimmy, I knowthe guy. “Howmany independents will survive? Not many,” Banakis said. “And when this is over, youwon’t recognize the restaurant business. But you knowwhat? There will be opportunities. And I’ve got a few ideas.”
Great.
Optimism is part of it. How can you risk everythingwithout it? And the other part?
That other part you don’t see, the long nights in silence as small business is killed by government edict, by politicians who talk and talk and talk but have no clue.
And restaurateurs lose everything, through no fault of their own.