Mourning the loss of Sweet Tomatoes restaurant chain
When I was 10 years old living in Salt Lake City, my favorite restaurant was Sweet Tomatoes.
Now, at age 28 and living in Orlando, it hasn’t changed.
My experience is not unique. I remember the walk down the salad bar seemed like a mile filled with endless offerings. The muffins, soup and ice cream never disappointed. Coupons came in the mail and I actually saved them, looking forward to the next month’s seasonal special.
On May 8, the restaurant chain announced it wouldn’t reopen. Not after coronavirus, not ever.
Another casualty of the pandemic, this wasn’t the first nationwide company closure that shocked me, but it was absolutely the most surreal.
From the reactions on Twitter, you’d think a protest was about to form outside each of the 97 locations. One person even suggested starting a GoFundMe as an attempt to save at least one location.
The eulogies from fans started to pour in, and I pored over them, it was cathartic.
“Can I get a moment of silence for the bombest muffins, best chicken noodle soup and the soft serve that really hit different?” one user posted.
Another said, “my 10 and 8-year-old daughters just broke down when they heard (Sweet Tomatoes) would be permanently closing.”
Other posts hit a little harder.
“Gonna talk to my therapist tonight about Sweet Tomatoes closing.”
“RIP Sweet Tomatoes…where I had my birthday dinner from ages 7-15…and where my mom told my brother and I that she was divorcing my dad.”
“RIP,” “grieving,” “pain” and “tragic” were common words.
O.K., so it’s a buffet chain. There are obviously more important losses, including any human life.
But it wasn’t just a buffet chain.
It was a restaurant I could get my whole department to go to for lunch. It was never lonely, even if you sat by yourself. Judgment wasn’t felt, no matter how much you ate or how long you stayed.
When I was younger, my parents and I used to make the trip for dinner on Wednesday nights. We always sat in the same booth and had the same server, Maria. She would drop extra fresh cookies off at our table some nights and genuinely inquired how we were.
To this day, Maria is one of the only restaurant waitresses I remember, even though we only saw her when she took our plates.
The 4,400 employees that lost jobs with the closure are the people I think about now. They join the 36 million also without work.
The closure of Sweet Tomatoes is likely indicative of the permanent end of all buffet-style restaurants. A new reality, among others we’ll have to embrace.
Coronavirus is vicious, it’s inflamed our divisiveness, hate, sadness and helplessness.
In Florida, we just hit our deadliest week and cases continue to climb.
So, while the governor stands by his decision to reopen the state, I mourn for Sweet Tomatoes.
Thankful for its decision to keep me alive.
Another casualty of the pandemic, this wasn’t the first nationwide company closure that shocked me, but it was absolutely the most surreal.