Restaurants come and go all the time. Beloved establishments and hip upstart players on the dining scene alike may close with little fanfare and seemingly out of nowhere to the public. Though behind the scenes the struggle is often palpable and ugly. They operate with low profit margins. The work is relentless. A restaurant is not what one might call “a good investment”. This is common knowledge at this point. And yet, every day some intrepid, courageous, audacious, quite possibly foolish person risks everything to start a new venture in the food industry.
Why do we do it? Does dining out matter? Are restaurants an important part of your life?
One needs only to glance at Portland Food Map, a popular website for Maine food news, reviews, real estate, and gossip to see that where one restaurant folds, another will take its place, like a phoenix from the ashes. Recently The Portland Press Herald wrote a piece on the October closures of half a dozen restaurants, including The Muddy Rudder, your grandparents favorite restaurant on the road north between Portland and the MidCoast, Ohno Cafe, in operation for twenty years in Portland’s tony West End, and Thistle and Grouse, a spacious gastropub opened by an experienced chef/owner from Bar Harbor, which did not survive the one year mark.
David Turin, who has been a restaurant owner/operator in the Portland, Maine restaurant scene since the 1990’s, cites a much different barrier to entry now than when he first opened David’s in Monument Square. Simpler times, he seems to be saying, allowed for simpler ventures. But is that an accurate portrayal of the distinction between then and now, or is this restaurant veteran seeing through the deceptive veil of nostalgia? A bit of both, most likely. Portland was rougher around the edges back then, and there was less pressure and lower stakes for a restaurateur. There’s definitely more attention on restaurants and chefs, and a demand for an experience not just good but Instagrammable. There are venture capitalists eager to fund something fresh, and pressures mounting from every stakeholder and casual observer.
It’s important to remember that correlation is not causation. To paraphrase Tolstoy, each unhappy restaurant is unhappy in its own way. Is it a mere coincidence that a number of high profile places are closing their doors in the same month? If a business didn’t make enough money in Maine’s peak tourist season, Turin pointed out, there’s no way to squeak through the downturn of winter. Though to sift through the circumstances of a closure is to turn up similar phrases again and again. Rising real estate cost. Beholden to investors. Burdensome rent. Inflation. Property taxes. Permits. Overhead. Staffing issues. Increased competition. Labor costs. Lack of affordable housing. Digital middlemen. Consumers dining out less often. Oversaturation. The slow economic recovery from the Covid 19 pandemic. And in Maine, the vicissitudes of a tourism economy are always a factor.
According to seasoned New York restaurateur of such illustrious and profitable brand names like Shake Shack and Gramercy Tavern, Danny Meyer, in a recent New York Times article, it takes 10 years in operation for a restaurant to recoup the initial investment. The statistics are brutal. 80% of restaurants will fail within the first five years. If your establishment does manage to beat the odds, there’s burnout and changing paradigms to contend with. Too many hours on your feet behind the line takes a toll on the body and soul. Get injured, get old, get weak. It's a young person's game, for sure. Chefs have earned a reputation for hard living in popular American culture of the last few decades. RIP hero Anthony Bourdain. A change of scenery and a gentler lifestyle is sometimes a necessary intervention. Surpassing that five year magic number mark means that just when you have reached a financial equilibrium, the culture is changing, and your model or style may appear dated or outmoded.
Some of the recent contraction in Portland seems to be course correction. The market simply could not bear the number of places vying for the attention of a finite number of diners. Fifteen years ago, the phrase “The Portland food scene” appeared in the zeitgeist. Exciting chefs with thrilling concepts making some truly delicious food were suddenly ubiquitous. And the consuming public ate it up. More beget more. There were hagiographic articles in major publications and a rush to capitalize on the enthusiasm. It felt satisfying, on one hand, that cooks and mixologists were finally being given their due praise, and those of us who value good food and drink had ample opportunities to eat, explore, and connect. Brands were built upon brands. It was also the era of the rise of the food blogger. Everyone had a a camera, a platform, a voice. Everyone wanted in on the game, for there was fame and money and prestige to be found.
But fifteen years is a long time in our fast-paced culture. The economy looks rather different in 2024 than it did in 2010. Those seem like boom years. Halcyon days. What we thought was the beginning of something may only have been the aberration of a fortunate period. Dining out has always been a luxury. Consumers make a choice to spend a portion of their disposable income to be cared for in this particular way. Eating in a restaurant means you are paying for someone else to shop, prepare, cook, serve, clean, and even make choices. It lifts a weight and provides relief as well as nourishment. We dine out for myriad reasons that boil down to pleasure and privilege. Going out to eat at a restaurant is a choice, a nonessential activity.
But going out to eat means so much more than simply fueling the machine. Sharing a meal is a social ritual that symbolizes affection, connection, and reaffirming bonds. Think about first dates. The beginning of a potential love affair often starts with dinner in a restaurant, sharing a bottle of wine, and learning about one another over the course of one romantic evening. Business relationships are often sealed over a meal; we let our guard down when we break bread, we learn to trust another another, we become more human and therefore one is more inclined to trust the other party. Family meal is what kitchen staff often call the food they make to feed the workers. One pot we all can share. Food is essential for health and well being. Human history tells the story of how and what we ate.
The story these days is about how much more expensive food is now than it was five years ago. This is empirically evident at the grocery store, from the wholesaler, at the source. The prices one sees on menus reflects the increase in cost for every aspect of the business, from fuel to labor to the price of the food itself. That’s a fact. Margins were already slim, and in order to maintain that 3.5% pre-tax profit the cost must be borne somehow, by someone. In order to do slightly better than breaking even during this period of inflation, restaurant owners have raised their prices. As a whole, we are paying for the worth and dignity of the folks who feed us, for the farmers and cooks and delivery drivers and servers, and that's a good thing. The value in a restaurant such as ours goes beyond dollars and cents. We are an invested entity in this community, supporting small purveyors, local vendors, and people who depend on this industry to earn a living and support themselves and their families.
Being here is important. It matters a great deal to us. We are approaching a momentous crossroads. We have been in business as The Causeway since 2020. It was a grand reopening. We spent much of the pandemic years renovating the dining space, by ourselves, with family and close friends. It required a lot of heavy lifting, faith, and imagination. The evidence of sweat equity is everywhere. Lauren’s dad built the bar. Her sister created the hand lettered door of local partners. We’re invested in the people and the place. Being the stewards of this historic establishment is a heavy responsibility. We have staff to pay. Staff we know and trust. We often say this is a family business, and that extends beyond Lauren, Greg, and the pups. We feel a genuine connection and work hard to keep it all going, for us and everyone who works here, lives here, and patronizes both the restaurant and The Craignair Inn.
We feel lucky to be here, and blessed to be beloved. We create an environment that is genuine and warm and hospitable. People want to hang out here. We want you to hang out here! We want to be your local. We want you to be our regulars. We have so many plans! Our Winter Passport Dining Series is such fun every year! We've recently announced The Causeway Owner's Reserve Society for the appreciation of fine spirits. In the summer we throw outdoor parties on the lawn. Our art gallery openings are festive functions year round. Friends meet here regularly. We get to see dates and reunions and anniversaries and birthdays and weddings. All the milestones and momentous events of a life pass before our eyes. Rites of passage and mundane evenings that unexpectedly become magic because of a conversation or company or a transcendent piece of cake. We're always innovating while maintaining the integrity that has guided the Craignair Inn for generations. We don't always know what is ahead, in a tumultuous industry, in an uncertain existence. But what we know for sure is this: We are embedded in this rocky coast, we are here for the long haul. And we love you.