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Beth s place restaurant new york

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beth s place restaurant new york

Sarabeth's Tribeca, New York City. Sarabeth's Bakery at Chelsea Market. Sarabeth's restaurants have earned a warm spot in the hearts of native New Yorkers. As always, great service and a great meal! Report. s. slue New York Area. At this Potsdam apartment, you'll be within half a mile (1 km) of Raquette River and 3 miles (5 km) of Clarkson University. State University of New York-Potsdam. WHOTRADES FOREX PEACE

Our stretch of the Raquette River is swimmable we do recommend water shoes and goes all the way to downtown Potsdam. You can park your kayak and enjoy all that Potsdam has to offer and when you're finished, you kayak downstream back home. Kayaking is available May through November and we cover the putting green once it starts to snow. Please note, the igloo is shared with our other unit.

We have another bed and breakfast on our property if you were looking for different dates or to accommodate more people. It's called Beth's Place. Rooms open to patios. Accommodations are furnished with sofa beds and dining tables. Bathrooms include showers and hair dryers. This Potsdam apartment provides complimentary wireless Internet access.

Smart televisions are featured in guestrooms. Recreational amenities at the apartment include a spa tub. We call it our Meals on Heels delivery food service, and we officially launched in June. It went so well and got so popular that we decided to make it a weekly thing. It has really resonated with people, especially in this time when everything is so intense with the fires, COVID, politics. To have a glimmer of rhinestones and feathers and makeup lifts people up, even for five minutes.

Drag queens are the jesters of our time, really, and doing it outside is just so edgy and fabulous. For them, every house is a new adventure, filled with new terrain, challenges, and opportunities. Kids and grandparents are watching at the front door; neighbors are coming out for the show. Financially, our business has been devastated.

There are a lot of different kinds of people here: The majority of residents are Native American, mostly Navajo because the Navajo Nation is around Gallup, but there are also Hispanic and Jewish populations and a small Middle Eastern community. After moving to Gallup, I missed eating Mediterranean food. That is what I grew up on.

We had to drive two hours away to Albuquerque or four and a half hours to Phoenix just to get falafel and hummus. It ended up becoming pretty popular. Word of mouth helped. Local doctors would recommend Oasis to patients with diabetes—Gallup has a high rate—since our food is healthy, mostly salads and grilled items.

Everything is homemade. We get a lot of tourists with people driving from New York or Florida to California or Arizona, specifically to see the Grand Canyon or the national forests. Many of my customers were scared to come out, and it took a long time for them to get used to taking things to-go. Navajo Nation was hit especially hard, and since Gallup is so close to the reservation, our town was also affected.

Because of that, my customers did not feel comfortable eating around others, even outside. But my restaurant is small so I can only have 12 people at a time. There have been shortages of chicken, beef, cleaning supplies, to-go containers, and plastic silverware for months. And whenever I can get my hands on them, the prices are inflated. They went for the drinks. That meant street tacos and barbecue. He owned Bar 41 at the time and was looking for a pop-up. It was a match made in heaven.

At that point we went our separate ways but stayed really close. Mario left the food industry, but even after Bar 41 shut its doors, I stayed in it. But the pandemic changed everything. When Alameda County finally allowed bars to start opening again in June, they mandated that all bars serve a bona fide meal. Turns out a single street taco qualifies as a bonafide meal.

I shared this idea on a Facebook group full of bar owners, and almost immediately I got several responses asking when I could start cooking. At that point, I called Mario. At the time, I was convinced my culinary career was over. We keep trying to make more food and we keep selling out. Before we were always an ancillary product. Ultimately, we need each other to survive. Our only fear now is the winter. We have to keep pivoting, which is a key skill that everyone in the industry has to learn to survive.

We just feel so fortunate that we have customers who will literally follow us from bar to bar. It's definitely been a struggle and incredibly stressful. Pitchfork Farm works closely with local restaurants, so we've definitely felt the impact. The pickle arm of our business has also been affected, but luckily we've seen growth in the retail purchasing side of things—people are buying jars of pickles to eat at home more than they had in the past.

I started working at the farm in , and I'm in my fourth season here. Pitchfork Pickle started in January ; the guys were looking for a creative outlet for farm produce and my vision of farming has always included preservation and a value-added component, so we partnered up. Now I am an owner, along with Eric and Rob. During the summer the guys are pretty exclusively focused on the farm; Eric comes back online at The Pickle during the winter to help out with the day-to-day and special projects we don't have time to get to during the farm season.

For the pickle side of Pitchfork, we operate a retail shop at the entrance of our production space. In our first year, and up until COVID, we saw a little less than 35 percent of our overall sales come directly through the shop.

The other 65 percent was wholesale product—bulk for restaurants and delis, and retail units for local grocery stores. Overnight we saw that split shift to 15 percent from the online shop and 85 percent from wholesale. With restaurants closed, our wholesale clients moved towards local retail co-ops, groceries, and farm stands.

Previously, we had been taking slow steps to build an online store, and we prioritized finishing it the first week businesses were closed in Burlington so that we could offer curbside pick-up and mail ordering. For the first time during the pandemic, we began selling our pickled goods online, and complemented those sales with quiet-but-consistent curbside pickups. It's been amazing to see our local farmstand economy thriving—we have made new partnerships with farms that have stores onsite or are offering add-ons to their CSA programs.

It's been a huge boost for us: Retail unit sales more than replaced the lost revenue when restaurants had to close. I love networking with other farmers, and it makes me proud to see local food producers supported by our community in the way that they have been. The shift has meant increased labor and materials costs for us, and supply chain issues with certain materials have been a huge headache.

For example, the bottles we buy for our hot sauces have been sold out for months because they make great hand sanitizer bottles. Overall, we've seen growth, just not at all in the ways I had anticipated at the beginning of the year. We had hired more part-time help the week before Vermont shut down, and we've been more or less able to keep working a regular schedule throughout the worst of the shutdown. I know how lucky I am to be able to say that, and I'm relieved to be able to work with our restaurant customers again as they've reopened.

Our tourist season this year has continued to feel very muted compared to previous years. I haven't heard how restaurants are planning to modify their offerings as the seasons shift and outdoor dining isn't an option, but I expect another change soon. Many restaurants are working with smaller crews upon reopening, and they're looking at where they can outsource laborious tasks, like what we make. We work with one restaurant that makes a lot of their own pickles and ferments but have made plans to collaborate more as it makes more sense for them to source from us.

We appreciate their trust and support of our product, and hope to do more restaurant collaborations moving forward. We were going to have a grand-opening party with a DJ and drinks and invite family, friends, and industry folks. The day we opened, April 17, it was different than we imagined—crazy and hectic—but we were all there, supporting each other. Thankfully in L. That is huge. Because of that we want to keep our menu consistent so that anyone can order from any of our delivery platforms and get what they want most of the time.

RDB: That was hard at first, from the kitchen standpoint. Coordinating with vendors and farmers was a challenge. RV: Financially we are doing much less than we projected. But we are surviving. We do enough business to pay rent, payroll, utilities and for food and supplies. We have to do most of the work ourselves and work longer hours. We are always looking for ways to generate more revenue, and Peso Goods, our online shop, is one way we feel we can do that.

Initially we had always planned to sell swag and T-shirts, but then we realized that we could also offer pantry goods. RV: The pantry goods will consist of our sauces and vinaigrettes—our bagoong vinaigrette, yuzu vinaigrette, and toyomansi aioli—and our house-made tocino and longanisa. Is it still good when they get it? So now we are researching how to do it. RDB: Opening a restaurant is challenging enough as it is. But COVID, the closures, and protests on top of it has made us stronger and forced us to think outside the box.

Honestly, we are better for it. The fear was there, and everything was starting to shut down. Independently owned restaurants and shops like these are so integral to our city. They represent the diverse communities that make Houston what it is. I wanted to make sure that Cali Sandwich is still here. I wanted to make sure that they can get the financial aid they need from the government. If someone told me that I would spend most of my time, not in restaurants, but at home on the phone with people in Congress, I would have told them they're crazy.

I see how difficult it is to work with constantly changing capacity guidelines in Texas. Some politicians say they will act. Others, I just get their voicemail. I had to furlough all of my employees at my restaurants, which was so hard. I remember going to each restaurant, walking from front of house to back of house, to let everyone know. I felt like I was getting punched in the nose over and over again.

But this is about so much more than my restaurants. So I need to stand up and make their voices heard. Basically, hustling. We soft-launched our bakery and coffee roastery in March. We were open for three days. Lockdown was imminent due to coronavirus, and we decided not to open the following day. As we planned to reopen in mid-April, we realized the first challenge was just getting staff into Subko.

Half got out of the city and state, and all state lines were closed, which meant no one could come back. We were left with three people, including myself. Our operations manager, Neha, worked remotely from Goa to help figure out logistics. I pulled as many strings as I could to convince the municipality to give me two essential services passes, which allowed people to move around the city if they were involved in a trade deemed essential.

In our case, coffee fell under essential food items for takeaway and delivery. It took two weeks and four attempts to get approved. One employee, Shubham, had to go through five nakabandis, or checkpoints, on his way to work on his motorbike. I relocated Regina, our other employee, closer to the roastery, so she could walk to work. We officially reopened Subko the last week of April, and the three of us did everything, from roasting to packaging to baking.

We literally got on Zoom calls with my bakehouse partner, Daniel Trulson, who was in lockdown in Tamil Nadu, to learn how to use the equipment. He taught us how to use the liter planetary mixer to make our Kashmiri walnut sea salt chocolate chip cookie dough, and helped us navigate the intimidating three-deck Sinmag gas oven. We ran out of stickers, so we had to handwrite the details on the bakery delivery boxes.

Neha did whatever she could remotely to organize a delivery program. Things were starting to look up—people felt more confident with the idea of doing takeaway and deliveries. Then, in July, came the monsoon. The monsoons completely destroy the rhythm of normal life in the city. There were several days of very severe rains and flooding, even a typhoon warning. About two or three weeks into the monsoon, I walked in and our roastery was half flooded.

Lockdown stranded many laborers outside of the city, so jugaad to the rescue again: We took coffee bean bags and stuffed them underneath floor panels and in gaps beneath the doors to absorb the water. I brought bed sheets and threw a mattress cover on the back of our three-deck oven. We put giant blue tarps on the roof, and I said a prayer that the roof wouldn't cave in. I already had concerns with building a business from scratch during a pandemic.

That's now coupled with the monsoon season. People are less likely to wait the two to three hours it takes for delivery services, and the walk-in rate was already small since no one wants to step out in heavy rains.

I really hope the worst is behind us. But the reality is the monsoons have made an already incredibly challenging situation quadruply difficult. Hopefully, with folks' support, Subko survives this whole fiasco. We have been very lucky in Canada. We noticed that the only places with lines out the door were grocery stores. A week and a half after we closed, we reopened and became the first and only Persian grocery in the area. We completely shifted our space from a restaurant to a market and began offering takeout and pick up.

It was a serious hustle. The program is free; all you have to do is register. Everyone who applies is given a hideous two-by-two-foot concrete block and pylons to place outside your restaurant. People loved it. We are making about 60 to 65 percent less.

This is scary, but at least we were able to apply for a government loan pretty easily and got approved right away. My friends in the U. But with winter around the corner—and talks about a second wave and another lockdown ramping up—there is a lot of doom and gloom on the horizon.

We are the only Persian grocery store in this area, and we need to build on that with more products and more prepared foods. But our sales are doubling week over week. Demand allowed us to open a food stall in Philadelphia in , and later that year we finally decided to plant our feet with a brick-and-mortar location in Washington, D. That was always the vision for Rebel. We thought we found it in March Then, the pandemic hit.

But that feeling of dismay is further exacerbated when that delay is due to circumstances beyond your control. The types of questions we began to ask ourselves were so different from the normal lines of inquiry during an opening. So we opened on August 5. We had to redesign the restaurant. We made it so our storefront had windows, so folks could easily place to-go orders and pick up their tacos.

We added QR codes to each table, so customers could order and pay for their food and drinks in one place. Our entire hospitality career has been filled taking leaps of faith, and this may have been our biggest one to date. But each order that goes out and each happy customer makes it all worth it. It was a really special experience. The restaurant scene here in D. But our sales are doubling week over week, particularly driven by pick-up and delivery orders, which have allowed us to cover our costs effectively.

Based on our current projections, this store has the potential to be one of our highest grossing locations. Growing up in the restaurant industry—my parents owned Chinese restaurants—I saw how food brought people together.

It was a natural transition to create these food tours, connecting people to generations of makers operating out of the market. Once the pandemic hit, we had to stop the food tours. We were struggling, and I had to put myself in the shoes of locals to figure out the next step. How could we create a product that would meet their needs and keep us afloat?

Our answer to that was creating a box filled with local food products and delivering it to those who were homebound. We had access to so many local purveyors from our food tours, and this would just be taking our food curation to a different level.

We have sold over 12, boxes since we launched in March. This means each box sends nine micro-payments for each purveyor. The response from our customers has been encouraging too. The boxes have been a source of hope for them, and their responses have been a source of hope for me. After that, I realized we could do even more with these boxes.

What did my company stand for? What would this look like once the world went back to normal? Our impact and our ability to meet the needs of our community is so much bigger in this box phase than it could have ever been on foot doing our guided tour. So I finally gave into my crazy dream of doing something vegan that resonated with my heritage. I always had a crazy dream of doing something vegan that resonated with my heritage.

I never took it particularly seriously until now. Early on I was lucky enough to find a collaborative kitchen collective where I could rent space by the hour. Within a week I was surprised that I had orders. Even though I am back to working as a hairstylist two and a half days a week, I spend the other days working on my pop-up.

I knew it would be central to whatever I ended up doing. But none of this feels like enough. Food apartheid is such a big issue in the Portland community and how closely linked it is to systemic racism. I wish I could do more. COVID and the protests here in Portland made it even more clear to me how I can use food to attempt to help others. I am hoping to save up money and open a small brick-and-mortar by the beginning of next year to house my pop-up and continue to make meals for those in need.

It would probably be easier for me to commit to just this project, but I find it hard to give up on my hair clients. When my ex-husband went to prison back in , I found myself raising a toddler on my own. So I started Ms. At the beginning of the pandemic, I expanded to feed frontline workers. I wanted to help in any way possible, so I decided to cook for them. Then Breonna Taylor and George Floyd were murdered.

And the protests started. I watched them on social media and in my own neighborhood, and I knew I had to do something. George Floyd could have been my uncle. Breonna Taylor could have been my sister. But I needed to do something that I felt comfortable with.

But I know how to feed people. So I called up a few chef friends and people I went to culinary school with and they all wanted to cook meals for protesters, too. Since a bunch of us wanted to cook, I thought we should call ourselves something. We created an Instagram account and began sending DMs to protest organizers so we could figure out how much food to bring. We usually try to feed about 10 percent of the protesters. Then things grew really quickly.

My goal has always been to provide healthy meals to Black and brown communities, so we really focus on fresh, healthy foods for protestors. Over volunteers help us cook and deliver food to protests. A lot of them are people at protests, friends of friends, or people who found us via Instagram we have 7, followers now. Everyone is sitting at home, especially people in the food world who are out of work. They want to help, and for maybe the first time ever, have the time to help. Right now people are cooking in their home kitchens for the protests.

I plan on keeping my first business, Ms. We also have plans for what the community kitchen will look like, post-pandemic. That and starting the Black Chef Movement in other cities. I have friends in L. There's no way to translate that feeling to an open-air parking lot. So on June 26, we opened Kachka Alfresca, an outdoor '90s-inspired cabana-themed outdoor party. When we were doing menu development, that was the first time I saw my team light up in weeks.

We are so accustomed to that immediate gratification when a server tells you that table two was crying because they thought their food tasted so good. Getting creative again and the idea of interacting with guests, those were uplifting moments. Food-wise, I was really inspired by that carefree feeling you had when you first started going out to eat with your friends.

But for Alfresca, we still wanted to show off our Eastern European inflections. So we did make fajitas but with meat done up like shashlik, which are cubes of meat marinated in distilled white vinegar and onions, then skewered and grilled.

Instead of tortillas, we serve them with lavash. Looking at it, you think, fajitas. But close your eyes, taste it, and you immediately are reminded of shashlik. Kachka Alfresca easily doubles, or even triples, our daily sales average compared to when we were only doing takeout and delivery. Additionally, getting to serve cocktails is huge for us right now because Oregon does not allow for cocktails to-go.

Beyond getting to flex our creative muscles in the kitchen, we still do this because of the hospitality. The dynamic is very different, and it requires guests to be more proactive if they have concerns. This leaves us vulnerable to criticism from behind the computer screen. While we were building out Alfresca, we thought it would just be for summer because by October we can feed people inside our restaurant again, right?

Our vision has always been to identify issues in the restaurant industry and find a quick solution. That was very different six months ago. When the pandemic hit, we turned 21 restaurants, mainly run by friends in the industry, into relief kitchens to feed laid-off restaurant workers in 19 cities.

As we worked with each chef at their relief kitchen, we asked them how we could help them reopen again as restaurants. A lot of chefs were concerned about being able to support and pay the farms they worked with. But as we started to do this, restaurants began to close again for dining, first in California, then in Kentucky. Here in Kentucky restaurants were ordered to operate at 25 percent dining-in capacity and bars were closed. So we had to switch back to relief kitchen mode in those two regions.

We did not expect to have to do this again, but here we are. Now we just listen to the news every day. If restaurants can stay open for dining, we keep funding the farms. If restaurants have to close, we pivot back to operating as a relief kitchen.

Anytime a new problem comes up, we pivot really quickly to try to help. When floods filled central Virginia with two feet of water, we found out many restaurants don't have flood insurance. So we did a fundraiser to help them cover the costs. Whenever we pivot, we have to move fast. I typically wake up, then watch the news and press conferences for cities we have relief kitchens in. When Kentucky announced that restaurants could reopen, I called our systems and logistics person, Kaitlyn Soligan, so we could pull back on relief and get back into the farm program.

Then I called Sam Fore, our web designer, to edit our website with new information on fundraising. And finally I called Collis Hillebrand, our PR and marketing director, to get that information to the public. I talk to these women 10 times a day. Every time we raise enough money, we give it away. Just in Kentucky alone, 17 chefs have applied for the grant; two have received it. Just whatever we felt like doing. It was really soul-satisfying.

She continuously reinvented herself throughout her life, working as a cake decorator and a pet shop owner among other things. T: It was hard; Oma was my connection to my Chinese-Indonesian culture. But opening this pop-up with her spirit, it kept us creative and positive in the middle of the pandemic.

So when we were able to open Gado Gado for outdoor dining in July, we realized we wanted to keep the pop-up concept going in a permanent space. Each table has its own landing zone where the waitstaff places food so that the guests can pick it up once the waitstaff is six feet away. There is a bussing bin in the landing zone so that guests can clear the table by themselves and at their leisure. We found a safe way to reopen Gado Gado, and that is the only reason opening a new restaurant feels attainable.

Once we heard that some restaurant spaces were becoming available, we started looking into them. T: I have eaten like 10 pounds of pork belly in the past 48 hours because of that. We are basing the menu on nasi lemak and creating platter-style meat and rice dishes with a bunch of accoutrements. The menu is short and will remain consistent because of our limited staff. All the dishes are set up so that they can transport well. M: No matter what you do, everything feels so very risky.

You could take the risk of closing down and not reopening until there is a vaccine. You could take the risk of just being open and rolling the dice. These are crazy times, and sometimes you have to do crazy things. At least this way we have the opportunity to be creative and to bring some positivity. So we joined forces with Mera Kitchen Collective , which is a food-based cooperative in Baltimore that empowers chefs from around the world, many of whom are refugees.

They had a GoFundMe page going to support meals for the community, and the need was immediately apparent. They hired our staff, ensuring that our workers could continue to make a living, and then our two teams proceeded to make meals that we would deliver. The requests started at about per day and, some days, soared to Communities in need found out about our program through word of mouth. It started out with people who knew Emily [Lerman, cofounder of Mera Kitchen Collective], and once the community leaders saw the quality of the food we were providing, we got more requests.

We decided that our community meals would be from-scratch, made every day, and with extremely fresh ingredients, like we serve in the restaurant. We want to ensure that the food is healthy and that, in the long run, it can transform the city of Baltimore, which has huge populations of unsupported communities.

But beyond providing meals that were just delicious, we wanted to take a more sustainable, holistic approach. And what kind of food do we give? We are working with all kinds of people to help us continue this momentum into the future. This project is indefinite—we want to continue until we see the food inequities of Baltimore addressed and resolved, and we are working directly with the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health, policy makers, and the city to make it happen.

But success, or at least the next chapter, will be when those communities have sources for food within their own spaces. COVID has unfortunately delayed all that. My fire is always burning. The pandemic has hurt many Black communities across the country, in part due to inequities in healthcare. But I know from my work that this also includes access to healthy food. I live in Ward 7. A few years ago, Wards 7 and 8 only had three grocery stores servicing , people. Three years ago I launched Market 7, a pop-up community marketplace that features Black-owned businesses.

Recently, we were asked to be the anchor tenant of a new 7,square-foot food hall in Ward 7 called Benning Market and I was thrilled. My dream was to have a permanent space with a small grocery and stands serving food from the diaspora—cuisine from the Americas, the Caribbean and Africa. We usually have our pop-ups throughout the summer and fall, but by May I knew I had to call off the season. A lot of these businesses are renting out commercial kitchens and co-working spaces.

They have bills to pay. A lot of them have had to let employees go. I never want to see a small business fold, especially east of the river. It would be a real loss. How will people engage with the counter space?

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