86 The Sticky Ribs: Capturing A Restaurant During a Pandemic

Mar 19

Today my heart is heavy. The familiar faces that I am used to seeing when I walk in are no longer here to greet customers who are still coming in for take-out only. The hand shakes, the fist bumps, the jovial “hey how are?” gone. No longer there. I have never cooked nor have I worked for a restaurant. I have worked in restaurants behind the camera and will continue to do so for as long as I can. Photographing chefs and food is more like a side job.

The restaurant was anything but quite. The music pumped louder than usual replacing the silence in the dining room. The wine glasses hang quietly in line, patiently waiting for lips and sips. Who knows when they will come off the rack to be filled. The tables are set, ready for guests. Empty. The chairs long to be sat in. The plates are quietly stacked at attention, waiting, ready to be a vessel as forks and knives scrape across them.

“86 sticky ribs chef calls out from the grill. We’re about to 86 the Mac and cheese too.”

“Heard chef.”

“At least you’re selling out of something” I remarked.”

“Hell yea!”

If ever there was a skeleton it was here and and now. The chef and two other people doing triple duty as the phones rang off the hook, and orders came in remotely. People are hungry for good food. For over an hour straight Chef worked hard. Nothing he wasn’t used to. If anything, his busiest days prepared him for this, working alone in his zone. Chef was calling for an early perp time tomorrow as they needed to be ready for another day like today, busy.

The chef belted out as loud as he could. Amongst the stress and tension of dismissing his staff as we ride this thing out, he manages to remain positive and happy. There was an energy in the restaurant, thicker than the NY Strip he cooked up and packaged for take out. His energy is always positive.

“Thanks so much, we appreciate you” Chef would out from behind the prep station. His voice was unwavering as he joyfully thanked every person that picked up their order. The interactions are brief, transactional, to the point. As each patron turned and thanked the chef they expressed their appreciation for him remaining open. Undoubtedly every single person walked out satisfied before they got home and put for fork to food. They had a warm, savory, ungodly delicious meal to eat that was neither store bought or picked up from a shitty fast food restaurant but they were happiest just to walk out with something and a moment of appreciation. Even the mayor, who looked stressed, was happy to come in and support his city hall neighbor.

This is my advice to you. If you’re hungry, support someone who will thank you for walking in and ordering food that they made themselves. I get that fast food joints are employed by similar folks, but you’re paying into a machine. You don’t get what you pay for when you order a McDouble. Fast food restaurants will always be in business. The ones that are truly suffering, the ones that employ people who are excited to seat you and carry your food to your table, the ones who’s bank accounts, mortgages, car payments, are earned from your tips, those gainfully employed by restaurants likes HighBrow, they are the ones taking some of the hardest hits. Andrew remains open and optimistic so he can stay in business and bring back the people he cares about, the people that believe in him and make HighBrow the warm and inviting restaurant that it is.

I left as the last takeout order was being picked up. Chef was going to spend a few hours cleaning, disinfecting, prepping, pouring his heart out into his business and his passion while the rest of us sit home with uncertainty. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is another opportunity for him, for his business to remain open, what little hours and what limited menu he has to offer. Today and tomorrow is all we can think about.