Why I'm stepping down from Bristol Food (Union)

Time to transition

Early in December, I told my co-directors of the Bristol Food Union that I’d decided to step down from my role as the Chief Executive of our relatively new social enterprise. Given that it was less than 12 months since I’d asked them to get involved, the news came as a bit of a surprise.

Since University, my sense of identity has been tightly intertwined with this idea of myself as someone who can help ‘catalyse change’ as part of a ‘global food movement.’ I’ve prioritised my commitment to my work above pretty much everything else in my life, so coming to the realisation that it may have all been for nothing has been…. interesting.

Over the holidays I’ve coped with the incoming waves of terror (am I really walking away from a career I’ve spent 20 years building?) by continually reminding myself that:

a) this isn’t really about me

and

b) I’m not giving up. I’m simply letting go of something that absolutely does not work for me. One is powerful, the other powerless.

In reality, I am of course giving up quite a lot of what I currently do... for example being the Chief Executive of anything for a while. I’m giving up worrying about other people’s wages, grant-funding applications, 80-hour weeks, board meetings, impact assessments, local politics. I’m giving up being chronically under-resourced and over-committed…

… and, I’m not completely giving up on, but certainly letting go of, an industry I love, but which has not been able to offer me the things I need to build a stable and successful life.

Trying to have a relationship with UK food, festivals and hospitality has been much like staying too long in an emotionally abusive relationship. I’ve spent a lot of time over the last ten years justifying unjust behaviours, making excuses for why this industry hurts the people who care about it, and convincing myself over and over again that the situation is going to change, is going to get better. That all I needed to do was be good enough or work hard enough… to gracefully carry the weight of it all.

I was pretty good at it for a while.

I have broad shoulders, and can carry a lot.

Until suddenly, just like that, I couldn’t.

Losing your listening

In reality, the end of my commitment to my career in its current form began at least 3 years ago.

Living with the fallout from Abergavenny Food Festival, (Yes, I’m going to talk about it. And no, not yet) and yet still mustering enough self-belief to carry on at all, was a brutal and eye-opening experience. I lost a lot. Some of it deservedly, some of it not.

Compound this already uncertain dynamic with the 2020 Vittles article and my subsequent parting of ways with Bristol’s main supernova chef, and my ability to get things done in this city has shifted profoundly. If you have the listening of the boys club life can be... easier. Lose it - or wholeheartedly reject it in a fit of rage - and things become tricky.

Normal is not coming back

Aside from having reached my personal threshold for tolerating hospitality’s culinary patriarchy, I’ve increasingly found myself in a role where a large part of my job involves advocating for Bristol’s restaurants, and that’s become a struggle, because:

a) I no longer have much faith in certain parts of the industry as it currently exists

and

b) I don’t have the same mandate to speak on their behalf as I did at the beginning of the pandemic.

I am increasingly disappointed that those in the position to influence the most change, are those that seem to have the least interest in truly transitioning to a fairer, more inclusive industry. Especially not if doing so involves taking a long, hard look at our own roles in maintaining the status quo, or challenging realisations about the unethical or unsustainable ways in which we run our businesses.

It is not enough to simply say the industry ‘needs to change.’ We need to start to explore, in specific and tangible ways, how and why it needs to change, and by when?

Strategic development requires the input of business owners that have the space to psychologically and financially invest in the future. How much is even possible when the majority of people are still treading water, desperately trying to stay afloat? There is no room to talk about meaningful change right now. In fact, the reality of the financial situation means things are more likely to get worse than better.

Try being the person who wants to counsel that what’s needed is a complete psychological overhaul of what it means to run a restaurant or food business. Doing one or two things well will create more long-term security, than doing ten things half-cocked. All staff must be paid a living wage and offered meaningful career development pathways so that people view a career with us as more than just a student stop-gap.

Try being the person who wants to tell everyone to STOP OPENING MORE RESTAURANTS! That the best hope of success lies in developing a strong core brand and diversifying revenue streams, so whether it’s dine-in, food-to-go, meal boxes, or whatever, all become additional strings to a singular, more resilient bow.

For an awful lot of restauranteurs, recovery still looks like getting back to how things were before. In Corey Mintz’ recent article for Eater, ‘how the pandemic knocked chefs of their pedestal,’ Vaughn Tan, author of The Uncertainty Mindset is quoted as saying:

“If as a restaurant you are willing to completely reconsider what it is that you think a restaurant is going to provide, then there is a chance.”

The challenge is that we’re not currently having that conversation. In Bristol, or anywhere else as far as I can tell, there seems to be little space for developing it.

I’ve had enough of continually being the radical in the room. I’m tired of the fire and knives bros implying I’m crazy for wanting to discuss the real-life impact of the climate crisis, or how we transition to an entirely new perspective on the role of work and economics in our lives.

I can’t in good faith continue to counsel more chefs to just keep going, to find a route through, to hold on… Instead, I want to say; consolidate or cut your losses, aim to build a core, multi-product brand with national reach, or go the other way and become a social enterprise. Ensure your restaurant benefits everyone and access grants to help you do that work.

The fundamental nature of what it means to be a restaurant is changing. Simply cooking high-end food, in a brick-and-mortar location, and hoping to sell it to wealthy customers at a profit will no longer be sufficient.

What next for me?

Well, from Petrini to Patrick, Bottura to Bristol, Abergavenny to completely on my arse, I’ve worked for some of the most powerful men in food over the course of my career, and goodness knows I have some things to say about it.

I want to be free to talk about subjects that simply cannot co-exist with the role of a Chief Executive that represents a sector or industry.

I want to talk about sex and substance abuse, mental health and misogyny, elitism, classism, and the role of money at the heart of a global food movement.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been through everything I have…. Because maybe, my role is to find the courage to tell my story so that others feel safer coming forward to tell theirs.

So, that’s it, I suppose. It’s official. I’m done. I’m ready for a deep fundamental overhaul of every area of my life. If you think it’s going to be an interesting ride consider becoming a paid subscriber. I want to be free to tell the truth, but ultimately still need to feed the babies.

Wish me luck!