#COVID restrictions made closing our NYC restaurant the only option

It was March when the first masked customer walked into our restaurant. As he pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer from his jacket pocket, the woman he was with asked for a glass of hot water to sterilize her utensils. 

I looked at my husband, Jesse, and he looked at me. We both felt faint. 

When we opened 191 Knickerbocker together in 2018, it was the culmination of a dream. With over 25 years of experience as an executive chef, it felt right for Jesse to finally have his own place. But when we tried to get funding from the Small Business Administration, we were told restaurants were the only category that didn’t qualify for grants. We spoke to several banks and were told there were no loans for first-time restaurant owners. Statistics show that only 60 percent of restaurants survive their first year, and yet we were determined to pursue our goal. So, in 2017, we sold our co-op apartment in Queens for $250,000 to pay for a lease on a space in Bushwick and to renovate it according to our vision. 

It was more expensive than we thought. Rebuilding the place and applying for licenses among other costs quickly burned through our savings, so we also had to borrow $90,000 from a private investor to get us to opening day. 

In April 2018, we had less than $100 in our business account and a negative $140 in our personal account, so we opened without any publicity or marketing — just a limited comfort-food menu featuring dishes like matzo ball soup, chicken parm, Swedish meatballs, as well as happy-hour sangrias. 

We gradually built a following in the neighborhood and added two staff members alongside Jesse and me, operating as a bartender, dishwasher, and prep and line cook. Even so, the continual cost of repairs to meet health and safety standards left us broke. We could no longer afford our apartment in Bushwick so my parents insisted we move in with them at their home in Queens, rent free, until we regained our footing. 

That did the trick. By the end of 2019, we started progressing, and we were on track to exceed our financial projections. 

But on that day in March, Jesse suggested we close — temporarily — until we knew more about this virus that was creeping into the city. In the meantime, we collaborated with a church and made free meals of soup and other one-pot dishes for our community. Donations came in, but the next month’s rent of $5,300 was due, and we didn’t have the money. 

We scoured all our options. Our business didn’t qualify for a government PPP loan, so we applied for grants from places like Facebook and Verizon but we received no reply. We hosted pop-up restaurants in our space, just to make a bit of cash to cover a few bills and a chunk of the rent. (Luckily, our private investor has given us a break on repayments for the time being.) 

On Dec. 31, our liquor license expires. It costs $4,442 to renew. We can’t afford that, so the pop-up restaurant currently in our space just won’t be able to sell booze in the new year. Worse, our landlord — who deserves to be paid, for she too is bleeding — will likely throw us out after Gov. Cuomo’s moratorium on business evictions is lifted on Jan. 1, 2021.

In the meantime, I can only think of the next day ahead — nothing more. But one thing I am sure of: I no longer want to be a restaurant owner. I’m making a conscious decision to not be a part of a brutal industry romanticized by social media and reality television, faced with hardships and very little in the way of real support. 

In the meantime, I support my local diner or pizza joint that’s been in business for more than 30 years. If I can’t do anything else, I get a cup of coffee twice a week from my local café, which has been around since 2015.

There is now a village in my parents’ small house in Queens where my brother and nephew reside as well. My brother, also a first-time business owner, had to move in with them to keep himself afloat, too. He and I were teenagers when my family emigrated from Guyana to New York. We’re the cliché of the American Dream, and I can’t imagine a different life than the one this country gave us. We got a chance to do extraordinary things, to believe we can be anything, and in return, we always tried to give back to our community. 

In May, we listed 191 Knickerbocker for sale, fully equipped and furnished, at $300,000. Recently, our broker called and pleaded with us to reduce the asking price. Only two inquiries have come in so far, with both parties claiming they won’t consider anything above $75,000 in this economy. 

Despite it all, we are proud of the neighborhood staple we created and all the hurdles we have overcome. This Christmas my family will be squeezing around the kitchen table, as we break into Mom’s freshly baked bread with our bare hands and still feel gratitude for our lives, the chance to be in this country, and hopefully find a way to rise again.