The answer wasn't Netflix, it was the kitchen: A review of the dining scene in 2020
2020, am I right?
The server brought over another pint of Quidi Vidi at the same time the food arrived at the table. It was a pretty average March evening at the Adelaide Oyster House — bustling with friends catching up, first dates and fish tacos galore — with the exception of the uni carbonara on special, which I devoured with abandon.
Little did I know it was the last bite of food I would eat in a restaurant for three months.
When dining rooms eventually opened again, the very idea of a restaurant would mean something completely different: No more casual dates, massive birthday dinners or, in theory, bustling.
2020, am I right?
In the media, December is typically all about the year-end review. The best restaurants of the year, the biggest events, the most disastrous celebrity spills.
Those now seem a bit trivial considering the year we've all had. But while it may feel too soon to reconcile how many last nails were hammered into the coffins of restaurants in the city, taking stock (or pho, or broth) of what 2020 meant for the food scene here in St. John's, I think, is critical to navigating what lies ahead.
A few major themes have emerged: a harsh (and overdue) reckoning with food insecurity in this province; a dependence on oil and tourism that somehow surprised people; and, most of all, that our restaurateurs and food people really know how to make things work in inconceivable situations. It's all affected what we eat and where we eat drastically.
So here's 2020, blow by literal blow.
Snowmageddon strikes
Let's start at the beginning of the end, shall we?
Remember when we thought Snowmageddon was going to be the worst thing that happened to us this year? After 80 centimetres of snow and hurricane-like winds trapped the people of the St. John's area in their homes for days, the grocery store lineups made national news.
The simple act of picking up milk became something worthy of Homer's pen, and more people than ever found themselves up close and personal with how limited our access to foodstuffs really is in Newfoundland and Labrador.
The ordeal ramped up discussion in the media and among social justice groups. Their platform has never been higher and greater scrutiny of supply chain management, and the importance of food independence, have been at the forefront for many news cycles.
Did it really take a once-in-a-lifetime natural disaster and a global pandemic for us to seriously consider supply chain management and food insecurity in this province?
Was it the kick in the pants we needed to see real change in social policy around food? Only time will tell.
The COVID collapse
One of my 2020 new year's resolutions was to host a dinner party for my friends every month of the year.
January and February went off without a hitch, with giant bowls of pasta, salad and pho swirling around my dining room full of friends.
Then, in March, the whole world shut down.
When my days started to revolve around the 2 p.m. provincial COVID briefings, I knew I needed an escape.
Netflix wasn't the answer. The kitchen was.
Once the lockdown started, everyone I knew seemed to transform into a Bon Appetit YouTube star.
There were virtual taco parties, online pasta-making classes and let's not forget the bread-baking bonanza that caused yeast shortages across North America. (I must admit, I made exactly one loaf of bread before abandoning my baker aspirations.) Those home cooks dove into pandemic cooking like nobody's business.
For me, it was all about the extra time in the kitchen. I suddenly had time on a Tuesday night to cook daal from scratch, to try my hand at pizza pockets or perfect the smash burger.
I roasted a duck for the first time, made my own naan and I even spent one entire Sunday making little sandwiches for an alfresco afternoon tea for two.
Needless to say, my grocery bill skyrocketed. During my once-weekly shop, I filled the cart like I was never entering a grocery store again.
But, toilet paper tyranny aside, when it comes to food in 2020 nothing was altered like the restaurant scene.
Dining in, out and all over the place
Sadly, one of the city's most exciting industries is also its most volatile. According to some American research, more than 60 per cent of restaurants don't make it in their first year — in recent times we've seen plenty of restaurants fail shortly after launch, like the Angry Urchin and Baystar Catering — while 80 per cent close within the first five years.
Last year I wrote an article about restaurants here in St. John's that have stood the test of time; it was hard to find many that have made it into their teenage years.
But while the forced closure of restaurants and necessary regulation changes during COVID meant the final nail in the coffin for some restaurants, spurred by a decline in the oil industry, remember that headlines lamenting the restaurant slump in St. John's have been happening for years. Look at Bacalao, the Reluctant Chef and Portobello's.
We lost International Flavours this year, and though COVID was a factor, it wasn't the cause of their end. The same goes for the Big R closing its landmark Harvey Road location. A declining oil and gas sector has meant there just isn't the same money flowing around the city anymore, and COVID was just the final straw.
COVID did cause some casualties and even big chains weren't immune to its wrath — Biermarkt closed with sister restaurant Mill Street Brewery soon following, and Montana's at Stavanger Drive remains dark.
But at least a dozen new restaurants have opened in 2020, including the city's first sit-down Ethiopian restaurant, three Indian restaurants, and the fantastic new Mickey's Sandwich Shop downtown.
The Rock steakhouse opened near the airport just this month and those wanting a taste of the Caribbean can head to Sunny Days on Queen Street.
The cycle of opening and closing restaurants has always been turning. COVID just sped up the wheel a little bit.
Reconditioning the restaurant
While some restaurants floundered during COVID, you have to give credit where credit is due. The restaurant industry stepped up in a scary time to offer deliciously comforting meals when nothing was certain — except that you got chips with your fish at Ches's takeout window.
The swift action by restaurateurs in a time of constantly changing regulations and understanding a virus no one saw coming is beyond commendable. Acrylic dividers, new service models, meal kits, takeout windows — thanks to the NLC's updated regulations, even home-delivered cocktails became all the rage.
They hacked COVID, and they made it work.
The pedestrian mall in downtown St. John's became a patiogoer's paradise overnight and it was packed full of physically distanced people all summer long.
The first warm summer evening I strolled down the middle of Water Street I felt transported to some small European city full of families walking their dogs, friends dining al fresco and street performers singing their hearts out.
It was a shining light during all the COVID craziness.
Pandemic revelations
Three months to the day after our meal at the Adelaide Oyster House, my husband and I visited Seto to celebrate being able to eat in restaurants again. I had really missed them. Chatting with the server, deciding on a cocktail, asking about the specials. All of it.
The restaurant scene in St. John's is just as fabulous as it always was; it just looks a little different. More masks, less overhearing the conversations at the table next to you.
With a vaccine now on the ground and already in the arms of front-line workers in Newfoundland and Labrador, there's a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. The industry has been forever changed, but there's always another restaurateur eager to feed you, even if it's takeout-only.
But even as we emerge from the darkness of 2020, I'm waiting, optimistically, for continued discussion about food sustainability in this province.
My upcoming resolutions are similar to the ones I made last January: to host a monthly dinner party with my bubble; to keep growing my basil and lettuce in my AeroGarden; and donate more time to help tackle food insecurity in the city. Maybe I'll even conquer coquilles St. Jacques — the classic great scallop.
Whatever 2021 brings, I'm going to make it taste good.
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