Inside story: hospitality entrepreneur on what it’s like to run a restaurant during coronavirus
Elise Moeskops runs two successful restaurants together with her boyfriend Rogier van Dam, one of which even has a Michelin star. I wondered what that is like during these insane and hopeless coronavirus times. “We would do anything to keep our staff employed. That was also the task I felt I had. We’ll subsidize your staff, just hang in there for a while, and then you can ‘simply’ carry on again.”
Elise: “In March 2020, my world suddenly turned upside down. For ten years, we have had Restaurant Lastage in the center of Amsterdam. A small dollhouse where my beloved managed to cook his way to a Michelin star. Things had been going incredibly well for ten years. We knew in advance that if you aspire to drive a Ferrari, you shouldn’t start a restaurant. But our life has been financially comfortable for ten years already. Lastage is debt-free, and over the past few years we also managed to build up a nice nest egg.
When a restaurant became available on Purmerplein in Amsterdam-Noord in spring 2019, it wasn’t a difficult decision for us. In a neighborhood that is rapidly developing, and together with a chef and partner, it seemed like a risk-free choice. After all, we could use our savings and had known for ten years what Lastage brings in. In the summer, we worked on the place instead of going on vacation, and our new business, Lazuur, was nicely full from day one.
Shoulder to the wheel and go
Then coronavirus arrived…. With no reserves and two closed restaurants, two staff rosters and two rents that kept running. In March, everything suddenly became uncertain. There was a promise of a support package from the government, but no one knew what it would look like. We came up with all kinds of things: take-away meals, a dinner box through a platform, a pop-up wine shop in Broek in Waterland, online wine tastings, soups in our butcher’s shop. And, of course, the restaurant was completely repainted too. Whenever something worked even a little, we got a kick out of it. The sun was shining, it was awful, but things would work out again.
We would do anything to keep our staff employed. That was also the task I felt I had. We’ll subsidize your staff, just hang in there for a while, and then you can ‘simply’ carry on again.
A food truck, a move
But we couldn’t simply carry on. How can you reopen Lazuur at around 40% capacity because of the one-and-a-half-meter social-distancing rule? Fortunately, the district gave us the opportunity to put a terrace on the square. Great, but we had no experience with this. We really did get energy from seeing furniture, parasols and a food truck on that square within a week. But financially, it was only moderately interesting; an extra staff member had to be hired for the food truck, there were additional costs for renting the equipment, and then there was the changeable summer… Bottom line: we broke even on the terrace.
Lastage was even more complicated; such a small place… Five tables spaced 1.5 meters apart is really very little. Through our network, we saw an opportunity to move temporarily. Internationaal Theater Amsterdam, the former Stadsschouwburg on Leidseplein, had space available. Within two weeks, we made the deal, moved our entire restaurant, set up new administration and a cash register, brought the staff there and adapted our concept. We were actually supposed to return to Lastage in September, but that still wasn’t possible. So we extended it until November 1, by which point we would have gone eight months without cooking at Lastage. That seemed like about the maximum amount of time we could impose on our regular guests.
Not a single infection
But then… then the hospitality industry closed again… Understandable when you look at the figures, but it feels so unfair. We did everything properly from scratch, keeping 1.5 meters apart, and spent hundreds of euros on disinfectants and protective equipment. There hasn’t been a single infection at our restaurants, neither among staff nor guests. A little girl inside me was stamping her feet very hard.
Pop-up traiteur
But it is what it is; we opened a pop-up traiteur/delicatessen shop in the empty Lazuur and started offering take-away meals again. Meanwhile, the realization slowly but surely sank in that it could really take a very long time before our capacity and the economy returned to their previous levels. We have now said goodbye to some of our staff. It isn’t realistic to keep everyone on. We don’t need them for the time being.
And in the meantime, we have been living on TOZO since March—in other words, € 1,500 a month for the two of us. We’re grateful that it exists, but with a house in Amsterdam, things are increasingly becoming a squeeze from every direction.
So what will Christmas look like?
Then came the news that the hospitality shutdown would last until at least December. We really did see it coming, but it still hurts. November and December are normally our best months. And what are we supposed to do about Christmas now? Should we come up with and sell Christmas menus in take-away form or not? What if we are able to reopen by Christmas? We can’t do both, because either the food is being packed up in the restaurant, or people are sitting there eating.
Playing shop
When I’m standing in our restaurant, which is now a delicatessen shop, the foot-stamping little girl is quiet. Then she is very happy playing shop. And I’m going to keep those businesses afloat. Eventually, I’ll be able to do what I really enjoy again—the reason those restaurants ever came into existence in the first place.
But in the meantime I’m tired, very tired. Every week, tense about the press conference; every week, making a hundred new plans and running the numbers, only to be able to throw them in the trash the following week. All the extra administrative burdens imposed on you. By landlords, by the government, and because you’re doing strange things in your regular administration.
Take-away paté en croûte
When someone well-meaningly asks whether I’m not bored, with the businesses closed, I sometimes want to scream. When someone messages me asking whether I’m still coping, I can sometimes burst into tears. But as soon as I’m busy with my beloved bottles of wine—yes, we started a wine/delicatessen/gift-package pop-up shop in Amsterdam-West together with our wine supplier Anfors—or when my chefs let me taste the most fantastic take-away paté, I can’t help but smile. And then I receive another message from someone offering encouragement, and I almost burst with love for my guests, my staff and my friends.
So how do I feel? What do I know….”
