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#We raised money mostly through food sales - I would prep the food and there I helped with concessions
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Trying to remember your skills you've accidentally picked up through fandoms and hobbies is difficult when you don't think they're actual skills because you're self taught in them all is so fun.
#I know they're skills that can help me but their origins are what make me think eh I don't need to put that down#Yes you do bitch - if you want a job you better but down that skill or so help me#Anyway I also forget that because I was always so indecisive about what career I wanted I tried out a lot of things to see if I'd like it#I technically have experience in teaching - had my own class despite being in eighth grade - but didn't like it#I designed games levels through a website where they give you the basic tools bc I was bored#And had my family try and test them as a way to revise if they were too difficult or confusing#I've made several websites that I completely forgot about bc they were for school projects lol#And I always forget that I used to design clothes for years and would make those designs on a small scale for dolls#I also had to remind myself that I can use my experience in writing - which can extend to editing#And I always forget I know how to draw#Like am I am expert at any of these? No#But can I do these things? Yes#And that's a good starting point#And I'm sure there's other things I'm forgetting because I don't deem them as an important skill I have#Like the fact that I helped run a suicide prevention through my church in eighth grade#Where I was a spokesperson - I was in charge of advertising it - created posters fliers and had to talk to multiple people#I had to update my school on it bc it was a heavy project for school that they weren't sure if I could handle#I was in all the meetings with my church and would bring their ideas to spread the word to life#We raised money mostly through food sales - I would prep the food and there I helped with concessions#Fuck I forgot how much I did for that project#Because we sorted through a lot of donations - and had to organize by sizes#Like how did I forget about all that#I remember the project bc it's something really close to home but it didn't feel like enough so when I think about it#I don't remember how much work I genuinely put into it bc of how much the church held us back bc it was ''too much work' '#Anyway I do have valuable skills but I feel like an impostor in all of them so I forget I can put all of those down
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The True Cost of Keeping a Restaurant Open During a Pandemic
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Pim Techamuanvivit | Nahm
San Francisco chef and restaurateur Pim Techamuanvivit breaks down COVID-19’s effects, and the difficult decisions she’s had to make
“This is a time that you look around at the people, the makers, the restaurants you care about and you support them because you want them to be here. It’s a matter of extinction,” the chef and restaurateur Pim Techamuanvivit said when we first spoke in August. Outside of her apartment in San Francisco’s Dogpatch neighborhood, a throat-burning blanket of smoke hovered over the city as wildfires tore through the surrounding region.
In March, when the COVID-19 pandemic hit the Bay Area, Techamuanvivit was forced to close the original location of Kin Khao, the critically acclaimed Thai restaurant she had opened in 2015 at the Parc 55 Hotel in Union Square. She kept her second restaurant, Nari, open, turning the six-month-old space in Japantown’s Kabuki Hotel into a takeout operation.
Now, as summer waned and restrictions relaxed enough to allow outdoor dining on sidewalks throughout the city, Techamuanvivit was readying the Kabuki’s driveway to accommodate dinner service and waiting for the go-ahead to launch Kin Khao’s new Dogpatch location. The Union Square address remained on indefinite hiatus while she continued to pay its rent.
Techamuanvivit is a friend of mine, and what began as a phone call to catch up turned into a two-part conversation about the true costs of closing versus remaining open during the pandemic. As we spoke, she broke down its effects on her restaurants, explaining how she’d made difficult decisions and their financial and human costs. “I don’t understand why it’s up to me as a small-business owner to search my conscience every month to decide whether or not to support my employees,” she said at one point. “Where is the conscience of this government, of this social system to support people? Where is the conscience of the country?”
The second time we talked, at the beginning of October, she was driving from Kin Khao’s now three-week-old Dogpatch location to Pacific Heights, where Nari had just started serving diners outdoors. “It’s good. It feels good,” she said. “It’s going well, or at least, we’re not making a profit but I know I can make rent.” What follows is a consolidation of our two phone calls, edited and condensed for clarity.
Eater: I thought we would start with Kin Khao. Could you tell me how you raised the money for the original location at the Parc 55 hotel?
Pim Techamuanvivit: Well, because Kin Khao is my first restaurant project, I bootstrapped it; I really just opened with a lot of my own money. I had one partner who I grew up with in Thailand and the two of us got into this together because I had a very clear concept of what I wanted Kin Khao to be, which is really a different kind of Thai restaurant.
So instead of going out to raise a lot of money for a big splashy project, I kept looking until I found a space that really wanted us to be there. [The landlord] helped us with a big chunk of the costs of redoing the space. So it was possible to open a restaurant in San Francisco, downtown, including capital and everything, for under $1 million.
When you closed that space, how much money were you bringing in a year, or how much approximately were you taking in monthly — for example, before the pandemic, maybe January?
Kin Khao does between $4.5 million to $5 million a year as far as sales. It was about $350,000 in January.
Looking at Kin Khao, I want to get a sense of how much it costs to close a restaurant — in terms of money that you have to lay out to close it, but I’m assuming there are also costs that aren’t monetary.
Well, it’s a lot of things. Almost everything that we buy is on 15- or 30-day revolving credit. So, when we order meat today, we have that many days to pay for it. And the way that things work, even when we have the money to pay for it, we still use that credit because it makes things run smoother. We do pay cash to some vendors at the farmers markets, but that’s about it. So when we had to close, we had basically 30 days of products and costs to pay for.
Cost of goods on the last couple P&L [profit and loss] periods before the pandemic varied between $80,000 to $100,000; that’s about how much we lost on products and goods when we closed. The financial loss was mostly in the fresh goods from the first month of closure. Another way to look at the damage is it’s that much money every month that we are not spending on or buying from the farmers, purveyors, and companies we do business with. That’s how much the closure of Kin Khao took out of the food economy. And that’s not counting the wages we pay to our staff who then turn around and spend into the economy.
When we were first told that we had to close down the dining room, I didn’t let go of my salaried employees. That’s about $50,000 a month, collectively. Nari is a bit less. We were lucky that we were not a hand-to-mouth kind of an operation — up until we closed, we were still doing 200, 250 covers on a Saturday night. We could anticipate what we were bringing in, so we had some money filed away. I didn’t want to let go of my entire team, because if you do that, then when you have to reopen the restaurant, that will cost you a lot too, because a management team, especially one that you build, [has] really valuable corporate memory.
But also, it’s a bloody pandemic. You can’t let people go without health insurance. At the time, I was assuming we would only be closed for a month, two months, three months. I thought, I can do that, I can take that hit. It was, I believe, between $12,000 to $14,000 a month in benefits for each restaurant that we decided to keep paying our employees’ insurance. That’s 35 employees who were on our insurance plan, for just Kin Khao.
It’s a bloody pandemic. You can’t let people go without health insurance.
It was the same with Nari. We kept everyone who was eligible for and had health care through us. That’s 45 people. There were a bunch of people who hadn’t signed up yet and were still eligible or had just become eligible and we made them sign up when we closed so they had health care in this pandemic.
I talked about the importance of the experience and some training for your management staff. The same goes with our hourly employees — our servers, line cooks, prep cooks, butchers. If we’re not open, we don’t have monies to keep employees working, basically. But even carrying their health insurance, it’s a lot of money and we’ve been doing it for six months, and depending on how Kin Khao does, when we open in Dogpatch, we may or may not be able to continue. [Techamuanvivit was able to pay for everyone’s insurance through the end of October, and now covers only those who are working again, including the almost 30 employees she brought back to work at Kin Khao’s Dogpatch location.]
Is it the same team that you had before? How many people were you able to retain over the course of the six months you’ve been closed?
So, Kin Khao, for the first month after COVID, as I explained, we kept all of the salaried employees, which is eight people. And at Nari we have seven people. We basically merged the operations of Kin Khao and Nari and moved everybody to Nari, because Nari is a much bigger space, much newer build, and a much better HVAC system. We created a safe schedule where not everybody worked altogether at the same time. And we started doing takeout. We opened all afternoon, six days a week.
And we did that until the second stay-at-home order was extended at the end of April and became more restrictive. We decided to close down even more, to only have five people working, down from 13 ( two of the original 15 chose not to work for personal reasons). We had one front-of-house person, four people in the kitchen — and then went down to five days.
We did that for a while, until things were looking much better in San Francisco. So, we brought back a few employees. We were able to bring back two dishwashers who weren’t getting government assistance and that was great.
For comparison and a fuller sense of what’s at stake when you close, or when you semi-close, I want to get into the economics of Nari. You invested the profits from the first Kin Khao into Nari, but this time, you also raised outside money. How much did Nari cost all told, and where did that money come from?
Nari costs about $5 million to build.
That’s basically more than five times as much as Kin Khao.
I wanted to do something that takes a bit more refinement, to do dishes that I couldn’t do at Kin Khao because of the limited space. I felt like I’d sort of proved myself and could run a profitable restaurant. I was confident enough that I could ask people to invest in me. We raised about 30 percent from investors and also received help from the landlord. We were putting a lot more money in, but there’s also much bigger potential here than at the tiny space at Kin Khao.
You opened in August last year and then got all of this critical acclaim. When did you start seeing a profit, or had you gotten to the point where you had? Because the restaurant was just six months old when COVID came.
It depends on how you look at profits, right? We haven’t really been not-profitable in that we haven’t made back the money that we invested, but we were operating cash positive, basically. That means each month it costs me less [to operate] than my sales. At Kin Khao, truly we were cash positive very quickly, [but] at Nari, it took a bit longer. But by the fourth and fifth months, January and February, we had $75,000 positive cash flow at Nari, which was not bad for a new restaurant.
No, not at all.
When we had to close, we still hadn’t finished paying for construction because, of course, we projected construction to cost a certain amount, and it never does cost that. So it was over [budget] on all these things… We’re not done paying for Nari, basically. So it was really scary when the [lockdown] order came down. The problem with Nari is that we didn’t have a lot of cash in the bank before COVID hit. We don’t have any extra cash left at Kin Khao either because we’d use it all to build Nari.
The way I’m running both Kin Khao and Nari is to kind of hobble along enough that I can pay to support my teams, keep their jobs, and, you know, keep people eating.
It’s not that we were short. We weren’t running negative, but nobody has enough to basically take a restaurant through six months of closure. We are still trying to find a way. Right now, when we look at numbers, we’re not looking at what returns we need to make, what margins. I’m not thinking in terms of profit. The way I’m running both Kin Khao and Nari is to kind of hobble along enough that I can pay to support my teams, keep their jobs, and, you know, keep people eating, really. And then when we go back to whatever semblance of normal we have at the end of this, I can still have this team and these restaurants.
You told me that keeping the restaurant alive in no matter what capacity, even if you are losing money, is actually an investment in its future success. It’s something that obviously not every restaurant is in the position of doing. But when you have a restaurant you’ve invested that much money in, it actually makes more sense to keep it alive than to close and try to reopen something after the pandemic. I don’t know if I’m getting that right but maybe you can explain it.
Well, because a restaurant is not just the building or the tables and chairs and decorations that you put in — it’s not just the stuff in the kitchen, right? A restaurant is a team. It’s all the people that you spend time training and working with so that you can have a functional restaurant with a functional team. And I like keeping people who work well with me for a long time, and creating opportunity and space for them to grow.
If I close Nari today, it will cost me less than keeping it open. But I’m keeping it open because I need this team when we can open again. And also, these are the people that have worked for me for many years. They need to make a living. So it’s important for me to keep this running so that at least we can keep some of these people employed.
In terms of doing takeout, do you make any money off of that?
No.
Do you lose money doing that?
Week to week, it’s different, but remember I told you we were $75,000 cash positive when we had to close for COVID?
Yeah.
We got $220,000 in PPP [Paycheck Protection Program loan], and as of last period, I was $300,000 in the hole, so we’ve lost basically $80,000 in the six months that we’ve stayed open, assuming that we qualify for forgiveness for PPP. And doing takeout alone is not going to do it anymore. Because we used to do maybe $15,000 a week from takeout, which is not a lot. It’s less than what we used to make on a Saturday night.
And we’re not even doing that right now, because there’s a lot more restaurants opening for takeout, and outdoor services, so people are not that interested in taking things home to eat. So we’re going to open outdoors. Luckily we have the driveway, so people won’t be sitting on the streets, and we can make it a little bit nice, [and] space out the tables so it’s so safe for everyone. [Nari has since reopened for limited indoor service and been able to bring back a number of its employees; although the situation has improved, Techamuanvivit says the restaurant still struggles “to stay in the black.”]
You have to spend money on preparing that space, too, right?
We ended up renting everything — the partitions, the pergolas, and the heaters. The propane heaters alone cost $2,000 a month to rent, and after the fire department told us we could no longer use them, we had to spend $3,000 buying 10 electric heaters. But we saved money by using tables and chairs from the hotel’s breakfast room downstairs that weren’t being used. So we ended up with a really nice space that didn’t cost us a lot.
We spent money buying a mobile hand-washing station outside our front door so the servers don’t have to run all the way to the back of the restaurant to wash their hands. That was a few hundred dollars. We bought a few trays, to limit touch, so servers can carry plates on those instead of with their hands. We’re lucky because the space is quite minimal.
For Kin Khao [in Dogpatch], even though we took over an existing restaurant, we still had some costs for setting up outside: tables and chairs, umbrellas, lights, heaters, lots and lots of compostable takeout containers, which are astonishingly expensive, and we have to use really, really good ones because a hot curry will destroy anything. For example, for just one order of khao soi, which has so many parts we have to keep separate, I’m in for over $2 in containers.
It’s so unfair that restaurateurs have been put in the position to figure out what “safe” means — and then have to shoulder all the expenses ensuring that safety, and follow whatever protocol the local government has put in place, which is constantly changing. How much has government assistance actually assisted you in all of this?
No one is very clear about how PPP works, or no one can exactly tell you that it’s going to be forgiven or not forgiven. So basically, you’re using it thinking you’re still going to owe this money at the end of it, because at this point in time, in 2020, you basically just expect that the worst thing that can possibly happen will happen.
I haven’t paid myself from either restaurant this year, period, because at Nari, I’m supposed to be paid quarterly, and the time to pay me was when we had to close, and I’d rather keep that cash to operate the restaurants right now.
I keep thinking about mom-and-pop restaurants, and how for them, there wasn’t a solid financial infrastructure to begin with, so staying open wasn’t even a possibility — and then all the people who lose jobs and salaries because of that, and it’s no fault of the owner. There’s just not enough there. Because as you said, if it’s a hand-to-mouth operation, you don’t really have anything. When hard times strike, that’s it. You’re gone.
Yeah. And if I hadn’t used all of the money from Kin Khao to open Nari, Kin Khao could close, I could keep paying people for probably six months, and [we’d] be fine reopening. I mean, it’s still going to hurt because it’s less money, but we’re going to be fine reopening. It’s just because, yeah, we’re trying to expand and this happened at the wrong time.
I don’t know if we’re going to make it, frankly. It’s still a day-to-day thing. It depends on how long it goes and what happens, because we’re going to run out of money at some point.
One thing I have to say is, we’re in a much luckier position than a lot of restaurants. I mean, I hear landlord horror stories from everyone, and we are working with landlords who see the value that we bring to their properties, that if and when they reopen their hotels, we’re still a lively, delicious, fun, buzzy restaurant, in that space. It’s still going to be more profitable for them than basically trying to bleed blood out of a crab. So I’m lucky.
from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2IuOPQ2 https://ift.tt/2UjXs2e
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Pim Techamuanvivit | Nahm
San Francisco chef and restaurateur Pim Techamuanvivit breaks down COVID-19’s effects, and the difficult decisions she’s had to make
“This is a time that you look around at the people, the makers, the restaurants you care about and you support them because you want them to be here. It’s a matter of extinction,” the chef and restaurateur Pim Techamuanvivit said when we first spoke in August. Outside of her apartment in San Francisco’s Dogpatch neighborhood, a throat-burning blanket of smoke hovered over the city as wildfires tore through the surrounding region.
In March, when the COVID-19 pandemic hit the Bay Area, Techamuanvivit was forced to close the original location of Kin Khao, the critically acclaimed Thai restaurant she had opened in 2015 at the Parc 55 Hotel in Union Square. She kept her second restaurant, Nari, open, turning the six-month-old space in Japantown’s Kabuki Hotel into a takeout operation.
Now, as summer waned and restrictions relaxed enough to allow outdoor dining on sidewalks throughout the city, Techamuanvivit was readying the Kabuki’s driveway to accommodate dinner service and waiting for the go-ahead to launch Kin Khao’s new Dogpatch location. The Union Square address remained on indefinite hiatus while she continued to pay its rent.
Techamuanvivit is a friend of mine, and what began as a phone call to catch up turned into a two-part conversation about the true costs of closing versus remaining open during the pandemic. As we spoke, she broke down its effects on her restaurants, explaining how she’d made difficult decisions and their financial and human costs. “I don’t understand why it’s up to me as a small-business owner to search my conscience every month to decide whether or not to support my employees,” she said at one point. “Where is the conscience of this government, of this social system to support people? Where is the conscience of the country?”
The second time we talked, at the beginning of October, she was driving from Kin Khao’s now three-week-old Dogpatch location to Pacific Heights, where Nari had just started serving diners outdoors. “It’s good. It feels good,” she said. “It’s going well, or at least, we’re not making a profit but I know I can make rent.” What follows is a consolidation of our two phone calls, edited and condensed for clarity.
Eater: I thought we would start with Kin Khao. Could you tell me how you raised the money for the original location at the Parc 55 hotel?
Pim Techamuanvivit: Well, because Kin Khao is my first restaurant project, I bootstrapped it; I really just opened with a lot of my own money. I had one partner who I grew up with in Thailand and the two of us got into this together because I had a very clear concept of what I wanted Kin Khao to be, which is really a different kind of Thai restaurant.
So instead of going out to raise a lot of money for a big splashy project, I kept looking until I found a space that really wanted us to be there. [The landlord] helped us with a big chunk of the costs of redoing the space. So it was possible to open a restaurant in San Francisco, downtown, including capital and everything, for under $1 million.
When you closed that space, how much money were you bringing in a year, or how much approximately were you taking in monthly — for example, before the pandemic, maybe January?
Kin Khao does between $4.5 million to $5 million a year as far as sales. It was about $350,000 in January.
Looking at Kin Khao, I want to get a sense of how much it costs to close a restaurant — in terms of money that you have to lay out to close it, but I’m assuming there are also costs that aren’t monetary.
Well, it’s a lot of things. Almost everything that we buy is on 15- or 30-day revolving credit. So, when we order meat today, we have that many days to pay for it. And the way that things work, even when we have the money to pay for it, we still use that credit because it makes things run smoother. We do pay cash to some vendors at the farmers markets, but that’s about it. So when we had to close, we had basically 30 days of products and costs to pay for.
Cost of goods on the last couple P&L [profit and loss] periods before the pandemic varied between $80,000 to $100,000; that’s about how much we lost on products and goods when we closed. The financial loss was mostly in the fresh goods from the first month of closure. Another way to look at the damage is it’s that much money every month that we are not spending on or buying from the farmers, purveyors, and companies we do business with. That’s how much the closure of Kin Khao took out of the food economy. And that’s not counting the wages we pay to our staff who then turn around and spend into the economy.
When we were first told that we had to close down the dining room, I didn’t let go of my salaried employees. That’s about $50,000 a month, collectively. Nari is a bit less. We were lucky that we were not a hand-to-mouth kind of an operation — up until we closed, we were still doing 200, 250 covers on a Saturday night. We could anticipate what we were bringing in, so we had some money filed away. I didn’t want to let go of my entire team, because if you do that, then when you have to reopen the restaurant, that will cost you a lot too, because a management team, especially one that you build, [has] really valuable corporate memory.
But also, it’s a bloody pandemic. You can’t let people go without health insurance. At the time, I was assuming we would only be closed for a month, two months, three months. I thought, I can do that, I can take that hit. It was, I believe, between $12,000 to $14,000 a month in benefits for each restaurant that we decided to keep paying our employees’ insurance. That’s 35 employees who were on our insurance plan, for just Kin Khao.
It’s a bloody pandemic. You can’t let people go without health insurance.
It was the same with Nari. We kept everyone who was eligible for and had health care through us. That’s 45 people. There were a bunch of people who hadn’t signed up yet and were still eligible or had just become eligible and we made them sign up when we closed so they had health care in this pandemic.
I talked about the importance of the experience and some training for your management staff. The same goes with our hourly employees — our servers, line cooks, prep cooks, butchers. If we’re not open, we don’t have monies to keep employees working, basically. But even carrying their health insurance, it’s a lot of money and we’ve been doing it for six months, and depending on how Kin Khao does, when we open in Dogpatch, we may or may not be able to continue. [Techamuanvivit was able to pay for everyone’s insurance through the end of October, and now covers only those who are working again, including the almost 30 employees she brought back to work at Kin Khao’s Dogpatch location.]
Is it the same team that you had before? How many people were you able to retain over the course of the six months you’ve been closed?
So, Kin Khao, for the first month after COVID, as I explained, we kept all of the salaried employees, which is eight people. And at Nari we have seven people. We basically merged the operations of Kin Khao and Nari and moved everybody to Nari, because Nari is a much bigger space, much newer build, and a much better HVAC system. We created a safe schedule where not everybody worked altogether at the same time. And we started doing takeout. We opened all afternoon, six days a week.
And we did that until the second stay-at-home order was extended at the end of April and became more restrictive. We decided to close down even more, to only have five people working, down from 13 ( two of the original 15 chose not to work for personal reasons). We had one front-of-house person, four people in the kitchen — and then went down to five days.
We did that for a while, until things were looking much better in San Francisco. So, we brought back a few employees. We were able to bring back two dishwashers who weren’t getting government assistance and that was great.
For comparison and a fuller sense of what’s at stake when you close, or when you semi-close, I want to get into the economics of Nari. You invested the profits from the first Kin Khao into Nari, but this time, you also raised outside money. How much did Nari cost all told, and where did that money come from?
Nari costs about $5 million to build.
That’s basically more than five times as much as Kin Khao.
I wanted to do something that takes a bit more refinement, to do dishes that I couldn’t do at Kin Khao because of the limited space. I felt like I’d sort of proved myself and could run a profitable restaurant. I was confident enough that I could ask people to invest in me. We raised about 30 percent from investors and also received help from the landlord. We were putting a lot more money in, but there’s also much bigger potential here than at the tiny space at Kin Khao.
You opened in August last year and then got all of this critical acclaim. When did you start seeing a profit, or had you gotten to the point where you had? Because the restaurant was just six months old when COVID came.
It depends on how you look at profits, right? We haven’t really been not-profitable in that we haven’t made back the money that we invested, but we were operating cash positive, basically. That means each month it costs me less [to operate] than my sales. At Kin Khao, truly we were cash positive very quickly, [but] at Nari, it took a bit longer. But by the fourth and fifth months, January and February, we had $75,000 positive cash flow at Nari, which was not bad for a new restaurant.
No, not at all.
When we had to close, we still hadn’t finished paying for construction because, of course, we projected construction to cost a certain amount, and it never does cost that. So it was over [budget] on all these things… We’re not done paying for Nari, basically. So it was really scary when the [lockdown] order came down. The problem with Nari is that we didn’t have a lot of cash in the bank before COVID hit. We don’t have any extra cash left at Kin Khao either because we’d use it all to build Nari.
The way I’m running both Kin Khao and Nari is to kind of hobble along enough that I can pay to support my teams, keep their jobs, and, you know, keep people eating.
It’s not that we were short. We weren’t running negative, but nobody has enough to basically take a restaurant through six months of closure. We are still trying to find a way. Right now, when we look at numbers, we’re not looking at what returns we need to make, what margins. I’m not thinking in terms of profit. The way I’m running both Kin Khao and Nari is to kind of hobble along enough that I can pay to support my teams, keep their jobs, and, you know, keep people eating, really. And then when we go back to whatever semblance of normal we have at the end of this, I can still have this team and these restaurants.
You told me that keeping the restaurant alive in no matter what capacity, even if you are losing money, is actually an investment in its future success. It’s something that obviously not every restaurant is in the position of doing. But when you have a restaurant you’ve invested that much money in, it actually makes more sense to keep it alive than to close and try to reopen something after the pandemic. I don’t know if I’m getting that right but maybe you can explain it.
Well, because a restaurant is not just the building or the tables and chairs and decorations that you put in — it’s not just the stuff in the kitchen, right? A restaurant is a team. It’s all the people that you spend time training and working with so that you can have a functional restaurant with a functional team. And I like keeping people who work well with me for a long time, and creating opportunity and space for them to grow.
If I close Nari today, it will cost me less than keeping it open. But I’m keeping it open because I need this team when we can open again. And also, these are the people that have worked for me for many years. They need to make a living. So it’s important for me to keep this running so that at least we can keep some of these people employed.
In terms of doing takeout, do you make any money off of that?
No.
Do you lose money doing that?
Week to week, it’s different, but remember I told you we were $75,000 cash positive when we had to close for COVID?
Yeah.
We got $220,000 in PPP [Paycheck Protection Program loan], and as of last period, I was $300,000 in the hole, so we’ve lost basically $80,000 in the six months that we’ve stayed open, assuming that we qualify for forgiveness for PPP. And doing takeout alone is not going to do it anymore. Because we used to do maybe $15,000 a week from takeout, which is not a lot. It’s less than what we used to make on a Saturday night.
And we’re not even doing that right now, because there’s a lot more restaurants opening for takeout, and outdoor services, so people are not that interested in taking things home to eat. So we’re going to open outdoors. Luckily we have the driveway, so people won’t be sitting on the streets, and we can make it a little bit nice, [and] space out the tables so it’s so safe for everyone. [Nari has since reopened for limited indoor service and been able to bring back a number of its employees; although the situation has improved, Techamuanvivit says the restaurant still struggles “to stay in the black.”]
You have to spend money on preparing that space, too, right?
We ended up renting everything — the partitions, the pergolas, and the heaters. The propane heaters alone cost $2,000 a month to rent, and after the fire department told us we could no longer use them, we had to spend $3,000 buying 10 electric heaters. But we saved money by using tables and chairs from the hotel’s breakfast room downstairs that weren’t being used. So we ended up with a really nice space that didn’t cost us a lot.
We spent money buying a mobile hand-washing station outside our front door so the servers don’t have to run all the way to the back of the restaurant to wash their hands. That was a few hundred dollars. We bought a few trays, to limit touch, so servers can carry plates on those instead of with their hands. We’re lucky because the space is quite minimal.
For Kin Khao [in Dogpatch], even though we took over an existing restaurant, we still had some costs for setting up outside: tables and chairs, umbrellas, lights, heaters, lots and lots of compostable takeout containers, which are astonishingly expensive, and we have to use really, really good ones because a hot curry will destroy anything. For example, for just one order of khao soi, which has so many parts we have to keep separate, I’m in for over $2 in containers.
It’s so unfair that restaurateurs have been put in the position to figure out what “safe” means — and then have to shoulder all the expenses ensuring that safety, and follow whatever protocol the local government has put in place, which is constantly changing. How much has government assistance actually assisted you in all of this?
No one is very clear about how PPP works, or no one can exactly tell you that it’s going to be forgiven or not forgiven. So basically, you’re using it thinking you’re still going to owe this money at the end of it, because at this point in time, in 2020, you basically just expect that the worst thing that can possibly happen will happen.
I haven’t paid myself from either restaurant this year, period, because at Nari, I’m supposed to be paid quarterly, and the time to pay me was when we had to close, and I’d rather keep that cash to operate the restaurants right now.
I keep thinking about mom-and-pop restaurants, and how for them, there wasn’t a solid financial infrastructure to begin with, so staying open wasn’t even a possibility — and then all the people who lose jobs and salaries because of that, and it’s no fault of the owner. There’s just not enough there. Because as you said, if it’s a hand-to-mouth operation, you don’t really have anything. When hard times strike, that’s it. You’re gone.
Yeah. And if I hadn’t used all of the money from Kin Khao to open Nari, Kin Khao could close, I could keep paying people for probably six months, and [we’d] be fine reopening. I mean, it’s still going to hurt because it’s less money, but we’re going to be fine reopening. It’s just because, yeah, we’re trying to expand and this happened at the wrong time.
I don’t know if we’re going to make it, frankly. It’s still a day-to-day thing. It depends on how long it goes and what happens, because we’re going to run out of money at some point.
One thing I have to say is, we’re in a much luckier position than a lot of restaurants. I mean, I hear landlord horror stories from everyone, and we are working with landlords who see the value that we bring to their properties, that if and when they reopen their hotels, we’re still a lively, delicious, fun, buzzy restaurant, in that space. It’s still going to be more profitable for them than basically trying to bleed blood out of a crab. So I’m lucky.
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simcogroupau · 4 years
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Gas Cooktop purchasing tutorial- How to buy the best equipment
One of the most essential commercial kitchen equipment for the hospitality industry is Gas Cooktops. These appliances are operated by the kitchen brigade to perform heavy-duty food prep jobs repeatedly. They power the restaurant business with their ability to prepare dishes in a versatile manner.
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Commercial Gas Cooktops are available in many variants to cater to multiple types and sizes of cooking. The number of burners, size of the burner grates and cooktops along with ovens- you can find a variety of Gas cooktops in the market that suit your business needs.  
Does your menu have French fries, fried chicken and burgers? Well, then you must install a fryer to deal with such types of orders. Buy you commercial gas deep fryer here.
While you plan your investments into this type of equipment, you will have to pick according to your need and budget. A thorough comparison of Gas Cooktop features and specifications will help you do that.
This tutorial aims to support you to narrow down options to find the best gas cooktop.
Why should I get a Gas Cooktop?
To buy such an appliance, it is imperative to know the need to pick one. Let’s understand.
·         Quick response: Gas Cooktops heat fast and respond to changes in a swift manner. When temperatures are adjusted, the mechanism is designed to come to the required temperature quickly. Thus, reducing the response time. As compared to the electric versions, commercial gas cooktops heat up faster. They also turn off quickly when needed so the food also does not get over-cooked.
·         Heat is visible: This feature is of great advantage to chefs. They can calculate on what flame heat level are they working and what is the requirement.
·         Environment-friendly: Gas is a cheap resource. It is more energy-efficient than electric or coal used to power gas cooktops.
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What are the requirements for a Gas Cooktop?
To install an appliance, there are pre-requisites. These needs help you to get the best possible outcome of the equipment. Requirements are:
·        Space: You must calculate the measurement of the gas cooktop with the space you want to place the appliance. The commercial Gas Cooktop supplier can guide you well with this. This will help you in picking the right equipment.
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·        Gas Connection: You must ensure that there is a supply of gas to the commercial space. You can contact your local inspector for guidance. Without supply, you will have to rely on bottled gas which can be quite expensive. You must know that all models will not be compatible with bottled Natural Gas.
·        Knowledgable Chefs: While hiring the staff, you should keep in mind that you need kitchen members who are trained in operating kitchen equipment. Similarly, while purchasing an appliance, make sure your kitchen brigade knows how to operate it. You can seek coaching or guidance from your commercial catering equipment supplier for the same.
·        Correct installation of Exhaust hoods: Such appliances generate heat in large amounts that need to be ventilated to maintain the inside temperature of the food work area.
·        Regular Cleaning Planners: As Gas cooktops require maintenance, you will need to plan cleaning and care schedules. You have to make sure your staff follows it strictly. You can always rely on industry-grade detergents and procedure for effective cleaning tasks.
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What are my main options?
A variety of models are floating in the market to choose from. Simco Group partners with reliable brands like Cookrite. Cookrite is a seasoned brand in commercial gas equipment. They come with unique feature and capacity to withhold tasks of all volumes.
If you want to differentiate between sizes, then the smallest one generally available is 30cm. While the most common large size is 90 cm.
The range holds the following:
·        30 cm model has two burners
·        60cm model features three or four burners
·        90cm models come with five or six burners
·        120cm model displays ten burners
You can make your choice according to the space available in your commercial kitchen, along with your everyday cooking needs and budget. Simco Group features the best commercial gas cooktops for sale. Just drop a message at www.simcogroup.com.au.
Gas stoves act as a support system for your chef. So do not make a mistake to overlook such an important appliance. Shop here.
Vital features not to miss while buying a Commercial Gas Cooktop
To know what exactly you are looking for, many points like space, size, functionality, type etc., will be your points of consideration. Your budget will be playing an important role.
Once you have a gist of the type of appliance you would like to select, you should scan the different criteria that would direct you to the right one.
Important features to be taken into account:
Proportions
The most important feature and the first one will be the size of the gas cooktop you should pick. If you have ample space, then you should learn the frequency of using the appliance and the type of cooking you will have to do. This will help you decide whether you need another one or a single piece of the gas cooktop will be ok.
Commercial cooking space is quite big in high traffic kitchens. A 90 cm model can accommodate quite many orders. In rush hours, if your kitchen brigade is efficient, then you can do well with the same size. Some times you might require a gas stove if you are following some complicated cooking process for specific recipes.  
You should carefully read the manual or discuss with the brand support team in detail about the distance between the gas cooktop and other appliances which should be followed as per Australian Standards and Guidelines.
Simco Group sells products that are manufactured under the country standards of Australia. We commit to hassle-free delivery in major Australian cities like Brisbane, Melbourne, Perth and Sydney.
Number of Burners
Do not miss the following while deciding on the number of burners:
·         If you wish to use all the burners at one point in time, you will have to assess the size of pans and pots you will be using.
·         The size of the burners also needs to be checked. Does your selected piece have the right size of a burner according to the cookware you will be using for heating, cooking or stir-frying food? Can you accommodate round shape cookware or other shapes also like the elongated cooking dishes? Does you cooktop allow slow cooking like to melt a bar of chocolate, you have to have a small size simmer burner.
·         The layout of the burner should not interrupt the cooking process. You should be able to place cookware without intruding the knobs or other controls of the appliance.
Cost
Of course, you will have normal prices also and brow-raising ones too. After considering all the factors, you will have to check price tags of the one that fits into your budget and requirement.  
Simco Group offers no regret prices with amazing services and competent warranty policies. You can visit our online inventory at www.simcogroup.com.au.
Add smokey flavours to your tikkas and make your patrons crave for more. Drop at Simco for great deals on Gas char grill in rock type.  
Care
Commercial Gas cooktops are usually manufactured in stainless steel for easy cleaning and aesthetic appeal. They are also available in ceramic glass and enamel material. Enamel is quite convenient to maintain. But ceramic material might require a special ceramic cleaner. While stainless steel is super-easy to clean, disinfect and maintain. The quality of steel is different in different brands according to price range. Do check the manual that comes with the purchase of the appliance. It contains important information on the cleaning and maintenance of the equipment and its parts. For eg., Are the trivets removable while cleaning? Are the knobs easy to sterilize? Can we soak the burners in hard chemicals? These are very important things to look out for in a manual as they affect the life of the appliance.
Trivets
You must have noticed compact that your pans are placed at a height on the burner. That is because of trivets. They are mostly available in iron material. But stainless steel and enamel options are also seen. Iron trivet if heavy and costly, while stainless steel is lightweight but challenging to clean.
Seamless grates are nowadays quite in demand. They are easy to shift pans from one burner to another.
Effortless usage
Gas cooktops with technology integrated mechanism are enticing. But they can be a pain in the neck if you do not know how to operate it. The traditional ones usually come with knobs which are easy to handle and use. While your gas cooktop is in action with cookware, make sure you pick the one which makes your commercial kitchen productive.
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Safety quotient
Flame failure is the mechanism that should be integrated with burners. Do not compromise on this feature as it will save you from accidents and fire breakouts. Gas leakages can ignite and fire other areas as a lot of cooking process might be on in different parts of the kitchen. Manufacturers are rolling out products that switch off automatically when the appliance is not in use. Some offer a unique feature to re-ignite for use.
Visual appeal
Most commercial appliances are of stainless steel for obvious reasons for easy maintenance and food-grade material. This material adds sheen look to your busy kitchen making it look attractive.
Warranty
This will help you curb unwanted expenses and will enhance the life of the appliance. Do check with your brand what services are they offering and what benefits you will get through the warranties. You are investing a good amount of money into the equipment. Make sure you get the best returns.
If you are looking for buying guidance for any type of kitchen equipment in Australia and New Zealand, Simco Group is your perfect stop. We deal in innovatively designed professional appliances for the hospitality industry. Reach us at www.simcogroup.com.au.
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alifeleadsimply · 4 years
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The importance of meal planning if you need to survive on a single income
Meal planning. One of those dreadful terms that have made its way into normal conversations everywhere. Something that once meant planning meals in order to stretch not only your money but your food now means planning meals in such a way that you know when to take out the ribeye steaks. Although there is nothing wrong with that translation of the concept, I tend to stick to the more traditional definition.
To me, meal planning is much more than simply working out what my family will eat during a set period of time. It goes beyond knowing what to buy when I hit the stores. It is a process during which time I plan on what I will use, what won’t be wasted, how I will economise electricity and water usage, cut down on trips to the store, make use of discounts and sales, and still feed my kids meals that are tasty, acceptable to their fine palettes, and nourishing. And also, but not necessarily most importantly, meals that are affordable.
My little family of 3 have gone through a few hard changes the last couple of months. After getting separated, the kids and I are on our own – their Dad works overseas. Although he pays child-support, anybody who has ever successfully raised kids as a single parent will know that even with child-support you still need to cut your corners finely in order to get by. With the added stress of Covid-19 and the fact that I could not work during the 5 months of harsh lockdown, our family income has drastically shrunk.
So, we are now in the beautiful position of having to make do with only a fraction of the income we used to have. To make do, I have come up with a few rules, ideas, and systems, the biggest one being meal planning. I have placed an absolute moratorium on any unnecessary spending, and that includes food, making meal planning not so much a nice-to-have as a need-to-do.
To get us through this patch, and to also establish better spending habits, I have made a few rules:
If I can make it, I won’t buy it
No shopping during the week unless it is a life necessity. All shopping will be done on Mondays and then for the rest of the week we make do with what we have
If I cannot freeze or keep the leftovers, I cook less food – then only enough for dinner and one lunch
Buy on special only what we can use for the week. No pilling up in the pantry, that is money on the shelf. Specials do come around again
Limited treats, especially for the kids (because I am also strict on the amount of sugar we consumer)
Some of these rules seem harsh (my kids will tell you they are personally suffering as a result of no 5), but they are very doable and in the long run, not that limiting. When I take my time to work out nice meal plans, the kids love it. They get to eat their favourite foods, and since we are saving by not buying unnecessary food or wasting so much, we can afford to have a special treat at least twice a month. For them, that means getting sushi or making pizzas – both very affordable, even as a treat!
In order to make the meal planning not only effective but easy to commit to, I have worked out a system. The system works as follows:
I work out the menu for the following week on Sunday.
To plan this menu, I take a full stocktake of everything in our fridge, then our freezer, then our pantry. I also consider the batch recipes I have made and frozen, i.e. stock, sauces, cooked veg, etc.
Then I take a look at what is on special for the week (thank you Sunday newspaper!) and plan the meals around these food items, focussing mostly on what we already have with minimal ingredients that must be bought.
I like to use 2 or 3 tried and tested recipes with 2 or 3 brand new recipes. If they work, then great, if not, I throw them out. Based on the menu for the week I plan my shopping list, which I buy on Monday morning. If there is anything that must be batch cooked or prepped, I will do that afternoon/night Monday. Any cooking that needs hours in a slow cooker or instant pot will go through the night.
And that is it! As easy as that.
In order to be as successful as you possibly can, I can offer a few additional tips:
Pick at the most 2 stores that you will visit. There is no sense in driving out all your petrol to numerous stores just to save a few bucks. A special is only a special if it actually allows you to save.
Don’t be scared to buy or cook in bulk and freeze – although I say don’t pile up your pantry, the freezer is a bit of a different beast. It works at its best when it is almost full, so try and keep your freezer stockpiled, if only for the electricity savings.
Keep an inventory list on the door of your fridge/freezer/pantry or all 3. This makes it really easy to know what you have on hand, as well as when it was bought/cooked/frozen. I have a roll of stickers as well as permanent markers that I use to date code whatever I freeze, and to write the contents off on the outside of the container.
Know what can be frozen and what not, and also in which forms, i.e. whole eggs cannot be frozen, but whisked eggs or separated eggs can. Bread freezes very well, cheese not so much unless you are only planning on using it for grilling in any case. Let me know if you would like a whole post on this in the future!
Have recipes that are tried and tested to help you use up food that would normally waste, such as a great banana bread recipe for black bananas, tomato sauce recipe for over-ripe tomatoes, or cream cheese recipe to help use up yoghurt before it splits.
Educate yourself on how to handle and prepare fresh produce in order to preserve it, i.e. blanching, freezing, pickling, etc. This way you can buy in bulk.
You do not need to invest in fancy containers in order to freeze your bulk buys or batch cooking. I keep ALL of the glass jars that food normally comes in and repurpose them to freeze in. The secret to successful freezing in glass? Never fill the container to the top. Leave at least 2cm of air so that the food has enough space to expand in. And screw the lid on tightly! Place the containers upright in the freezer – once frozen they can be placed on their sides.
Grow a garden! Certain vegetables are so easy to grow, and you can even do them on a balcony. Things like tomatoes, lettuce, peas, and herbs can even be grown indoors. Grab a pot, some soil, and help cut your grocery bill even further.
Invest in a slow-cooker, instant pot or crockpot. They really help to stretch your budget since they can make cheaper cuts of meat tender and tasty, without any effort on your part.
I have been running this system for 6 months now, and we are at the point where we had weeks that the only thing I had to buy was fresh milk and cream, the rest were all already cooked in previous weeks or we had leftovers from batch cooking. We have cut our grocery bill in half, and we have nicer meals with better food than ever before.
Have you tried meal planning before? Let me know what your experience was or is. And if there is anything specific you would like to get more info on, please let me know!
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davebanksmedia · 4 years
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A continuation from Life in the City of Angels: When You Can’t Get Published, Fuck It, Give It Away!
Chapter One link:https://davebanks.wordpress.com/2020/06/10/life-in-the-city-of-angels-when-you-cant-get-published-fuck-it-give-it-away/
Jimi Hendrix’s version of ‘All Along the Watchtower’ was blasting out from Mark Hufnail’s BMW stereo, fuelling our adrenalin and chest-beating machismo. During Jimi’s solos, I strummed the invisible strings of my air guitar and glanced over at Mark, catching him head-banging to the beat.
Two middle-aged white guys, reminiscing about hippie living and experimental drug days, we were now living on the highs adventure brought. Potential ‘fixes’ dangled from the grueling schedule before us to shoot three documentaries throughout Middle Egypt, along the Nile. With some security concerns, Mark and I drove from his Burbank office to the west side of Los Angeles, for one last advisory meeting with the only Muslim we knew, Attallah Shabazz.
After directing Discovery Channel’s ‘Eco-Challenge, Australia’ – Mark was the Executive Producer – we’d gained a reputation for productions in remote and hostile locations under adverse conditions. We’d delivered a five-hour adventure race on time and on budget to the Discovery Channel and now we were ready for our next big challenge. Mark’s company, MPH Entertainment, had been contracted to produce three documentaries: ‘Akhenaten, Egypt’s Heretic King’, the ‘History of Sex’ for the History Channel, and ‘Tutankhamen, Egypt’s Boy King’ for A&E Network.
All three had to be shot simultaneously in sixteen days, to produce seven hours of programming. Before any overseas assignment, it was my responsibility to budget for and rent the cameras, audio gear, and small lighting package, as well as estimate how many cases of videotape we needed to take for the shoots. Before leaving the States my anxiety started, not from the threat of kidnapping by terrorist or being shot at, but due to the hell of red tape: the filling out of the carnet form or Merchandise Passport. A ‘carnet’ is an international customs and temporary export-import document that’s used to clear customs in foreign countries. Successful completion means you don’t incur duties and import taxes on your gear, or ‘tools of the trade’, if they’re to be re-exported within twelve months.
With ten anvil cases of gear, cross-referencing serial numbers and descriptions of each piece of gear was a tedious and daunting task. If just one serial number was off by one digit it could mean spending precious time and baksheesh (bribe money) in a foreign Customs office, sorting things out. The last thing I wanted to explain to a burly, foreign custom agent is why my boxer shorts had yellow smiley faces on them, having packed them in the equipment cases along with my other clothes.
Being a boy scout taught me to ‘be prepared’; if you know that there are no McDonald’s in the Sahara desert and little time during the day to stop and eat, you pack away enough food for an army. The most important thing to take, however, when shooting in exotic locations, is toilet tissue and baby wipes.
Having spent time in the Middle East previously, I took it upon myself to research the locations, assessing any potential risk. I was well aware of the current affairs in the Middle East and I was able to identify and assess a number of specific threats, not only to our production but also to us.
Beneath the massive limestone cliffs near Luxor is one of Egypt’s most popular tourist attractions: the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut. This was the site of the Luxor Massacre; on November 17, 1997, 62 people were killed – mostly tourists – by Islamist extremists and the Jihad Talaat al-Fath (Holy War of the Vanguard of the Conquest).
As we went into preproduction for the three documentaries – on February 23, 1998 – Osama bin Laden and Ayman al-Zawahiri, a leader of the Egyptian Islamic Jihad, along with three other Islamist leaders, co-signed and issued a ‘fatwa’. This called on Muslims to kill Americans and their allies, saying it was their duty. The declaration was made seven months prior to our scheduled departure to Egypt.
I’d also read somewhere that Osama and Zawahiri hated Americans so much that they wouldn’t even drink a Pepsi. On top of all that, there was rumored to be a bounty of $16,000 for every American’s head in Egypt. I found this a bit insulting: why couldn’t they round it out? I thought I was worth at least $20,000.
Since the Luxor Massacre, tourism had been pretty much void there. To capture or kill a western film crew like us would have been equivalent to bagging a top prize. Protocol suggested that I went through specific official channels. I presented my assessment and ‘deal memo’ to one of the producers. In my deal memo it specifically requested that MPH accepted financial responsibility to have my body shipped back to the States, should anything have happened to me.
To my surprise and shock the producer said, ‘No deal’.  I can only assume that she was ignorant of current affairs and only perceived the rest of the world as a studio back-lot. Unfortunately for me, her world revolved around recreational television, celebrities and Hollywood gossip. This was a serious issue that couldn’t be handled by a mid-level producer so I gave the assessment to Mark. That is how we got to be on our way.
We were meeting Attallah Shabazz at a kosher Italian restaurant. Ms. Shabazz is the eldest daughter of El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, better known as Malcolm X, the powerful civil rights activist of the ‘60s. Mark and Attallah have worked together on several television productions and have become very good friends over the years, to the point that Mark’s daughter, Megan, refers to Ms. Shabazz as ‘Aunty Attallah’. I’d also worked with Ms. Shabazz on various television shows in the past, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to get properly acquainted.
We walked into the restaurant. Sitting at a table alone, in the middle of the busy eaterie, we could not help but notice Ms. Shabazz immediately. Strikingly beautiful, tall, and wearing her trademark African print pillbox hat, she acknowledged our arrival with a broad smile that seemed to light up the room.
Mark set the stage to our trip, telling Attallah that we would be the first American crew to travel by vehicle through Middle Egypt in ten years, according to our fixer in Egypt. Our security was our foremost concern; we’d be two unmistakably-American white guys shooting at various locations
Attallah interrupted Mark. ‘You know, I don’t thing you have anything to worry about, traveling through Middle Egypt,’ she reassured us. ‘The Egyptian government cannot afford another massacre, it would be devastating to their economy. You will be well protected. Think of it as an adventure, don’t let the threat of a small group of extremists hold you hostage.’
We placed our orders for our meal and our conversation turned to shop talk and a bucket full of scuttlebutt. It’s traditional amongst our staff and crew to collect the best pithy quotes during production which we then use as a catchphrase during shooting when things get a little too heated. Over our kosher pasta with meatless sauce, we told Attallah that we’d collected three favorite quotes for the History Channel’s documentary, the ‘History of Sex’:
‘Does the composer actually see the show he’s composing?’
‘Regardless of their academic achievement and expertise, try not to use any male or female archeologist over forty years of age’.
But the killer quote, and my favorite when shooting ancient Egyptian statues, was: ‘You can shoot as many penises as you want, as long as they don’t move’.
*****
We landed in Cairo around mid-afternoon. I was still a bit spaced-out from the residue of the Ambien still in my system and I gave off an odor like fermented Gouda cheese. It had taken us close to eighteen hours to get there, not including the ten hours we’d took to prep our gear before departure. In customs, with all ten anvil cases of equipment, we started the tedious process of cross-referencing the serial numbers of the gear against our carnet. A short, oval-shaped Egyptian customs official, in a blue shirt with wet stains under each arm, raised an eyebrow. There was a bead of sweat resting on the top of his pencil mustache that I couldn’t stop staring at.
              The larger gray camera case he found to be empty of the Betacam camera. I was holding it in my hands after carrying it on the plane with me. Inside the case, in place of the camera, were a dozen or so boxer shorts bearing acid-yellow smiley faces, which prompted a smirk from the agent. ‘My underwear,’ I said, pointing at the shorts.
‘Yes, yes, very nice,’ the agent said.
‘Jesus, Dave, can’t you wear regular underwear, like ‘tighty-whities’?’  Mark asked.
‘I, er, have a problem with chafing. I’ve big thighs. Boxers really help with that problem.’
‘But couldn’t you just buy regular boxers?’
‘These were on sale,’ I protested, ‘besides, I’m going to throw them away after I wear them.’
Pointing at the camera case then the carnet, in broken English, the oval-shaped agent asked, ‘Where is this item, the camera?’
‘This is the camera,’ I said, holding the camera up further and pointing to it.
‘But it’s not in the box. The carnet says ‘camera and case’. I need the camera in the case.’
Standing before him, with the camera case at my feet, I pointed again to the camera I was holding. ‘This is turning into a Monty Python skit,’ I thought. ‘This is the camera,’ I repeated, ‘I carried it on the flight so that I could use the camera case to store my clothing.’
‘I understand. But I need the camera in the box.’ This time, his voice was raised.
‘Do I understand you? That if I put the camera in the box, you’ll be satisfied?’
Opening the camera case, I pulled out my boxer shorts and all the other items I’d put in there and placed the camera into its case. I smiled at the inspector who remained stony-faced. It suddenly hit me: Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching.
              In my mind I heard Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’. The signs for baksheesh were simple – how had I missed them? The term ‘baksheesh’ describes tipping or, as the local authorities call it, ‘a charitable donation’. I call it ‘bribery’.
The government officials could have held the camera gear in protective custody until an ‘understanding’ was reached. Other signs of baksheesh could be: incorrect stamps in your passport or ink of the wrong color; your visa looking forged because the official emblem is smudged, usually after a government official has rubbed his thumb across the stamp, purposely smudging it. My favorite was the palm extended with a smile: simple, to the point and immediately recognizable for what it was. Baksheesh is a common practice across most of the Middle East; it’s common for western film crews to carry large sums of cash, just for these ‘unseen expenses’. Especially American film crews – it seems that we Americans have a reputation for throwing money at any problems we encounter. Good old American know-how.
Once our payment had been graciously accepted we cleared Egyptian customs. Porters loaded the gear onto a flatbed dolly and wheeled it out to the curb. By the time we’d finished loading the van we’d spent about $350.00 – and one carton of Marlboro cigarettes – in baksheesh…I mean, ‘charitable donations and tips’.
On the way to the hotel I decided to ride on the roof of the van with the cases of gear, to shoot B-roll of as we traveled from the airport to downtown Cairo. The driver of the van sped across El-Galaa Bridge that crosses the Nile and an insect the size of a ping-pong ball smacked me between the eyes, leaving little red blotches on my left cheek that looked like a target. I hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Our schedule was grueling and left so little opportunity for rest and recuperation that I was confused as to what day of the week it was as we rushed from the Pharaonic Village, Giza, to the Cairo Museum. Just like all shoots, we hit the ground running, apportioning no time to acclimatize. With pressure to shoot three documentaries there was no time to appreciate Egypt and its culture, it was just ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’.
For two sweltering days we’d been inside the Cairo museum shooting Paranoiac antiquities, artifacts, and ancient stone penises (but not the moving kind). Alone, and in a rare moment of quiet, I was on the second floor of the Cairo Museum framing the camera to shoot an artifact belonging to the most iconic of all Egyptian pharaohs: the solid gold mask of King Tutankhamen. The 11kg gold mask sat behind protective glass on a high pedestal and I’d found just the right angle to shoot the mask which didn’t also capture my reflection in the glass. I had King Tut all to myself as I began my work.
Then, from nowhere, hordes of tourists from Germany swarmed in, surrounding me and the exhibit. The lens of the camera blocked the tourists’ view; there was much pushing and shoving as they tried to get closer – so much so that the camera and tripod were nearly sent flying. I stepped back from the gaggle of Germans and could not believe my eyes when I noticed several wearing lederhosen. It was freaking hot – at least 28°C – with high humidity and no ventilation.
One man, in the shortest shorts I’d ever seen, started to pick up the tripod and camera to move it. ‘Sir, don’t move the camera,’ I warned.
In a thick German accent, he turned and snapped, ‘You shouldn’t be here! This is for tourists!’
‘I understand, sir. We’ve all come a long way to see King Tut. Just leave the camera alone. Okay?’
He persisted, putting his hands on the tripod. I stepped forward and removed his hand, which is when he elbowed me on my left cheek. It was bang on the place where the kamikaze insect had whacked me several days before.
                  ‘Ouch!’ I muttered, before tensing, ready to defend my space. Sanity prevailed for just a moment as I thought about Mark, and that the last thing he needed was me being thrown out of the Cairo Museum for fighting with a tourist. Luckily, at that moment, a woman – also in leather lederhosen and thigh-high white stockings – grabbed the man’s arm and started scolding him in German. None of the other tourists seemed interested in our struggle for territory as they snapped pictures and left. Now, at least, I was alone with the king, sporting a painfully bruised cheek.
Eventually, we’d shot every stone penis in the museum – erect and non-erect. Our work was over in Cairo and now it was time for our road trip through Middle Egypt.
Attallah was right: we were escorted by seventeen Egyptian bodyguards as we traveled south along the Nile Delta to Luxor in Middle Egypt. Our caravan was made up of several vehicles, including a sky-blue armored personnel carrier complete with fifty-caliber machine gun, and a black 4×4 Mercedes-Benz SUV that carried our four bodyguards. They sat in comfort, in their polyester suits and sunglasses. Except for the front windscreen, the side and rear windows were bulletproof glass, tinted almost black. In the middle of each passenger window were gun ports that looked like small, black puckered lips, ready to give any adversary a stinging kiss of death. On occasion you would see copious amount of smoke stream from the gun ports; most of the time the bodyguards sat in their SUV with the air conditioning on full blast as they played their favorite Egyptian pop music. As a result, the SUV vibrated with a ‘thump, thump, thump’. Jimi Hendrix, it was not.
In contrast, we were stuck in a white minibus, with painted hieroglyphic symbols and a giant portrait of a pharaoh on the hood. The interior seated roughly ten passengers; it would have held more but our camera gear filled the back of the coach. With our security so obviously in tow, this bus shouted ‘tourist on board!’
Driving in Egypt is not for wimps or the faint of heart, which is why I was happy to let Mohammad, our driver, take the challenge. I’d assumed we were safe outside the city of Cairo, where car horns blast continually, insults are spat and universal hand gestures given at the slightest provocation; little did I realize just how dangerous the road to Luxor was. Most roads had two lanes of tarmac, but the condition of the ground varied greatly. The scariest part was when giant trucks frequently passed other trucks already passing cars. I lost count of my ‘sphincter twinges’ during the day but they went off the scale when we drove in the dark. It was a Mad Max movie in reality; the Egyptians didn’t use their headlights until they thought they saw an oncoming vehicle – then they’d flash their lights. Thank God we were in an official convoy, with an armored personnel carrier leading the caravan.
We made numerous stops along the way, shooting B-roll to enrich our documentaries. I shot video and still photographs at each location for ‘cut-away footage’ that could be added to scripted voice-overs or expert interviews. This adds greater dimension to the storylines in our productions, an alternative to the traditional ‘talking head’ pieces. As we continued our trek to Luxor day turned to night. Suddenly, our motorcade came to a complete stop. We were near our destination of Al Minya, at a goat crossing.
I grabbed the camera and jumped out of the van. I started shooting the goat herder and his goats against the van’s headlights when four tourist police intervened. With their Uzi machine guns they hustled us back into the van.
‘Jesus! What was that all about? It’s just goats,’ said Mark.
‘Maybe someone just got his goat?’ I chuckled at my own joke.
One of the security men from our convoy came into the van, still wearing his sunglasses. ‘Keep down! Keep down!’ he said. ‘A madrasa is down the road: the most radical of Islamic schools in Egypt. We believe Osama Bin Laden is inside. The goats are a way to stop people, so they can see who approaches. Just stay down.’
There was a lot of movement outside the van and raised voices. The goats still surrounded us. A second bodyguard came to the door. ‘The local authorities and the village elders fear retaliation from Islamic fundamentalists at the madrasa for hosting you Americans. We cannot stay here or in Al Minya. We have to find another place to stay the night. Please, stay down, and do not get out of the van.’
We waited, keeping a low profile as our security team herded the goats out of the way. The goat herder had disappeared. After traveling south for half an hour, our security team found an abandoned hotel outside an unnamed village. Oddly, there was a flickering light-bulb several floors up. Despite our hesitation, we had been at it for sixteen hours and we were dead tired. We carried the cameras and battery chargers up the dark, shadowy, concrete stairs that offered no handrail. I was so dazed from lack of rest that when I plugged in the charger for the camera batteries I forgot that Egypt’s electrical current was 220v. I neglected to plug in the transformer and the charger blew like an indoor firework display. As the sparks flew, I grabbed the plug and pulled it out of the socket, only to get a jolt. ‘Crap! Crap! Crap!’ I shouted.
‘Are you okay?’ said Mark.
‘Yeah, I’m okay. I just feel like a complete idiot.’
‘You’re tired, Dave, don’t beat yourself up. We’ve another charger,’ said Mark.
As I moved away from the socket I heard a loud crunch. Lifting my boot, I saw the largest cockroach I’d ever set eyes on. The floor of the building was concrete and it was cold; the walls looked to be peppered with bullet holes and the windows didn’t bear glass but iron rods shooting up from the windowsill.
Mark looked out. It was deadly quiet outside. ‘Hey, Dave, there are guards outside, on the ground. I think this is serious.’
The flickering light was a beacon to a frenzy of moths, unidentified flying insects, cockroaches and five-legged bugs, the like of which I’d never seen. We were too exhausted to care and slept on the floor, only to have the creepy-crawlers roam freely on and around us. ‘Mark, are you awake?’ I asked.
‘Not really. It’s difficult when you have creatures crawling on your face. Shit! One just tried to crawl up my nose! Jesus H Christ.’ Mark was now sitting up. He was pale with bags under his eyes and desperate for some sleep.
‘Hey, why don’t we use the djellaba I picked up in Cairo?’ I suggested. ‘We could wrap it around ourselves like the Shroud of Turin. We could wrap our kefflyehs around our faces too, to keep the marauders away.’
‘Great idea. Let’s do it,’ said Mark.
So, there we were: two guys from California in Middle Egypt, beneath a winking light on a concrete floor, shoulder to shoulder and draped under a makeshift shroud. Neither Mark nor I remembered much of the drive from the abandoned ‘roach’ hotel; we slept most of the way. We eventually pulled up at a deserted parking area. Before us was the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut, which sat atop a series of colonnaded terraces, accessed via long ramps that were once graced with gardens. Built into the limestone cliff face that towered above the temple, there were three layered terraces reaching 29m high.
It was midday, and at least 40°C. Walking up the ramp in the scorching heat was going to be challenge. I drank my last bottle of hot orange Fanta, grabbed the camera and started shooting Arab workmen breaking up the limestone walkway to the temple. It seemed to me to be perfect B-roll for the documentary, but what I didn’t realize at that moment was that they were replacing the bloodstained path where the 62 people had been massacred nearly a year before.
Hot, hot, hot! The tripod legs burnt if touched; the metal of the camera was sizzling and I could feel the heat of the scorching sand through my Doc Martin boots. I took off my kefflyeh, soaking it with water and placing it over the camera, so as not to burn up the electronics. Our Egyptian crew stayed in the van with the air conditioning on and with the hood up to keep the engine cool. Our four bodyguards sat in the comfort of their Mercedes-Benz SUV, smoking and listening to music. Mark and I continued to shoot for two hours, taking breaks in the shade of the Temple’s columns. The Sahara heat was unrelenting and oppressive, though, and I gave up when the glue on my boots began to melt. Because my kefflyeh was on the camera, the back of my neck was naked to the sun. It was now horribly blistered. Back in the van, a sunburned Mark took a long drink from a Fanta he’d kept hidden.
‘You bastard!’ I said. The sun’s heat lost its grip as I stepped into the van. Mark leaned over and pulled out another warm Fanta, handing it to me. ‘Cheers, Dave. You ready to go home?’ he said.
I’d lost all reference to time. I had no idea what day it was or how long we’d been in Egypt. This often happened to us when documenting fragments of time long since gone – you lose your own place in time.
We barely made our flight back to the States and had to sacrifice taking a shower and changing into clean clothes. I wasn’t too upset; there’s something magical about carrying the sands of the Sahara in your boots with you as you arrive home.
Days later, I was back at the NBC Studios. The guests that night were David Spade and Kate Capshaw, the musical element provided by Deana Carter. I was still painfully sunburned and therefore moved slowly; I could continually smell the odor of fermented Gouda and, during rehearsals, I found a strip of bubble wrap that seemed to resemble the blisters on the back of my neck.
During lunch at the NBC Commissary I told my cousin, Hank Geving, who was also a cameraman on the show and dedicated reader of Ancient Egyptian history, about Queen Hatshepsut and her temple. She was the first great woman in recorded history, the forerunner of such figures as Cleopatra and Catherine the Great, and female pioneers of our own age, such as Madonna. He listened intently, and it gave me a huge glow of satisfaction to have stood where she had, centuries before. Many people living there don’t acknowledge that there’s life outside Hollywood. How wrong they are.
Cue The Camels: Chapter Two, Al Minya, Bed Bugs and Sex. A continuation from Life in the City of Angels: When You Can't Get Published, Fuck It, Give It Away!
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Things that have been essential with a newborn
So, my little poppet is 6 weeks old now and I thought I would write a list of those essential things that we really used/learned the first few weeks of his life! (Please take into account this is from my perspective, you might have completely different views due to you circumstance. That’s fine, you do you boo.)
Sleepsuits. So before he was born I imagined myself dressing him in cute trousers and jumpers with little booties and hats. Now the hats and bibs are needed however lots of the cute clothes are just not suitable for a newborn. Not just because changing a nappy is harder to do (I mean I don’t have much else to do in the day so I wouldn’t mind a distraction) but because for my little bean the trousers were simply too tight for his little tummy and this caused gas. Which brings me to my next point...
Anti-Colic techniques. I naively thought babies slept, pooed, looked around cutely and then slept some more. Did you now sometimes they cry for seemingly no reason at all? For sometimes hours? That you can’t stop? It sounds like a nightmare doesn’t it? Thankfully our child has not been too colic-y but this is a real thing and no-one really knows what causes it. None of the grannies I spoke to in the street mentioned this when I was pregnant!! But we found a few things that seem to work - the first is try to get rid of all gas. This is usually through burping and making sure the baby is upright when feeding and not sucking in air when taking the boob/bottle. (Our son has moved from breastfeeding to bottlefeeding and both created the same amount of gas so I wouldn’t worry about that.) Again, just wearing sleepsuits has really stopped any pressure on his tummy and make sue they have the right sized nappy (you should be able to comfortably fit two fingers under the waistband). We also have set up a nightly routine of bath, bottle and bed at around 7pm which helps with the so called ‘witching hour’. The ‘witching hour’ is a mythical name for colic, the crying at evening time. Babies are crazy and seem like they are in pain for this time - pulling their legs to their chest, getting red in the face and crying regardless of what you do. Now this was very testing (still is) for my husband and I and in the first few weeks this caused me a lot of anxiety when the end of the day rolled around. Following some anti-colic tips have really reduced the amount this happened but when it does there are some medications you can use to help the baby with this. We tried Infacol (which didn't work for us), there is gripe water which is for 3 months onwards but we found our saviour to be... Dentinox Colic Drops!! They seriously work for us but we like to use them as a last resort. They basically work to combine all the small little bubbles in your babies tummy together to work out as a burp or a fart. We use it sparingly because the baby acts like i’ve poured vinegar down his throat and it hurts my soul when he cries like that. 
Drugs. No, not those kinds. The medication type. The little sausage got his first cold when he was 3 weeks old and he could barely breathe (somewhat due to the button nose inherited from his father...)! This was a new hurdle for us, especially as my husband went back to work on this week and the cold meant sleeping was very tricky for the babe unless he was lying on one of us. This meant one of us not sleeping to keep an eye on him. Not ideal. We therefore scoured any and every shop and pharmacy for ways to relieve him of his snot! Being so young he couldn’t take calpol or any kind of paracetamol/ibuprofen so we were left with saline drops prescribed from the doctor. Have you ever tried to get a drop of liquid down a squirming newborn, and inherently tiny, nose? Its a lot of fun. We did find in an ASDA calpol saline spray suitable from birth which actually sprays the saline up their nose. This worked well. We also bought a nasal aspirator. Technically we bought two ... initially bought one from mother care which you pushed down and then released when it was in his nose. Don’t buy it! it doesn’t work! I also sterilised outs which rendered it useless so also don’t do that. I did then make another dash to Tescos and bought the type that is a long tube that give you images of sucking up and eating the snot...which worked really well for getting out the snot. My husband was better at it than me because he has the lung capacity of something with large lungs. Quite satisfying as well got to be honest seeing the snot in the tube.  We also bought vapour oil to put in a bowl of warm water. Not sure if this did anything. Smelled lovely though. 
Money Being 24, and on fairly low income my husband and I want to spend the least amount of money possible. The chick’s clothes are usually secondhand, he has Tescos own nappies, we buy the average formula, Ikea everything, we look out for deals on wipes etc. That being said there are a few things that we ended up forking out for that I think were really worth it. (side note - something that was not worth the £50 was an automatic breast pump which was painful, time consuming and really noisy and impossible to sell secondhand!) Cot - We started out with a secondhand moses basket which was £5 and I thought would be good enough. Here are the reasons why it wasn't: it was really difficult (and painful!) to lower him into from the bed, didn’t rock anyway, was a pain in the arse to clean and he didn’t like because when he flung his arms out in his sleep (newborns do this did you know?) they would hit the sides. We therefore ended up forking out nearly £200 on a bedside crib to co-sleep in the bedroom safely. Here are the reasons why it is better: It doesn’t pull my stitches to put him down into it, I can check his breathing easily, it can adjust to different levels and be raised at one end when he is poorly, he likes it better, it will be easier for him to adjust to his cot as it is bigger and it looks nicer.  Bottles - I am not trying to start a discussion, everyone is different and has their own reasons for how they feed their baby. At 3 weeks old we moved from breast to bottle feeding. We decided to buy a perfect prep machine from Tommee Tippee which dispenses the perfect temperature water. It is £100 new and we paid £20 for it on Facebook marketplace and then an extra £10 for a new filter. It is amazing. In the day it works well and saves the hassle of the kettle but I don’t know how I would survive at night without it. I am like a bear - you are brave to wake me. So the 3am feeds are hard for me (but mostly my poor husband because of my vile demeanour). The perfect prep means that I can have a bottle ready in 38 seconds (i’ve counted) and I am usually back to bed in 20 minutes. Side note - I also got a £1 Avent microwave steriliser from a nearly new sale which is a godsend. Pram - I have no way of comparison here with this being my first baby so take this with a pinch of salt but my family has the tradition that the parents (my mum and dad) buy the first born’s pram. I therefore asked for the best and got the SilverCross Wayfarer travel system. it was about £800 (Thanks mum!). I use this thing every day and it never fails to make me happy. It is just so intuitive and easy! The buttons are all where you think they will be, the joining parts all work easily, the car seat is safe and sturdy, the isofix is easy to install, the bassinet is very cute, the raincover is easy to put on, the cup holder holds starbucks etc. There is literally nothing I dislike about it except I wish I could be pushed around asleep and be fed on demand.  A Washer/Dryer - What? No not traditional put-on-your-registry baby item but do you know how many times you will be pooed, weed and sicked up on in one day? sometimes all at the same time? this would be fine in the summer but good lord if I didn’t have the capacity to dry the washing we would literally have nothing to wear. Also, fuck the clothes horse. I used that thing for 2 years and it doesn’t dry the clothes and makes the room all damp. The washer dryer was £300 and my dear husbands father got it for us. I love it (and him).  A Baby Swing - Do you ever need to poo? Have to eat? Need to put on a bra to answer the door to the postman? These are the times that the baby swing is important. The baby also loves it and sometimes would rather be in it than on me. He loves the mobile that hangs above his head and is a safe place to put him if you need a breather. My mum again got it secondhand for £80. Worth every penny. 
Cameras This is pretty self-explanatory but already looking back at him when he was first born is so lovely and they change so much. Take all the photos - awake, asleep, naked, clothed, covered in excrement, crying, at the doctors etc. You will forget in your sleep deprived state and they change before your eyes. I love the photos we have of him and will cherish them forever. 
Muslins see - Sick. Poo. Wee. 
Baby Baths  I love having bath myself so its only natural my son loves it too. We have a little baby bath that fits into the main bath and cradles him safely. I then get in the bath with him and my husband pours water over him (and me!) while I use baby soaps to wash his little body. This is such a special time for us, we are all working together, usually smiling and laughing, with lovely smells and skin-to-skin and calming down after the day. This so far is my favourite part of being a mother. 
Patience This is not just patience for the screaming ball of flesh that wakes you up at god-knows when covered in god-knows what. This is patience with the life you have now. You cannot poo when you want to. You aren’t in control of your day anymore girl! All those hours blissfully bored when you were pregnant are a million miles away. You are responsible for this little person and this little person’s needs mean you can’t sleep through the night, or have a whole bottle of wine, or take a relaxing bath, or do the food shop without timing it just right or really have the life you had before. And dealing with that change takes patience. Patience with yourself and the emotions that come with managing the change (fear, regret, longing, exasperation...). Patience with your husband who gets to leave and spend a few hours at work without the baby. Patience with the people in the supermarket who walk in front of you (they don’t know how stressed you are). It is hard. No-one will tell you it’s not hard. Or not to feel those things. But give yourself credit. You’re doing it, you can do it, you have already done it, and with a bit of patience you will learn to get through it. It will get easier. 
Netflix Good lord its boring home on your own. There are only so many times I can hoover and clean before I lose my mind. But it is so stressful leaving the house that sometimes it’s just not worth it. Netflix is amazing because there is so much available and I can choose what I want to watch holding the remote while feeding the baby!
Support I don’t mean a good bra (but always necessary)! The people around you make the hard days that bit easier. Me and my mum are very close anyway and she is self-employed and so it’s great to have someone who is available in the day to go and see. My husband and I also try to go for a walk every night to make sure we spend some time talking to each other and doing something other than baby care! I have also found some mother and baby groups to be good - it might be worth looking around though because some are very toddler heavy / not very baby friendly ! My sister also made us some food for the freezer which has been great (especially on those growth spurts!) and my granddad has been very good in giving us tomatoes from the allotment. Reaching out and talking is so important to keep yourself from becoming isolated and its something that I still need to remember. 
KY Jelly (or water-based lube) Pretty self explanatory. After the bleeding it is dry down there. I mean sahara dry. And I don’t just mean use it for sex. Some days it was just necessary for daily use.  And the last one for now:
Teamwork Myself and my husband are so lucky and thankful for our baby. We know how hard it is for some people and not everyone gets to be parents so we are incredibly grateful. That being said it is without a doubt the hardest thing we’ve done together. The best days have been the ones where we have worked as a team. Unfortunately it is very easy to snap and take your frustration out on the closest person. We have been working hard to make sure we talk explicitly about how we are feeling and work together to make solutions. If it gets hard I try to remember that it’s us against the problem. My husband is my rock and I could not do it without him. I try to tell him this as often as possible and him to me.
Wow, you’re still here? You deserve some kind of award. Thank you for reading, I hope it was helpful. 
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